The Spaniard's Pregnant Bride

“Perhaps I can install you in the servants’ quarters once our divorce is finalized.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You have ample evidence that I dare quite a few things, and yet, still you challenge me?”

She turned away from him, all shimmering indignity. It wasn’t that he had never noticed she was beautiful. That much was obvious. She had been beautiful ever since she had been a sullen teenager. He had the feeling that her family missed her moods. Missed the subtle pout in her face whenever her upcoming marriage was mentioned. Or the storm that flashed in her eyes whenever her future was discussed.

Even as he had disapproved of her attitude, he had found her pretty. But that was different than the way he saw her now. Now, he could look at her and see nothing other than the temptress that had greeted him in the ballroom. Who had touched him as though he was some sort of new miracle to her.

You were. She was a virgin.

He gritted his teeth, leaning back against his own seat. How was it that he felt like the villain in this situation?

“When we get to Spain I will arrange for you to get an engagement ring. And we will begin arrangements for the wedding.”

“I didn’t agree to this. You seem to be missing that.”

“I’m not waiting for your agreement. I do not require it.”

“Yes, you do. My former fiancé was a prince, and not even he could force me into marriage. You certainly aren’t going to.”

“Let us discuss your choices. The choices you seem to feel you have in abundance. You could go back to Italy, an unwed mother who would have to enter into a custody battle with me. And I do believe that your mother and father would likely take my side.” He watched as she paled. He nearly felt like a bastard. Nearly. “If you want access to your child, if you want anything other than a life of disgrace where you will certainly be ostracized by your parents as they make room for their grandchild, the grandchild you rejected because you refused to marry the father, then by all means. We can land the plane early and I can allow you to disembark. Otherwise, I suggest that you come to terms with the fact that you have simply traded one arranged marriage for another. But I, at least, will not require the use of your body again.”

She said nothing. Instead, she stared straight ahead, blinking furiously, as though she was trying to keep herself from crying. And again, he felt like the villain. He was not being villainous. He was merely being practical.

He imagined that if he told Allegra that, she would not find it to be the same.

“Nothing to say?” he asked.

“As you have made it perfectly clear there is nothing to say. Except that I’ll marry you.”

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_78379d44-8a2d-5eb8-981c-cab84a8e9235)

ALMOST AS SOON as they touched down in Spain, they were whisked away from the airport and to a luxurious car that spirited them up a winding road leading to the hills that overlooked Barcelona.

Cristian was right, it was much more villa than palace, and there was absolutely nothing offensive or moldy about it. Allegra found that she was wholly irritated by the fact that the setting did not match its owner.

In fact, the entire place was airy and bright, with large windows that overlooked the sea, letting sun wash light into the room.

It was very different from her parents’ home in Italy. It possessed none of the old money trappings, and she found herself confused by that. She knew Cristian’s family was as old as her own, and titled on top of it. But here there was a lack of dark, encroaching wood paneling, threadbare rugs that had survived several inquisitions and artwork depicting either scenes from the Bible or portraits of long-dead relatives.

Everything was white. Everything was crisp. It was borderline modern. Which, considering what a relic Cristian was, seemed laughable.

“This is not your family home,” she said.

He laughed. “I said that I was not taking you to a castillo. I did not say we didn’t possess one.”

“What was all that about your son needing to be on your hallowed family grounds, and all of that?”

“I’m Spanish. Sometimes we exaggerate for dramatic effect. Mostly, I require my child be born in Spain. And I require them to be born during my marriage. Whether or not it’s here or in my family’s ancient ruin is beside the point.”

“You have a ruin?” she asked. “That sounds...well, archeologically significant if nothing else.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure if it’s a ruin, exactly. More a large plot of land centered around an ancient castle I have no desire to inhabit. I keep a full staff on to take care of the castle and the grounds. I also have a steward for the land who helps manage the farms and tenants. But my mother has long since fled, and—as you know—my father is long since dead.”

He spoke of his parents with such studied neutrality that she knew it wasn’t accidental. It was hiding the truth, whatever that was.

“My parents are wedded to the old halls of our family estate. They would never dream of leaving. In fact, if my parents died and Renzo left it to rot, I can assure you my father would haunt him from beyond the grave and rattle his chains over the unpolished silver.”

Cristian studied her closely, a strange light in his eyes. “Do you imagine your father will be in chains in the afterlife?”

“I was being dramatic. I’m Italian. We are also capable of exaggerating for dramatic effect, if you didn’t realize.”

He looked up, somewhere past her, the sunlight shining in his eyes, revealing the deep, rich coffee color of his eyes, revealing that they weren’t pure black. That there was humanity behind them. “My father is most certainly in chains. If there is justice in the next life, that is.”

“I certainly hope there is. There is rarely justice in this one.”

He looked around the room. “Do you find this situation unjust?”

“How could I find it anything else?”

He lifted a hand. “You are in a multimillion-dollar home in one of the most beautiful parts of Spain. You have a man with a title—and several billion dollars—willing to marry you and give your child legitimacy. I would say many people would not feel quite so persecuted.”

She arched a brow, not to be undone. She would never be undone by Cristian again. “Those who would not feel persecuted by the situation couldn’t possibly know you as well as I do.”

He took a step toward her, his eyes glittering like black diamonds. “Ah yes, and you do know me, don’t you? Intimately.”

She despised the heat that washed over her face, and the color that no doubt accompanied it. She despised that he could affect her so. “I don’t think that counts. As far as I knew, you were Death.”

“Very romantic. Conquering Death by taming him. However—” he rubbed his hand over his chin, the sound of his whiskers whispering over his skin strangely arousing “—I was not tamed.”

“I’m actually fine with that. Were you ever to be tamed, Cristian, I should hope that it isn’t by me. I don’t wish to be stuck with you as a child might be stuck with a dog that followed them home.”

She knew, the moment those words left her hot mouth, that she had made a mistake. She knew it, even as he advanced on her, but she found herself frozen, unable to move. Then, as he drew closer, she took a step backward, then another step. Her back came into contact with the wall behind her, and she was thrown back into a flash of memory. From that night. From when Cristian had put his hands all over her, from when he had made her lose her mind, and her purity, in that one brilliant blaze of shameful glory in a quiet palace corridor.

“I am not a dog,” he said, his voice low. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, but he didn’t touch her. Shamefully, wantonly, she felt her body begin to soften for him. Felt a dull ache begin to grow beneath her thighs, beating a tattoo in time with her heartbeat.

“I think it much more likely, Allegra, that I should tame you. I think it is you who could be brought to heel.” He tilted his head to the side, studying her closely. “Yes. Even now, you want me. You can say you didn’t know who I was, you can talk of despising me all you like. But you want me. As much now as you wanted me then. You want me now, even knowing who I am.” He pushed away from her, and she let out a breath, feeling nearly dizzy with the effort that had been put into holding it before. “Interesting.”

“There is nothing interesting about this,” she said, holding her jaw tight as she spoke. “Disgusting is more like it.”

She and Cristian had always fought. Always. But this had a new edge to it. So sharp she feared it might cut her straight through.

“So disgusting that you wish to be filled with me even now. What does that say about you?”

She gritted her teeth against the rising heat and humiliation inside of her. “I do not understand the point of you baiting me, Cristian. I will agree to the marriage, but you will not touch me. And you will not wed me in a church. Even I have my limits.”

“Pity. I find that I don’t.”