The Spaniard's Untouched Bride

He tore himself out of bed and ran across the house, feeling a jumble of emotions, mixed memories combined with the reality of what was happening. Of course he should never have brought a woman here. Not one so delicate as she was.

Of course he should have known that the curse of the Navarro men—or rather, the women that they took as their own—would come to pass.

Ridiculous. She was having a nightmare, or, she had seen a spider. Something easily explainable. He was telling himself that as he made his way down the hall. But then he heard the screams of his housekeeper, and that was when true fear overtook him.

Heart raging, sweat beading on his back, he raced to Liliana’s room, only to discover that the door was flung open wide, as was the window, her lacy curtains blowing in the breeze. They were three floors up.

Surely, if Liliana wasn’t happy she wouldn’t resort to flinging herself out a window to escape him. All she would’ve had to do was ask.

That absurd thought wormed its way into his mind as he ran to the window and looked down below, half expecting to see her inert, white nightgown-clad form crumpled in the grass. But she was not there.

He looked across the broad expanse of lawn and saw her. That white, flowing figure—her nightgown and her pale blond hair—whipping in the breeze. But she was not alone. There was a black shadow that seemed to be consuming her, holding her fast.

Diego.

He knew it. Deep in his bones, he knew. His brother had stolen his bride.

And then, just like that, they were gone. Disappeared completely. Diego had Liliana.

He issued orders to his staff in rapid-fire Spanish, and only after a few moments did he see the boy standing there in the hall, his eyes wide, fear etched over his youthful face.

“Go back to bed,” he commanded.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Liliana has been taken,” he responded, not seeing any point in being dishonest.

The boy swore. “By who?”

“By my brother.”

Camilla still wasn’t allowed to go back to work because of her injury, and that meant that she was currently tied to the house, wandering the halls and feeling far too conspicuous.

But if anyone had been even close to looking at her before, they were not doing so now. Everyone was consumed with the search for Liliana Hart, who had been—it appeared—kidnapped out of her bedroom window by Matías’s older brother.

Diego Navarro.

And as that search waged on, Camilla had far too much time to simply sit and think. To wonder about the manner of man Diego was, and to attempt to piece it together with what kind of information she had gotten from the doctor. About what kind of man Matías’s father had been.

The old doctor had said that Matías had been injured by his father, and he had spoken of it as though it had been routine. Camilla could scarcely wrap her mind around that. Around such horror.

She tried to remember if she had ever heard anything about Matías’s father, but she couldn’t remember, as all of those rumors were obscured by those about his brother. People did talk about Diego. About how his pregnant wife had died, and how the circumstances had all seemed quite suspicious.

But of course, all of this had been done under the guise of saying prayers for the family, careful bits of gossip wrapped in concern.

Matías, for all that he had a reputation of being hard, also had a reputation for being good.

She had the feeling that none of the other Navarro men held such a claim.

She heard footsteps and scampered deeper into the library, where she was currently attempting to waste some hours. She settled into an armchair near the fireplace, grateful that the only light in the room came from the flames there and a small lamp positioned across the room.

Then she heard voices outside the door.

“Any word at all?” It was Matías’s voice.

“None,” came an unfamiliar response. “The grounds were searched thoroughly, but somehow, they seemed to have disappeared by the time we got to where the car was abandoned.”

Matías let out a derisive snort. “I imagine, knowing my brother, a helicopter was involved.”

Camilla raised her brows, putting her hand over her mouth to keep from making a sound that might give her away.

“You are certain it was your brother?”

“Oh, I am certain. There is little I would put beyond his boundaries.”

“I am sorry,” the other man said. “But if they are not in Spain any longer there isn’t much we can do. We have no leads.”

“And my brother has not resurfaced anywhere else in Europe yet,” Matías said. “I’ve been keeping watch on his various haunts. Or rather, having certain people in my employ do so. Diego seems to have gone underground.”

“We will do our very best. He will not be able to come back into the country without us knowing. That is certain.”

She heard footsteps, then she heard Matías muttering about the fact that he had likely gained entry into the country without their knowing this time. She could see that he had little confidence in law enforcement at the moment.

The door opened a crack, and Camilla sank farther back into the armchair, wishing that there was something she could hide behind. She didn’t want to be alone in a room with Matías again. It had been confronting enough when she had been lying there with a head injury. At least then he had been concerned for her well-being and had likely only been looking at her to figure out how injured she was.

She just didn’t want to encourage any more moments where he saw her clean, where he saw her in a domestic setting, without the sun in his eyes. Anything that might reveal her to him.

Plus, there was the simple fact that whenever she was in a room with him he made it feel so much smaller. And somehow he felt large. Something about that magnetism filling her chest, making her feel hollow, all at the same time.

She felt aches in places she was not normally conscious of, aches that she didn’t know a remedy for.

He made her aware that she was a woman. Much more aware than she had ever been in her life, and certainly more aware than she wanted to be when trying to pass for a boy.

“Cam,” Matías said, “I didn’t expect anyone to be in here.”

“Sorry,” she said, starting to stand. “I can go somewhere else.”

He waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I am sorry,” she said, “about Liliana.”

She was sorry. Sorry that the other woman had been taken, that she was likely afraid. No matter what Matías said she supposed it was entirely possible that Diego actually was a killer, in which case Liliana might be in actual danger.

But in many ways she wasn’t actually sorry that the other woman was gone. Which was awful. Except that he made her feel funny. Made her feel light-headed. Made her bones feel heavy.

“So am I,” he said, his tone fierce. “I must find her. There is no other option.”

“You will,” she said, “of course.” She knew that it was an unearned confidence, but it was clearly what he needed to hear. She wanted to tell him what he needed to hear. Wanted to make that arrogant mouth curve up into a smile again. Wanted his dark eyes to look at her with approval. Even if it could never be the kind of approval or appreciation that part of her seemed to crave.