Passionate Protection

She was lost in a deep study of a portrait above the fireplace—a Spanish don of the seventeenth century if she was any judge, formidable and with a magnetism that refused to be confined to the canvas—when she heard footsteps outside the door, firmer and far more decisive than the manservant’s. She felt herself tense. Now that the moment was almost upon her she felt ridiculously nervous. What on earth was she going to say? How could she simply say baldly that Isabel no longer wanted him; and that in fact he was an embarrassment to her, now that she was on the verge of becoming engaged to another man.

The door opened and the man who stood there took her breath away. Her first impression was that he was impossibly arrogant, standing there staring down the length of his aristocratic nose at her, his lean jaw tensing, as though he was controlling a fierce anger. Ice-cold grey eyes flicked disparagingly over her, the aquiline profile inclining slightly in an acknowledgement of her presence, which was more of an insult than a courtesy.

He was tall, far taller than she had expected, his hair dark, sleek as ravens’ feathers, and worn slightly long, curling over the pure silk collar of a shirt she was sure had been handmade especially for him.

Everything about this man whispered discreetly of wealth and prestige, and never in a million years could Jessica imagine him holidaying on the Costa Brava and indulging in a holiday romance with her cousin.

For one thing, he must be almost twice Isabel’s age—certainly in his early thirties—and nothing about him suggested the type of man who needed the admiration of a very young girl to boost his ego. This man did not need any woman; his very stance suggested an arrogant pride which would never admit to any need of any kind. He was the result of centuries of wealth and breeding of a type found almost exclusively in the great Spanish families, and Jessica felt her blood run cold at the thought of telling him that her cousin had decided she preferred someone else.

‘Señorita James?’

He spoke perfect accentless English, his voice clipped and cool, and yet despite his outward control, Jessica sensed that beneath the ice-cold surface raged a molten torrent of barely held in rage. But why? Or had he guessed her purpose in coming? This man was no fool, surely he must have realised from the recent tone of Isabel’s letters how the land lay?

‘Señor Calvadores?’

Her voice was no way as controlled as his, and she had the dismal conviction that he knew he had unnerved her and that he deliberately intended to.

It was obvious that he didn’t intend to make things easy for her. So much for Spanish hospitality! Jessica thought indignantly. He hadn’t even offered her so much as a cup of coffee. Well, there was nothing for it but to plunge in; there was no easy way to say what had to be said, and all she wanted to do now was to say her piece and make her escape. His attitude and hauteur had killed all the sympathy she had initially felt towards him. Never in a thousand years could she imagine her flighty young cousin holding her own against this man whose very stance exuded an arrogant contempt that filled the air around them.

‘I’ve come to see you about …’

‘I know what you’ve come to see me about, Miss James,’ he cut in brutally, not allowing her to finish, ‘and no doubt you want me to make things easy for you. No doubt you hoped to sway me with your large, worried eyes, no doubt you’ve been led to believe that I can be persuaded to give way. Unfortunately—for you—that is not to be. To put it in its simplest form, Miss James, and having seen you for myself, having had confirmed every one of my very worst fears—that is to say, having seen for myself that you are a young woman who likes expensive clothes, and doubtless everything that goes with them; that you are at a guess somewhere in your mid-twenties; that you are bold enough to come here demanding to see me; there is simply no way I shall allow you to ruin my brother’s life by trapping him into marriage simply because of an affair you had with him several months ago!’

Jessica was totally lost for words. His brother, he had said. That meant he wasn’t—couldn’t be Jorge de Calvadores, but he obviously thought she was Isabel. She was on the verge of correcting him when she realised what else he had said. ‘An affair’. Isabel had given her the distinct impression that Jorge was the one pressing her into an unwanted engagement, whereas his brother seemed to think the boot was very much on the other foot. Clearly there were some misunderstandings to be sorted out!

CHAPTER TWO

SHE TOOK A deep breath, wondering where to begin. Perhaps if she were to explain to him first that she wasn’t Isabel. How contemptuous he had been about her cousin! He really was insufferably proud and arrogant; she didn’t like him at all, she decided, eyeing him militantly.

She opened her mouth to explain, but was stunned into silence by the cynical way he was looking at her; a way no man had ever looked at her before, she realised, feeling the heat rising through her body. His study was an openly sexual one, and not merely sexual but contemptuous. Good heavens, it could have been Isabel exposed to that merciless scrutiny that made no allowance for feminine modesty or embarrassment! And she had thought Spaniards were supposed to be reticent, cultured and, above all, respectful to women!

‘You don’t understand,’ she began shakily when she had recovered her composure, anger fanned into tiny, darting flames by the look she had seen in his eyes.

‘On the contrary, I understand all too well,’ came the crisp response. ‘Dios, do you not think I know what goes on at these holiday resorts?’ His finely cut mouth curled sneeringly downwards. ‘You must have thought yourself extremely fortunate to meet a young man as wealthy and unworldly as my young brother, but unfortunately for you, Jorge does not come into his inheritance for half a dozen more years, when he reaches his twenty-fifth birthday. Until then I stand guardian to him, and you may take it that I shall do everything in my power to free him from your clutches. I must say I am surprised at your coming here,’ he added. ‘I thought Jorge had already made it clear to you that the affair was over. You should have persuaded him to pay for his pleasure at the time, Miss James,’ he told her contemptuously. ‘Now it is too late; now he sees you for what you really are.’ His lip curled, and Jessica went hot and cold to think of Isabel being forced to stand here and listen to these insults.

‘Your brother loved m-my … me,’ she corrected herself hurriedly. ‘He …’

‘—Desired your body,’ she was told flatly, ‘and in his innocence mistook such desire for a far different emotion—a fact which you used to your advantage, using his lust for you to force him …’

‘Just a moment!’ she inserted, with a sudden resurgence of her normal coolness. ‘If you are implying that Jorge was forced into …’

‘Oh, I am aware that there was no question of “force” as such,’ the icy voice agreed. ‘Bemused, dazzled, dragged out of his depth—these would perhaps be better descriptions. You are an attractive woman,’ he told her, openly assessing the shape of her body beneath the thin silk, ‘not perhaps in Jorge’s usual style, but no matter … Of course I realise why you are here. I suppose you thought that a personal appearance might be just the goad he needed. Absence makes the heart grow fonder—of someone else, is that it?’

Matters had gone far enough. There was a limit to the amount of time she intended to simply stand there and allow him to insult her.

‘Before we go any further, I ought to tell you that I have no desire at all to become engaged to your brother,’ Jessica told him truthfully, ‘In fact …’

‘Oh, come, you cannot expect me to believe that?’ he said softly. ‘Perhaps I should refresh your memory. I have here your last letter to Jorge. He brought it to me in a very troubled frame of mind. It seems that while he enjoyed your … company, the constant pressure you put on him to announce your engagement has panicked him into confiding in me.’

‘You having considerable experience of ridding yourself of unwanted women, I suppose?’ Jessica supplied sweetly. ‘One of the penalties of being wealthy!’

The dark flush of colour beneath his skin brought her a fierce sense of satisfaction. He hadn’t liked her implication that women would only find him attractive for his wealth, and she knew it wasn’t true. He was too intensely male for that. She found herself wondering if he was married, and then squashed the thought as being of no concern to her.

‘You must accept that Jorge no longer wishes to have anything to do with you,’ she was told implacably, ‘and even if he did, I would do everything in my power to dissuade him from marrying a woman like you. What attracted you to him the most? Or can I guess?’

‘If you did you’d be wrong,’ Jessica told him in a clipped voice. ‘As I’ve already said, I have no desire to marry your brother.’

‘No?’ With a swift movement he reached inside his jacket and removed a folded piece of paper. ‘Read this—perhaps it will help you remember,’ he said contemptuously.

Unwillingly Jessica took the letter, her fingertips brushing him as she did, strange quivers of sensation running up her arm as she recoiled from the brief contact.

Matters had gone far enough. She would have to tell him the truth. She opened the letter, and her heart dropped. She had barely done more than read the first couple of lines, skimming quickly over them, but it was enough to bring a burning colour to her face. Isabel and Jorge had been lovers—that much was obvious; as was Isabel’s impassioned plea for Jorge to marry her. What on earth had possessed her cousin to write a letter like this? Jessica felt sick at the thought of her aunt and uncle reading it; and what about John? Why on earth hadn’t Isabel warned her? And why had she been so convinced that Jorge intended to come to England? To judge from his brother, the young Spaniard wanted to escape from the relationship just as much as Isabel herself.

‘Edifying, is it not?’ her persecutor drawled insultingly. ‘And I understand from Jorge—although he was reluctant to admit it—that he was far from being your first lover.’

Jessica’s eyes widened, mirroring her shock. Was it true?

‘So, obviously realising that your letter had failed, you decided to come in person. Why, I wonder? It must surely be obvious to you by now that Jorge does not wish to marry you.’

What on earth had Isabel got her into?

For a moment she contemplated telling the truth, but to do so meant betraying her cousin. She had protected Isabel for too long to stop now.

‘Perhaps, failing marriage, you had something else in mind?’ The soft suggestion held a trace of bitter contempt. ‘I know Jorge has told you of the marriage his family had hoped might take place between him and the daughter of a close friend of ours—a marriage, I might add, which would stand a far greater chance of success than the one you proposed. Perhaps you hoped to turn this fact to your advantage. Barbara’s family are very old-fashioned. They would be intolerant of any folly on Jorge’s part.’

Jessica went white, reaching out blindly to grasp the back of a chair for support as the meaning of his words sank in.

‘You thought I’d use blackmail!’ she whispered disbelievingly. ‘You thought I came here to … to …’

‘Very affecting,’ the cool voice mocked. ‘But I am not Jorge, to be easily impressed by a pair of huge amber eyes that plead with me to believe in an innocence I know they cannot possess. You are several years older than my brother; you used his inexperience and calf love for you to further your own ends. You must have known that his family would never tolerate such an alliance—so, Miss James, let us get down to business, shall we?’

‘If by business you mean you’ll pay me to forget any claims I might have on your brother, you’re wasting your time!’ Jessica told him furiously, too angry to care about the danger emanating from him as she pushed bitterly past him, blinking away tears of rage as she wrestled with the huge front door. She could hear him behind her, and the terrible fear that he would never allow her to leave made the blood pound in her head, her fingers trembling as she tugged at the door.

He swore harshly and she felt his hand on her shoulder, sobbing with relief as the door yielded and she half stumbled into the street. Her taxi was waiting and she flung herself into it without a backward glance, not caring what conclusions her driver might be drawing. The first thing she intended to do when she got back to the hotel was to put a call through to her cousin and find out exactly what was going on.

Fortunately, it was her aunt and uncle’s bridge night, and Isabel answered the phone, her pleasure turning to petulance as she recognised the anger in Jessica’s voice.

‘You saw Sebastian?’ she exclaimed nervously. ‘Oh, no, Jess, what did he say?’

She had a good mind to tell her, Jessica thought wrathfully. So Sebastian was his name; it suited him somehow.

‘Nothing flattering,’ she told Isabel grimly. ‘In fact he seemed to think I was you. Oh, Belle,’ she exclaimed as the scene in the vast and opulent drawing room flashed quickly through her mind, ‘you should have warned me, told me the truth. Why on earth did you want me to come here? Sebastian told me that Jorge had no desire to become engaged to you, he even showed me your letter.’

She knew from the sudden catch in her breath that Isabel hadn’t expected that, and yet true to form her cousin, even now, seemed to be trying to turn the situation to her own advantage.

‘You didn’t tell him he was wrong, did you?’ she asked quickly, ‘about us, I mean, Jess?’

‘I wasn’t given the opportunity,’ Jessica told her dryly. It hadn’t been pleasant listening to what the arrogant Conde had to say, and some of his more stinging barbs still hurt.