At the Spanish Duke's Command (11 page)

“Very well. Is there anything I can do to help?” Juan said, throwing Georgiana a measured glance that did not escape Leticia's notice.

What was going on? she wondered, exercising her smart brain. Had she missed something? A sudden thought crossed her mind, but she banished it as quickly as it came. Impossible. Juan would never seduce a young woman living under his own roof.

Or would he?

 

As he settled on the bar stool next to Georgiana, Juan masked his relief at having discovered her whereabouts. He'd spent several horrifying minutes wondering where she was headed. Now at least he had her back where he could take charge. Still, she could not have chosen a more inappropriate spot to have taken refuge.

All at once he wondered what had driven him to Leticia's. It must have been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Perhaps because he considered her a good friend?

He tried to remain oblivious to Georgiana's presence next to him. But it was impossible. He felt irrefutably drawn to her, wished he could slip his arms around her and wipe away that tired, wan expression. A sudden rush of guilt overtook him as he recognised that he was probably responsible for whatever it was ailing her. What right had he to put her through so much agony when he was engaged
to the woman opposite? Why, he wondered, annoyed, couldn't he feel for Leticia the passionate desire that gripped him the minute he set eyes on Georgiana? And why did life in its infinite cynicism have to play such twisted, torturous games?

It was eleven o'clock by the time they'd finished supper, and despite the initial tension Georgiana was surprised at what a pleasant time they'd ended up spending. She felt calmer and more able to face the upcoming ordeal of driving home with Juan. As they took their leave she thanked Leticia and promised to call the next day to set up a fitting with Geraldo, the dress designer, and his team.

Then she and Juan entered the lift and a tense silence descended upon them. For a moment Georgiana shifted nervously, wanting to say something—anything—to break the tension. Suddenly she decided she was too tired, and had too much to deal with, to be worried about Juan and whether he was cross or not. He would just have to bear with her as she was, silent and unforthcoming. It was bad enough that she was carrying his child and couldn't tell him.

The thought made tears rush to her eyes once more, and she turned away lest he see how distraught she'd become.

 

Juan watched her closely, saw the tears welling and clenched his fingers. His heart seethed with anger and frustration. If he leaned closer and wiped them from her cheeks he was aware of what was likely to follow—knew he would not resist taking her into his arms with all the inevitable consequences.

“Why are you crying?” he said harshly as the doors of the lift opened at the garage floor.

“Why should you care?” she replied in a tense, muffled voice.

“Because I care for what you feel,” he said in a cold, haughty tone, masking his inner emotion.

“You could have fooled me,” Georgiana responded, gulping a sob, trying desperately to control the tears that wouldn't stop pouring down her cheeks.

“Georgiana, stop. This is ridiculous.” Juan grabbed her arm and whirled her around so that she faced him. “I refuse to let you remain in this state,” he cried, his dark eyes searching her wet green ones anxiously.

“You refuse?” she repeated, shaking her head, anguished. “You, Juan—always you, you, you. Never poor Leticia upstairs, whom you're deceiving, or even me. How do you think I feel about all this? Do you think I'm proud of myself? That I feel good going behind the back of one of the kindest, nicest women I've ever met? What do you think she would say if she knew what had happened between us a month before her wedding?” she threw, glaring up at him through her tears.

Juan hesitated. “Georgiana,” he murmured, his voice softening. He was unable to resist her pleading eyes, the righteous anger and the mixed emotions churning in her breast. “I don't feel proud of myself either. In fact, very much the opposite. But tell me, my little one—” his hand reached out, despite his determination to keep her at arm's length “—can you truthfully say that you regret the moments we spent in each other's arms? I know I should think it wrong. But I'm afraid I can't. But neither can I put an end to my engagement. That too would be wrong. So you see,
querida
, I'm caught
entre la cruz y la espada
—between the devil and the deep blue sea, as you would say in English. I want you. More than I've wanted anyone or anything for a very long time. I can't begin to tell you my feelings. By the same token I know I mustn't, shouldn't
allow this to continue, for in the end you are the one who will get hurt.”

“I already am hurt, Juan. Far more than you will ever know,” she said bitterly.

“
Mi niña
, you must believe me when I say that I would do anything to avoid this pain you are enduring. But there is unfortunately nothing I can do.” He drew her close and held her in his arms, feeling her resistance wane as he stroked her back, brought her head gently onto his shoulder and held it there, soothing, wishing for the life of him that things could be otherwise.

But they weren't. And the sooner he faced this unalterable fact the better.

F
EELING
his arms around her was too much to bear, and Georgiana let out a long shaky sigh.

Sensing rather than hearing her gesture of submission, Juan raised her face and, brushing her golden mane aside, dropped a slow, tender kiss on her lips. “Come,” he said softly, “we must leave now.”

Gently he led her to the car, knowing she was exhausted. He would drive her home and think about where all this was leading later. Right now she needed a hot bath and some tea. He'd noticed how little she ate at Leticia's, how pinched and pale she looked, how utterly miserable. And he reproached himself for being the cause of her misery. He should have known better, controlled his emotions where Georgiana was concerned, he reflected, eyeing her wan face before backing out of the parking spot and driving up to the subterranean garage door which opened automatically.

Soon they were heading towards the Castellana.

Georgiana sat in silence, too tired to think, too unhappy to do more than lean back in the low leather seat and close her eyes. She wished that none of this had ever happened, haunted by the thought of the baby growing inside her.

When they arrived Juan did not go down to the garage but stopped in front of the building, where the night porter hastened out to greet them.

“Buenas noches.”
Juan answered the man's greeting
briefly, before taking Georgiana's arm and walking with her across the marble hall to the lifts. “Are you all right?” he asked with concern when she nearly stumbled.

“I'm fine. Just very tired.”

“Tomorrow we must talk.”

“Juan, why don't we simply face it? There's nothing to talk about. You're marrying Leticia in less than two weeks. End of story.”

“It isn't quite as simple as that,” he muttered, pressing the lift button.

“Yes, it is,” she murmured, closing her eyes, wishing he wouldn't go on making it worse. “Let's just get through the wedding, get it over with, then I can leave and you can get on with your new life.”

“Do you think it is that easy?” he threw, a slash of colour heightening his cheekbones. “That I can let you go without so much as a backward glance?”

“I'm afraid you've no choice in the matter,” she whispered as the elevator reached the landing and he stood aside for her to exit.

“That we shall discuss tomorrow, when you are less tired,” he dismissed, slipping his key in the front door. “Right now you need to go to bed and get a good night's sleep,
querida
. After that you'll be able to think straighter.”

She was too tired to argue.

What did it matter what he thought or said? He had no idea of the true consequences of their thoughtless lovemaking. Only she knew the price that would eventually have to be paid.

But then it would be too late.

He would be safely married to Leticia and whatever she decided would be nothing to do with him.

But did she have the right to make decisions regarding the baby without consulting him? she wondered, as tiredly
she undressed and donned her pyjamas. Was it wrong not to tell him that she was carrying his child?

Still torturing herself for answers, Georgiana climbed into bed and turned out the bedside lamp. But sleep wouldn't come right away. It was as though her body and her mind were two separate entities that wouldn't coordinate. She stared out of the window at the full moon glistening through the crack in the curtains until at last her eyes closed and troubled sleep enveloped her.

 

In his own bedroom, several doors down, sleep eluded Juan also. As of the moment he'd set eyes on Georgiana earlier this evening he'd experienced a rush of relief that he'd found her once more. But what had shocked him was the realisation of just how worried he'd been. Yes, he'd been angry; yes, he'd been put out by her act of rebellion—but the feeling that overpowered all others and that for some inexplicable reason had led him to Leticia's unlikely door was the fear that he had lost her for ever.

Now, as he paced the bedroom, he stopped and faced the fireplace. With a frustrated movement he dragged his fingers through his hair and let out an oath. He could not let her go—couldn't bear the thought of her in another man's arms, experiencing all that she had with him.

Yet what other options were there?

All at once Juan sat down heavily in the nearest armchair. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees and racked his brain for a solution. Why couldn't he just walk away from Georgiana, as he had from all the others over the years? Surely he wasn't that smitten?

Or was he?

 

Minutes away, in the bookcase-lined bedroom of her flat, Leticia was dealing with her own qualms. The look on
Georgiana's face when Juan had walked into the kitchen had not escaped her. Neither had the heightened colour slashing his cheekbones gone unnoticed. Something was going on with those two. And if her suspicions were correct then she must do something about it immediately. She could not allow matters to continue in this vein, with her marriage just around the corner.

She'd thought so much over the past few hours that her mind was in a flurry. But as she undressed and prepared for bed her decision was taken.

And the sooner she got on with it the better it would be for all of them.

 

Next morning Georgiana felt thoroughly sick. Knowing she was too tired to get up, she sent an excuse to the Condessa with one of the maids for not appearing at breakfast. All she could think about was time—passing all too fast, narrowing her options, forcing her to take a decision which she wished she could share but knew to be hers alone.

What, she wondered, would it be like to bring up a baby all on her own? Her mother would be upset at first, but she knew that she could count on Lady Cavendish's support. But what of her own life? Was she ready at this early age to give up her youth to bringing up a baby alone? Of course lots of people did it, she argued, touching her belly, a wave of emotion sweeping over her as she thought of the tiny embryo inside, that speck of life upon whose existence she must decide.

Suddenly tears rushed down her cheeks and she turned into the pillow, stifling them. How could she ever have thought of getting rid of Juan's baby? After all, the child was all she would have left of him in a few days' time. For once the wedding had taken place there would be no more room for her in his life.

Perhaps it was for the best.

Suddenly a plan emerged in her hazed brain. And with it determination surged.

She would do it.

For him.

For her.

And for their child.

Slowly Georgiana got up, thankful she'd made it to the bathroom without being sick. Then she showered and dressed and, picking up some books, headed down the corridor to the hall. Mercifully there was no sign of either Juan or the Condessa. After telling Fernando she felt much better she let him order her a taxi to take her to the university.

 

Two days later Georgiana began to execute her plan. It was wrong, she knew, to make Sven a pawn in her game, but what else could she do?

Making sure it would be at a moment when she was certain Juan would be at home, Georgiana got Sven to come and pick her up at the apartment.

“I'm going out tonight,” she said to the Condessa, wondering whether Juan was about. “Do I look all right?” she asked, smiling bravely. “I'm going to dinner with one of my boyfriends from school.”

“How nice for you.” The Condessa smiled. “Is he very handsome?” she asked with a mischievous smile.

“Very.” Georgiana pretended enthusiasm she was far from feeling. “He's Swedish. Very tall and good-looking. We've been seeing each other a bit,” she added, hoping that, as it nearly always had before, this information would be relayed to Juan.

At that moment the doorbell rang, and several seconds later Fernando announced that Señorita Georgiana's escort was waiting for her in the hall.

“Thank you, Fernando. And please don't wait up. I'll probably be very late.”

“Very well,
señorita
.” He bowed and smiled, and she kissed the Condessa goodnight and made a good show of slipping excitedly from the room when in fact she was dreading the evening up ahead.

At least the movie would mean she wouldn't have to make conversation with poor Sven. With a sigh she entered the lift. A few evenings like this and she'd be ready to execute her plan. It wasn't great, but it was the best she could come up with.

 

Juan returned from an impossibly long day in the office only to learn from the Condessa that Georgiana had gone out with a handsome young man called Sven from the university.

Despite knowing that he should be pleased she was at last breaking loose from him and picking up the threads of a normal life Juan experienced nothing but hot rage. Masking it, he poured himself a stiff whisky and went to answer one of the many messages Leticia had left on his mobile.

“I'm sorry I wasn't able to get back to you. It's been an impossible day,” he apologised to her, flopping in an armchair, still distracted by the thought of Georgiana out with another man.

“Juan, I need to speak to you privately.”

“What about?”

“I can't talk about it over the phone.”

“Is it terribly urgent?” he asked reluctantly. “I'm beat tonight, and tomorrow's shaping up as another long day; can't this wait until the weekend?”

“I don't think so. The sooner I see you, the better. But if you're too tired tonight we can find a moment tomorrow. I can come to your office, if you like. But I must speak to you.”

Juan frowned. “Is something wrong, Letti?”

“Yes. No. I don't know. I just—” She stopped, then said in a rush, “There's something we need to discuss. Something that could affect our—our life together.”

The frown deepened. “I see. Well, that sounds rather serious.”

“It is. Which is why the sooner we discuss it the better.”

“Very well. I'll ring you in the morning as soon as I know how the day looks. But, Letti?”

“Yes?”

“There's nothing that can't be sorted out, okay?”

“Okay,” she answered unhappily down the line. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,
querida
.”

Juan switched off the phone and stared into space. Had she guessed about Georgiana? Was she worried for the future? What a situation: here he was, marrying a woman whose company he enjoyed as nothing but a good friend, when all the time he was crazily in love with another.

The sudden realisation made him get up and, smothering an oath, bring his hand down sharply on the back of the chair.

It was impossible.

It couldn't be.

Yet how else could he explain the myriad of feelings he experienced for Georgiana? Never since Leonora's untimely death had he felt such deep feelings for any woman.

All at once Juan recognised the blinding truth: he was in love.

And, despite this truth, it was too late for them.

 

Only a few more days of having to play the game, Georgiana told herself as she stood stock still while the de
signer's assistants pinned and measured under Geraldo's vigilant eye.

“I think we shall reach a fine result.” Geraldo, slim and black-Lycra-clad, cast a last critical glance at his
chef d'oeuvre
. “Ah!” he exclaimed, twirling around. “Here comes the bride herself. Leticia, darling,” he said mincing in her direction, “how gorgeous to see you.” He wafted over to Letti, who walked in briskly as usual, her briefcase tucked under her arm, wearing one of her smart business suits and a pair of low-heeled shoes.

“
Hola
, Geraldo.” She kissed him back, then turned towards Georgiana. “You look perfectly lovely,” she said, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Really exquisite. But still a little tired,” she said in a low aside.

Moving towards Georgiana standing uncomfortably in front of the three-way mirror, Leticia kissed her on both cheeks and placed her hands on her shoulders. She glanced back quickly, but Geraldo was moving about the studio delivering orders to his minions, who scuttled hither and thither at his command.

“Georgiana, I know this is none of my business,” she said at last, “but I have the feeling something is not right in your life.”

“Oh, I'm fine,” Georgiana lied hurriedly, mustering a brave smile and trying to look relaxed.

“Are you sure?” Leticia's piercing glance was hard to avoid. “I get the impression that something isn't right at all. And I want you to know that
whatever
it is—” she put emphasis on the word “whatever” “—I am your friend. If you ever wish to confide in me your confidence would go no further. Remember I am a lawyer. I am used to client-attorney confidentiality.” She smiled and squeezed Georgiana's shoulders.

“I—I'm really all right,” Georgiana said, swallowing the knot forming in her throat. “Just a little tired, as you remarked.”

“Very well.” Leticia sighed. “I won't insist. But remember, if you need me you can call. Day or night. No problem.” She removed her hands from Georgiana's shoulders and proceeded to inspect the dress. “I think it's rather a success, don't you? Though, actually, as it's white, you will look much more of a bride than I will,” she said with a good-humoured laugh. “Geraldo, doesn't she look divine?”

“Gorgeous, darling—simply
divina
,
lindissima
,” Geraldo cooed, clasping his hands in awe and gazing lovingly at the object of his own brilliance. “I really do come up with masterpieces from time to time, don't I?” he added modestly.

Leticia and Georgiana's eyes crossed in the mirror and for a moment they were in strong danger of bursting into fits of giggles. Mercifully Geraldo hurried off, hands waving, with more orders for his troops, and the girls were able to give way to their mirth.