At the Spanish Duke's Command (3 page)

J
UAN
woke at the second ring of the phone next to his bed. Groggily he switched on the bedside lamp. Then he glanced at the clock.
Dios mio
, it was four a.m. Who on earth could be calling him at this hour?

“Dígame?”
he said, brows meeting in surprise over the ridge of his nose as he sat up abruptly. Calls in the middle of the night never spelled anything good.

“Am I speaking to His Grace the Duke of Caniza?” a deep voice asked.

“You are,” Juan replied warily, his attention fully focused now.

“This is the police.”

“The police?” He was fully alert.

“Yes. We have a young English lady here by the name of Georgiana Cavendish.” The officer pronounced the name with difficulty. “She claims to be staying at your address.”

“That is correct,” Juan replied stiffly. “What is she doing in your station?”

“There has been a traffic incident,” the officer answered lugubriously. “The young man she was with was speeding on the Avenida Generalissimo. He was stopped and breathalysed.”

“But no one was hurt?” He felt a familiar rush of anxiety.

“No, Your Grace. Both are fine.”

“I see. Then why is Miss Cavendish being held?”

“She's not. But as I understand the girl is under your protection,
Excellencia
, I didn't think it would be appropriate—”

“She's not a minor. She's nineteen years old,” he snapped.

“I know,
Excellencia
, but a young girl like that shouldn't be out on her own with wild young men who are driving under the influence,” the officer said repressively. “I am a father myself, of two daughters. I felt it was my duty to inform whoever is in charge of her.”

“Quite right, Officer. Thank you,” Juan replied dryly. “I suppose you wish me to come and pick her up?”

“Well, sir, I think that under the circumstances that would be best.”

“Very well. Please inform Miss Cavendish that I shall be there in under half an hour.”

Juan hung up the phone and, swearing under his breath, went to the bathroom, where he splashed cold water over his face. Damn it, he should have known this would end in trouble. Dragging on a pair of jeans, a shirt and some loafers, he grabbed his tan suede jacket and his car keys and headed down to the basement garage.

His anger towards Georgiana smouldered as the lift descended. She was a pest, a thorough nuisance, and the sooner she packed her bags and left Madrid the happier he would be.

Minutes later the Ferrari roared down the half-empty Paseo de la Castellana towards the address of the police station the officer had given him.

By the time he walked into the unprepossessing building his temper had risen another few notches. The sight of Georgiana sitting sulkily on a wooden bench did nothing to abate it.

Ignoring her, Juan spoke directly with the officer in charge.

“I'm very sorry that you have been caused so much trouble, Officer,” he said, flashing his most charming smile.

“Oh, it's not too serious,
Excellencia
. Not for her, anyway. The young man is a different matter. These young people with fast sports cars are all the same.” The older man shook his head. “Irresponsible, I'm afraid. I blame the parents,” he continued with a sigh. “And if I may be permitted to say so,
Excellencia
,” he added, lowering his voice, “you'd be wise to keep an eye on her in future. A pretty girl like that let loose on the town can only cause trouble,” he murmured in a man-to-man tone.

“My sentiments exactly,” Juan answered. “Now, if you'll allow me, Officer, I shall relieve you of this bothersome charge.”

Georgiana, who'd been listening to the interchange, underwent an immediate change of attitude. She'd felt ashamed, then embarrassed, then grateful to Juan for rescuing her. Now, as he turned and looked her over with that arrogant, possessive stare, she wished she'd never mentioned his wretched name. She sent him a hostile glare. It would have been far preferable to spend a night in jail than be subjected to his insufferable manners.

“Come on,” he said, without so much as a smile. “You've caused enough bother around here for one evening.”

Then he turned to the officer and took his leave, making Georgiana feel like a recalcitrant schoolgirl being shepherded out of the headmistress's office by an angry parent. But since there was no alternative she obeyed reluctantly, walking before him to the Ferrari parked on the kerb, her head held high. Serve him right if he got a ticket, she reflected sourly, slamming the door as she got in, her previ
ous gratitude to him fading completely as Juan's forbidding figure entered the vehicle.

Georgiana sat staring straight ahead.

Juan didn't say a word, merely gunned the engine and drove off at a sedate pace down the wide avenue. If only he'd explode, at least then she could rave back at him, Georgiana reflected grudgingly. Nothing could be worse than this dreadful silence.

Out of the corner of her eye she took a peek at him. He looked stern and she swallowed.

Then all at once the vehicle came to a stop in front of a café that appeared open despite the early hour.

“Get out,” Juan commanded once he'd parked the vehicle.

“I don't want to get out,” Georgiana demurred, stubbornly crossing her arms. “I'm tired. I want to go home.”

“I don't wish to repeat myself, Georgiana,” Juan murmured dangerously.

“I—”

“Haven't I made myself clear?” he enquired, in a low, menacing tone that left her in no doubt that should she not obey he would find a way of making her.

It went against the grain, but slowly she exited the car, and with as much dignity as she could muster entered the café.

Soon they were seated at a table. Juan ordered in quick Spanish. And, despite her wish to stay cool and indifferent, Georgiana realised that she was more shocked by the incident that had occurred than she cared to show. All at once she realised just how cold and hungry she was. The order of
chocolate con churros
—delicious hot chocolate and the deep-fried fritters dipped in sugar that she'd learned to love in the past few weeks—would be very welcome and comforting. A sudden rush of tears burned her eyes as weariness
and fright hit her unexpectedly. She swallowed and turned quickly away, determined not to show weakness.

Juan was about to give Georgiana a harsh talking-to when he noted her hands, clenched and white, trembling in her lap. He glanced at her face, partially hidden by the long silky mane. The sight of a single tear rolling down her cheek made him sigh.

And just as his anger had flared so it abated.

She was, after all, a very young girl with little experience of life. What had happened to her was no different from what happened to many other young people, and it would merely serve as a lesson. A smile hovered about his lips and tenderness surged. He slipped a hand over her trembling fingers.

“Now, now,
querida
, don't be upset. What happened was stupid and unnecessary, but it's over,” he said softly.

Georgiana sniffed and Juan removed a large white pocket handkerchief from his jacket. Slipping his hand under her chin, he turned her face towards him. God, she was lovely, he realised with a jerk. Beautifully, deliciously lovely. Those huge green eyes were tearful and misty, her breasts heaving as she tried to control her distress.

Juan got up and went around the table to sit next to her. “There, there,” he said, wiping the tears with his hanky, “
No llores, cariña.
Please don't cry. It's all right.” He slipped a reassuring arm around her shoulders and drew her head onto his shoulder. “Let it out and stop worrying. You're safe now.”

Georgiana could hardly believe his words, or the extraordinary sensation of relief she experienced when Juan's arm came about her and her cheek rested on his taut muscled shoulder. It only made her want to cry harder. She gulped, took the hanky from him and blew her nose, unable to
believe this was the same man who half an hour ago had picked her up at the police station.

“I'm really t-terribly s-sorry to have caused you so much trouble,” she gulped. “I woke you up in the middle of the night,” she added in a muffled whisper into his shirt-front.

“Shush. Look, here are the
churros
and the chocolate. Now, sit up and have some. You'll feel better.” Gently he drew her up. “Eat this,” he said, dipping a sugar-coated
churro
into the piping hot, thick dark chocolate, then holding it close for her to eat.

“Thank you.” Georgiana swallowed, heaved a shaky sigh, and nibbled. It was warm and comforting, and all at once she began to feel better. “I really am sorry,” she said between bites, determined to expiate her sin.

“I know,” he murmured, a smile hovering. “You've told me several times. Now, drink your chocolate and stop worrying. It's over. Just make sure it doesn't happen again,” he said with mock severity, the twinkle in his eyes belying his tone.

Georgiana smiled at last. “You've been so decent about all this.” She hesitated, then looked deep into his eyes. “You—you won't tell the Condessa—or my mother?” she begged in a tentative tone.

“That depends on how you plan to behave in the future,” he answered, a speculative grin forming on his handsome face.

“But that's blackmail!” Georgiana exclaimed, nearly dropping the
churro
, his comment jolting her back to her old self as he'd intended. “That's outrageous. You're going to hold this over me like a—a—”

“Sword of Damocles?” he enquired helpfully.

“Exactly. You can't do that,” she muttered hotly.

“Can't I?” The speculative smile deepened.

“Absolutely not. It's outrageous.”

Did she have any idea how perfectly lovely she was? Those bright green eyes were filled with the remains of tears and righteous anger, her breasts, outlined by the tight T-shirt, thrust out unwittingly as she flounced at him. All at once, unable to resist, Juan snaked his hand behind her neck and drew her to him.

“Oh!” A small exclamation escaped her parted lips. The next thing she knew she was enveloped in Juan's well-worked-out arms. His lips prised open hers, and his tongue played havoc with her senses.

Georgiana had been kissed before. But those kisses had consisted of over-anxious teenage forays into the new-found realm of petting. Never, in the course of her short existence, had she experienced anything close to this. Part of her wanted to shove him away, protest. But as his mouth worked on hers shafts of heat soared and thrust into her pelvis, leaving her limp, weak and moist. Her breasts cleaved to his chest and she felt her nipples harden. Her hands instinctively threaded into his thick black hair and she let out a sigh, giving way to the delicious ardour of her first real kiss.

Then, just as he had taken her, he pulled away.

“Dios mio!”
he exclaimed, dragging his fingers through his hair and signalling the waiter for the bill.

Still recovering from the whirlwind sensations, Georgiana watched silently as he paid. Then, before she had time to regroup, he grabbed her arm and marched her firmly out of the café.

“Juan—I—what happened?”

“Something that never should have.” He stopped abruptly, placed his hands on her shoulders and stood her away from him. “Stay out of my way, Georgiana. For your own good.”

“But, what—?”

“Don't. It was my fault. I should never have done that. I'm sorry.” Then without another word he walked to the car, opened the door for her punctiliously, then, once she was inside, closed it.

They drove home in heavy silence.

Juan seethed inwardly, furious at himself for giving way to temptation. He had no business kissing this girl. He was about to become engaged to Leticia. This girl was staying in his house—under his protection. It was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the building, and parked in the garage, Georgiana stepped shakily out of the car. Then they boarded the elevator and rode it in complete silence. On the top-floor landing Juan unlocked the apartment door carefully. No one was about.

“Go to your room quickly,” he whispered.

“Juan, can't we talk about what happened?” Georgiana whispered back.

“There is nothing to talk about. I made a mistake. I'm sorry. Forget it. Now, go to bed and get some sleep,” he commanded.

Reluctantly Georgiana slipped down the wide corridor and carefully opened the door to her room. Inside, she flopped on the bed and sighed, still trying to assimilate all that occurred during the course of the evening. But all that stuck was the lasting sensation of Juan's lips on hers.

Finally closing her eyes and pulling the covers over her, Georgiana crawled into bed and allowed sleep to overtake her. But even as she dreamed a new awareness took hold. Something deep within her had changed.

And she liked it.

 

Juan entered the study and poured himself a stiff whisky.
Por Dios,
where was his head at? How could he have been
so irresponsible? He'd actually kissed Georgiana. At the thought of the kiss he dropped into the worn leather armchair that had belonged to his late father and let out a groan. He leaned back, closed his eyes and sighed. It was years since he'd felt anything like it—years since he'd experienced that unique coiling sensation of delight as his lips touched a woman's.

And there had been many women.

But until tonight there had been none to replace Leonora, the lovely young girl he'd once loved and who'd been wrenched from him so suddenly in a terrible boat crash one summer, when she was holidaying with her family in Ibiza. Taking a gulp of whisky, he drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. Just thinking of Leonora still had the power to hurt him, even though the accident had occurred twelve years ago. And tonight Georgiana's soft, compliant lips, resistant at first, then melting so deliciously, and the tender, spontaneous gesture of her fingers threading his hair had left him undone.