Читать книгу One Night Of Consequences Collection - Ким Лоренс, Annie West - Страница 70
ОглавлениеTHE NEXT FEW weeks fled by in a blur. We spent our days doing the work of the estate, talking to tenants and managing the house. I started painting in the garden in the morning, and played with our baby on the floor of Alejandro’s home office as he worked on the computer and spoke on the phone to employees around the world.
“I begrudge them every hour,” he told me, stroking my cheek. “I would rather spend it with you.”
My heart sang as the birds did, flying free through the lush green trees, across the wide blue Spanish sky. But eventually, Alejandro had to go on a business trip. “Madrid?” I pouted.
He laughed. “Granada.”
“Isn’t that where the Alhambra is?” I said eagerly, picturing the famous Moorish castle. “I’ll come with you!”
He shook his head. “It will be a one-day trip, there and back. Very boring. Stay here with Miguel. Paint. Enjoy your day.” He kissed my temple and said huskily, “I’ll be back before bedtime.”
Then he kissed me adios until my toes curled.
But after he’d gone, all the fears and shadows came back crashing around me, without Alejandro’s warmth and strength to hide behind.
Was he really going to do business in Granada, as he’d said? Or was he there for some other reason?
Was this his lie?
Don’t think about it, I ordered my trembling heart, but it was impossible, now that I loved him.
I feared knowing the truth.
I feared never knowing it.
“Dear?” I heard Maurine’s tremulous voice. “I wonder if I could ask you a favor?”
“Of course,” I said, desperate for distraction.
She smiled at me. “You are such a talented artist. I love the paintings you’ve done of my roses. You are the only one who’s ever done them justice.” As I blushed, she continued, “Alejandro’s birthday is next month. Would you do a portrait of me and Miguel, in the rose garden...?”
“I’d love to!” I exclaimed, my mind immediately filled with painting materials, size and composition. I went into Seville for supplies, and by late afternoon, after Miguel’s nap, the three of us were outside. I propped up an easel in front of where they sat on a bench, surrounded by greenery and red, yellow and pink roses.
The warm Spanish sun filtered golden light over the garden as I painted the portrait of the dowager Duchess of Alzacar and her great-grandbaby, the future duke.
Maurine’s lovely white hair was like a soft cloud around her twinkling eyes and smiling face. I drew her outline in loose strokes. That was easy, compared with the challenge of the wiggling, giggling baby in her lap. But I’d painted and drawn my son so many times over the past six months, I knew his chubby face by heart. I could have done it blindfolded.
I smiled to myself, picturing how happy Alejandro would be at the gift, reaching up to adjust the floppy pink hat I was wearing to keep the sunlight out of my eyes. Maurine chattered nonstop, while entertaining the baby in her lap. She told me how she’d first fallen in love with her husband, who’d had a title, “though it seemed useless enough, with no hope of returning to Spain, with the political situation,” and absolutely no money or marketable skills. “It’s so much easier to know how to work when you’ve been raised to it. My husband had spent his adult life sleeping in the spare rooms of rich friends from his Eton days.”
“Sounds like my father. He wanted to work, but didn’t know how.”
“It’s the upbringing, I think. Even when we finally returned to Spain, with the Navaro fortune lost, Rodrigo had no idea how to pay for the upkeep of this castle. It’s not like the old days, when a duke could simply demand peasants give him tribute.” She gave a soft laugh. “He was desperate to keep the title and the land, for the sake of his family’s history. I loved him, so I did my best to help.” She looked away, blinking fast. “I sold oranges from the orchard and gave castle tours. Sadly, our son was no better with money—the earning of it, I mean, not the spending of it. By the time Alejandro became duke, the roof of the castle was caving in, we were mortgaged to the hilt, and I was beginning to think I’d spend my elderly years begging on the streets, or selling oranges at street corners.”
I laughed. “As if Alejandro would ever allow that.” I smiled, remembering his bossy ways when he’d informed me that taking financial care of us was his job. “He, at least, had no trouble figuring out how to make money.”
“No.” She smiled, playing patty-cake with the baby. “But of course, his background is so different. He didn’t have an overbearing father constantly telling him how an aristocrat was supposed to behave. The small silver lining of having no father at all, I suppose....”
“No father?” Frowning, I lifted the brush off the canvas. I looked around the easel. “But Alejandro’s father was the duke. Your son.”
Maurine looked up at me sharply, her face oddly pale. “Oh, yes. Of course.”
I gave a laugh. “Is the sun getting to you, Maurine?”
“I’m an old woman. I get confused.” Her blue eyes suddenly wouldn’t meet mine. “But you’re right. I think I’ve been in the sun too long.”
She rose to her feet, still holding Miguel, who looked happy to be moving at last after so long sitting still. “I’m a little tired. I’ll have the staff bring you some lemonade. And maybe look for Alejandro’s hairbrush. Yes, his hairbrush...”
She left the rose garden without waiting for a reply. I stared after her, frowning. What did lemonade have to do with Alejandro’s hairbrush?
“I thought she would never leave.”
With a gasp, I whirled around. The paintbrush fell from my limp hand, landing with a soft thud into the grass.
Edward St. Cyr stood in the rose garden, near the thick hedge on the edge of the forest. Brambles had ripped the sleeves of his dark tailored jacket.
“Edward,” I breathed. “What are you doing here?”
He stopped five feet in front of me, looking down at me. His eyes were stark against his tanned face as he gazed at me hungrily. “You have no idea how I’ve wanted to see your face.”
He reached out a hand, but I stumbled backward, my long skirt dragging against the grass. Holding my floppy pink hat against my head, I glanced uneasily to the left and right.
Having him here, in Maurine’s rose garden—in Alejandro’s castle—felt all kinds of wrong. Like finding a deadly snake amid the lush flowers. “How did you get in here?”
His lips twisted. “It wasn’t easy.”
“I told you I never wanted to see you again!” I narrowed my eyes. “You must get out of here! Alejandro will kill you if he finds you here!”
“Ah, but he’s gone, isn’t he?”
I sucked in my breath.
“And as for your precious duke...” A low, guttural curse came from Edward’s lips. “I know you don’t want him.” He looked contemptuously around the lush, sunlit garden, to the stone walls of the castle just beyond the perfectly trimmed green hedges. “I’ve come to save you from this...prison.”
“It’s not a prison,” I retorted. “It’s my home! And Alejandro is no jailer. I...” I licked my lips, then whispered aloud, “I love him.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed, and his lips twisted downward, giving him an expression that was hard, even cruel.
“He seduced you, didn’t he?” He took another step toward me, and I again backed away, knocking over the easel behind me. I gulped as Edward slowly looked me over, from my hat to my long cotton skirt covered with an artist’s long smock. “He’s got to you.” He straightened, and this time his contemptuous glance was just for me, all for me. “You fell for his lines again.”
I took a deep breath.
“I love him,” I said quietly. “In a way I never loved you—and I never will.”
His hands tightened at his sides.
“The charming Duque de Alzacar. Beloved by all.” His lip curled. “Of course you’re faithful to him. But is he faithful to you?”
I drew myself up coldly. “Of course.”
“Are you sure?” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “You know, you must know, about the woman he visits in Granada?”
My lips parted. “Woman?”
“Ah,” Edward said, smiling. “You didn’t know. They have dinner together. Often. He bought her a tavern in the Albaicín district. Sometimes he even plays his guitar there. Singing old Spanish love songs. In front of everyone.”
My mouth went dry.
Alejandro hadn’t played his guitar for me. Not once.
Licking my lips, I croaked, “There are all kinds of reasons for...”
Edward moved in for the kill. “Sometimes he stays the night in the residence above her tavern. But sometimes,” he said softly, “he just goes for a quick visit. For the day.” His lips curled. “A bit of love in the afternoon.”
The chill turned to ice. I desperately tried to think of a reasonable explanation for why Alejandro hadn’t wanted me to come with him today.
I’ll come with you!
It will be a one-day trip, there and back. Very boring. Stay here with Miguel.
It was the nightmare I’d imagined when I’d refused to marry Alejandro. Except this was a million times worse.
Because I’d let myself love him.
“Lying to your face.” Edward came closer. “He has no shame. He thinks, in his arrogance, that he can have you, as well. He’s out enjoying himself—keeping you prisoner....”
“I’m not a prisoner,” I choked out.
He lifted a condescending eyebrow. “No?” He slowly looked around the rose garden. “I could make him pay,” he whispered. “I could make him regret.”
I gasped—not in fear, but in fury. “If you dare hurt him, I’ll...”
“Hurt him?” His blue eyes suddenly blazed. “He is the one you are worried about? Where was his concern for you when he left your heart in ashes?” He took another step toward me, his expression changing as he reached toward me almost wistfully. “Where is your love for me, for saving you...?”
I turned away, stepping back out of his reach. My voice was very cold. “I appreciated your friendship—until the moment I realized you had no time for my baby.”
“Lena, you can’t...”
“If you touch me, I’ll scream. And Alejandro will come running....”
Edward moved closer.
“He’s not here, though, is he?”
This time, the expression in his face scared me. For a moment, I stared at him, heart pounding. But as I opened my mouth to scream, like a miracle, I heard Alejandro’s voice from the other side of the garden.
“Lena? Are you out here?”
I nearly wept with relief.
“I’m here!” I shouted. “I’m here, Alejandro! In the rose garden!”
Shaking, I turned back to face Edward, but he was already gone, melted back into the forest.
“And don’t ever come back,” I whispered aloud. I prayed I’d never see him again. But I still heard his ugly words.
You know, you must know, about the woman he visits in Granada?
He was lying, I told myself. Alejandro told me he’d be loyal, that he’d been faithful for the past year, wanting only me....
But then, I remembered, he’d also told me he was a liar.
When I saw my husband’s strong, powerful body push through the trees to me, I nearly wept.
“Querida,” Alejandro murmured, kissing my forehead as he pulled me into his arms. “I came back early. I couldn’t bear to be away for...but what’s this?” He drew back, his handsome face the picture of concern. “You’re shaking.”
“It’s nothing,” I said. My teeth chattered. “M-my easel fell.”
“Ah.” He smiled at me, his dark eyes warm. “Let me take care of that.”
“Don’t look at the painting!” I cried. “It’s supposed to be a surprise. For your birthday.”
Good-naturedly covering his eyes, he handed me the canvas. “I didn’t see a thing.”
I took the painting, slightly smeared from the fall and half-finished, with Maurine and Miguel looking like ghosts. And I wished I’d covered my ears and not heard a thing when Edward had told me about the woman in Granada.
* * *
“It has occurred to me,” Alejandro murmured a week later, leaning over the sofa where I sat feeding Miguel, “that we never had a honeymoon.”
“Honeymoon?” I said, twisting my head to look back at him. I shook my head. “You mean, without Miguel?”
“Don’t worry.” He brushed the back of my neck with his fingertips, making me shiver. “I’m not thinking Tahiti. That will have to wait. But a single night, just a two-hour drive away, surely you could manage that?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know...”
“I promise you’ll enjoy it.” He stroked my hair, then gently kissed the crook of my neck, the edge between my shoulder and my neck. My shiver turned harder. “We will get a nice hotel. Go out for dinner. I’m thinking Granada....”
“Granada?” I stared at him, and the color must have drained from my cheeks, because he frowned.
“I thought you wanted to see the Alhambra.”
I’d dreamed of seeing the famous Moorish castle since I was a child. But I’d spent the past week guarding my heart. Trying to stay distant and cold. Trying not to think about what I didn’t want to know. Granada was the last place on earth I wanted to go.
Or was it?
“Maybe,” I said.
He smiled, really smiled, for the first time in a week. Since I’d started keeping my distance, even when we were as close as a man and woman could be. “Is that a yes?” He tilted his head, looking over me slowly with a sensual, heavy-lidded gaze. “I’d be happy to spend time persuading you....”
My body immediately clamored for him to persuade me, hot and sweet and long. But sex wasn’t our problem. We made love every night. Physically, we were closer than ever.
Emotionally, the weight of secrets had caused an ocean between us.
You know, you must know, about the woman he visits in Granada?
My smile faded. Like my courage. I shook my head. “On second thought...forget it.”
“Why?” His eyes narrowed, and he moved around the sofa with lightning speed. He cupped my face, looking down at me fiercely. “I am trying to make it up to you!”
“What?” I breathed, searching his gaze. “What are you trying to make up for, Alejandro?”
“Whatever has made you so angry at me.” His fingertips tightened infinitesimally. “I want you to look at me like you used to.”
“And I want to trust you,” I choked out, “like I used to.”
He stared at me. He’d never heard that tone from me before. “When I was in Granada...”
I held my breath.
He continued, “You were alone with my grandmother. Did she...” He hesitated. “Did she say something?”
“Did she tell me your secret, you mean?” I said bitterly. “No. She is loyal to you.”
He abruptly released me and rose from the sofa, his face hard. “Enough. We are taking a one-night honeymoon. You will come with me. You will have a good time.”
I lifted my chin defiantly. “Is that a command, Your Excellency?”
“Take it as you wish.” He glared back at me, his eyes cold. “I will tell the staff to pack your things immediately.”
The drive to Granada was short, especially after Alejandro stepped on the gas of his yellow Lamborghini. But with just the two of us trapped in the small space, it still took far too long. The tension between us was boiling, about to explode.
I forced myself to look at the guidebook he’d bought me about Granada. I tried to distract myself with its history. To choke back my frustration, my hurt, my rage. Because if I let out my feelings, I feared our marriage would end, and so would any chance at happiness. Forever.
I desperately wanted to ask him about the woman.
I desperately was afraid of the answer.
Alejandro did not speak to me. He drove us to a small hotel, a parador amidst the gardens of the Alhambra itself, in a building that was once a fifteenth-century convent, and a royal chapel to the kings of Spain, and before that, a palace and mosque of the Moorish emirs. Once there, he seemed angry at everyone. He glowered at the hotel staff. The moment we were alone in the simple, starkly furnished bedroom, he turned on me, and pressed me to the large four-poster bed in a ruthless, unyielding embrace.
All the women’s magazines tell you to do one thing. To have self-esteem. To turn away from any man you cannot completely trust. Especially one who has broken your heart before. They say the past predicts the future.
I knew all this, but when I felt his hand stroke my cheek, the sweet satin stroke of his touch sent liquid fire through my veins. I saw the dark gleam of his eyes as he slowly lowered his head to mine, and I could not resist.
He kissed me, and I felt my heart explode in my chest. Felt my taped-together soul shatter again into a million pieces, even tinier than before, in infinite chiming shards that I would never be able to put together again.
I had to ask him. I had to be brave enough to ask, and be brave enough to listen to his answer—whether he answered with words, or with silence.
I suddenly realized this might be the very last time we’d ever make love....
“Maravillosa,” Alejandro whispered against my skin. As he pulled off my clothes, as I pulled off his, as I kissed him, tasting the salt of his skin, I knew that even amid the pleasure, I was tasting the salt of my own tears.
I loved him.
So much.
And I knew—I’d always known, really—how this would someday end.
Through my tears, I kissed him back desperately, letting him pull me into the whirlwind of mingled anguish and pleasure.
But when the heat between us was satisfied, coldness was all that was left. Both of us still naked, he held me against him on the bed. His voice was low.
“Why do you not look at me like you used to? What has changed? What do you—know?”
I looked at him. His face shimmered through my tears.
“Edward came to see me last week. At Rohares.”
“What!” he exploded, sitting up.
I held his hand. “I didn’t ask him to come. He snuck in. I only spoke with him for a moment. He wanted me to run away with him. When I refused, he told me...you had a woman here. In Granada. That you visited her. That you bought her a tavern. That you even sing to her....”
For a long moment, we stared at each other in the slanted bars of sunlight coming through the window blinds. I could almost hear the pounding of my heart.
Then Alejandro’s lip slowly curled.
“I will kill him,” he said, and with cold menace, started to rise from the bed.
“No!” Grabbing his arm, I looked up at him pleadingly. “It’s not about Edward anymore. It’s about us. You and me.” I swallowed, blinking fast as I whispered, “Do you love her?”
He looked down at me.
“Yes,” he said dully.
My lips parted in a silent, heartsick gasp. Numbly, I let him go.
“So that is your big secret. The thing I expected from the beginning.” I tried to laugh, wiping my eyes. “How very boring.”
“It’s not like that.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he scowled at me. “You think so little of my loyalty, even after all the time we’ve spent together?”
“But you said you love her,” I whispered. “You’ve never said that to me. Not once.”
I heard his intake of breath. “It’s not like that,” he repeated, setting his jaw. “Theresa is not my mistress.”
“Then what?” I choked out. “What secret could you possibly be keeping, that would hurt me worse than that?”
“I protect the people I love. At any cost.” His voice was bleak. I looked at him sharply, and saw the vulnerability in his eyes. The yearning. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “How I wish I could tell you everything.”
Our eyes locked. Held. I opened my lips to plead—
He shook his head and rose to his feet. The yearning in his expression shuttered. His face returned to the handsome mask I knew so well—powerful, ruthless and cold.
“Come,” he said. “Our time is short.”
After a silent luncheon on the lovely terrace of the parador, we walked through the gardens of the Alhambra, with their flowers and trees and wide lush pools. As beautiful and varied and wide as they were, they didn’t hold a candle to the gardens of Rohares, in my opinion. Though perhaps I was biased. Because the castle had become my home.
Alejandro held my hand tightly as we walked. I didn’t even try to resist. The truth was I wanted the comfort of his hand. It felt warm and strong in mine. Was it wrong of me to still want to believe? To trust him?
Yes. I was a fool. Any of the women’s magazines would have called me an idiot for not already being on my way to a lawyer’s office. And yet...
We met a guide who took us on a private tour. We walked through the graceful arcades of the Alhambra complex, through the lush terraces with their views of Granada in the valley below, past the blue pools hedged by myrtle, reflecting the wide blue sky. But in spite of the fact that I’d dreamed of visiting the Alhambra all my life, I barely noticed the beauty. As we walked through cavernous rooms, decorated with tile and geometric patterns and arabesques of Arabic calligraphy in plaster, beneath jaw-dropping ceilings soaring high above, of the sun and stars, my mind was scrambling, trying to put the clues together.
Why would Alejandro need to protect Maurine and Miguel? What could the secret be?
We had our picture taken together in the famous stone Court of the Lions, from the fourteenth century.
“No,” the guide laughed. “You are newlyweds. Stand closer.”
And so Alejandro put his arm around me. I looked up at his face, and again, I saw the yearning in his eyes. The yearning that matched my own.
“¡Perfecto! Now you look like lovers!”
As we left the Alhambra, I turned back to look at it one last time. It had been neglected over the years, vandalized, nearly blown up by Napoleon’s soldiers. But after all that, it stood tall and proud over Granada. Unbowed. Unbroken. And so beautiful now. So loved.
“We don’t need to see any more,” I whispered over the ache in my throat.
“You’re here. See it all.” Silently, Alejandro drove us down the mountain to the city. We visited the Capilla Real, the royal chapel, getting special permission for a private tour that took us immediately past the long line of tourists outside, past the gypsies begging on the streets and musicians busking along the crowded edges.
In the dark, quiet interior of the enormous stone chapel, I saw the tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella, who together had practically ruled the medieval world in their day, even before they’d sent Columbus in ships to the New World. Together, they’d finally ended seven hundred years of Moorish rule, laying siege to Granada and driving the last sultan, called Boabdil, from the city.
It was said that the reason he gave up without a fight was to prevent the destruction of his beloved Alhambra. And so he spent the rest of his life mocked, and in poverty, a sultan without a throne....
Alejandro came to stand beside me in the cool shadows of the royal crypt. “What are you thinking?”
I looked at him. “How loving the wrong thing—or the wrong person—can ruin your life,” I whispered.
“Sí,” he said quietly. He turned away. “Come. This place leaves me cold.”
Outside the echoes of the shadow-filled chapel, we were hit by the brilliant Spanish sunlight, the noise of tourists laughing and talking, the distant sound of music. Life.
“Enough history,” Alejandro said, shaking his head ruefully. “There’s an ice-cream shop down the street, the most famous in Granada. The American first lady visited here recently and said it was the best ice cream in all of Spain....”
But I wasn’t listening. I was too busy trying to think things through. Eating the ice-cream cone some time later as we walked, I looked at Alejandro sideways beneath my lashes. He was so handsome, so dark-haired and broad-shouldered. The man of my dreams, come to life.
What was the secret? What was it he couldn’t tell me, for fear of endangering his grandmother and his son?
We walked through the narrow streets of Granada, and I bought some chocolates and a garden ornament for Maurine, and a small stuffed toy for Miguel, plus a wooden sword and shield he wouldn’t be able to play with for at least a year.
I couldn’t stop thinking of that last sultan, Boabdil, who’d sacrificed everything, his honor, his fortune, his pride, rather than see the palace he loved blown up into ash.
What would I sacrifice for love?
What would you?
Love me? Alejandro’s words floated back to me. You do not even know me.
Maybe he’d been right. A year ago, maybe I’d just fallen for his power, his wealth, his influence. His beauty.
But now, as I looked at his face, I loved him for who he really was. The man who took care of everyone. Who was willing to sacrifice himself for those he cared about. As a father. A grandson. A neighbor. A boss.
A husband.
My heart caught in my chest. What was I missing?
Twilight was falling when Alejandro suggested we go out for dinner and drinks. “A...friend of mine owns a restaurant in the Albaicín district.”
I looked at him sharply. He nodded.
“Yes,” he said quietly, watching me in the deepening dusk. “I want you to meet her.”
I was shaking when we walked up the cobblestoned alleys of the Albaicín, the old Moorish quarter on the hillside beneath the Alhambra. We reached a prosperous-looking tavern, filled with people and music. I froze.
“Come on,” Alejandro said gently. “It’ll be all right.” Pulling me inside, he brought me through the crowds to the bar, where he was greeted eagerly by the other patrons.
“Are you going to play tonight, señor?”
With a slight smile, he shook his head. “Where is Theresa?”
The man motioned toward the end of the bar with his glass of sangria. With a quick nod, Alejandro pulled me down toward a dark-haired woman.
“Theresa,” he said, kissing her on each cheek.
“Alejandro,” she exclaimed, returning the embrace. “I didn’t expect you so soon!”
I stared at the woman. She wasn’t what I’d expected. She had dark eyes and a round, friendly face, and she seemed at least ten years older than Alejandro. She smiled as she turned to me. “And this must be your wife.” A big smile lit up her face. “Your Lena?”
My lips parted. His Lena?
“Sí.” Alejandro put his arm around me. “My Lena.”
“I’m so happy to meet you at last!” she said with clear delight. “I told him he had to bring you here. Wait until you hear him play!”
“Play?” I echoed, looking at him.
He blushed. I swear he did. “Yes. I play a little guitar sometimes. No one cares I’m a duke here. They only care how well I play the guitar....”
“Are you that good?”
“Let him show you.” Theresa gave me a wink. “Drink orders always go up thirty percent when you sing, Alejandro.” She turned to me with a smile. “Go grab a table, if you can find one.... And what will you have?”
“Bourbon,” he said. “Rocks.”
“Right. Lena?”
“Something light...sangria?”
She chuckled. “Light?”
“Isn’t it mostly juice with a bit of red wine?”
She gave a hearty guffaw and glanced at Alejandro affectionately. “Innocent little thing, isn’t she?”
“Very,” he said quietly.
She sighed, looking back at me, she suggested, “I’ll make you a tinto de verano. Dash of wine, sugar and a little lime with sparkling water. Trust me. It won’t go to your head.”
She was right. The delicious concoction was a mixture of tart and sweet and bubbles, with lemon and limes floating beside the ice. I had one glass, then another, then a third, then looked down at my empty plate and realized I’d ordered and eaten a whole plate of dinner without paying the slightest attention.
“What time is it?” My head was swimming. I put my hands to my temples. “She said this drink wouldn’t go to my head,” I said accusingly.
Alejandro gave a low laugh. “It wouldn’t, but you had four of them.”
“Four?” I looked with amazement at my empty glass. “They just taste so light. The most delicious wine cooler ever invented.”
“You should stop.”
I looked at him brazenly. “You should tell me who you really are.”
Time suddenly stood still.
“Don’t you know?” he said hoarsely. “Haven’t you guessed?”
“Don’t tell me you’re already having your first fight.” Theresa was holding out a guitar. “Fix it, pequeño. Play.”
“Sí!” the people around us clamored, pounding on their tables. “Play!”
Alejandro shook his head. “We’re leaving.”
But I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to see what everyone else apparently already knew. The other side of my husband. The one he’d never let me see. “Will you play?” I whispered. “For me?”
He whirled to look at me. Then he gave a slow nod. “For you, mi amor.” He slowly took the guitar in his hand, and there was a burst of cheers and applause. “This is just for you.”
Walking across the crowded tavern, past all the tables to the tiny stage, Alejandro sat on a stool. With his guitar in his lap, he said simply into the microphone, “This is for my bride. The mother of my child.” He looked at me. “The woman I love.”
My lips parted in a silent gasp.
Could he have said...
Surely he couldn’t have said...
How strong were those tinto de verano drinks anyway?
Exhaling, Alejandro strummed his guitar, and in a low, husky voice began to sing. It sounded very old, and Spanish. He was a good musician, I thought in amazement, really good, far better than any tycoon-slash-duke had a right to be. The music was so heartbreaking and pure that at first, I didn’t bother to listen to the words.
Then I did.
Alejandro stared at me from across the room, and sang about a young peasant boy who’d dared to put on the clothes of a prince. He’d gone through life as an imposter, until he died heartbroken, wishing he could see, just one last time, the peasant girl he’d left behind.
Love me? My whole body flashed hot, then cold as his words took on new significance. You do not even know me.
I dimly heard the whispers hissing through the room. “That’s the Duke of Alzacar—and she must be his new wife—they’re obviously in love....” But I just listened to the music, and suddenly, it all fell into place.
Maurine’s shaky words. If not for him, I never would have survived the aftermath of that car crash, when I lost my whole family.... I can still see him in the hospital, his little injured face covered with bandages, his eyes so bright.... He was worried about me, not himself. “It’ll be all right, Abuela,” he told me. “I’m your family now.”
Pilar’s voice. I know it was always your desire to have a larger family, growing up so lonely, up in that huge castle, with your older sister off working in Granada. And your mother working night and day, when she wasn’t distracted by the duke....
I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if I was choking. The walls of the tavern were pressing in. Rising unsteadily to my feet, I pushed through the tables and headed for the door. I saw Theresa’s surprised face as I flung it open and headed outside.
In the quiet night, in the empty, cobblestoned alley, I fell back against the rough stone wall and looked up at the moonlight, shaking. I jumped when I heard the slam of the door behind me.
“So now you understand,” Alejandro said quietly behind me.
“You’re not the duke at all,” I choked out, hardly able to believe it even as I said it. “The real Alejandro died in that crash, didn’t he? Along with his parents. And your mother—the housekeeper.”
“I had to do it.” The only sign of emotion was the slight tightening of his jaw, the low tone of his voice. “Maurine had lost everything. And I loved her. Growing up in the castle, she’d always treated me like a grandson. And on that terrible day, the day of the crash, she lost everyone. When she came to see me at the hospital, she seemed to have aged ten years. She was so alone. I couldn’t leave her to die in the dilapidated castle, with no one to take care of her....” Swallowing, he looked down at the cobblestoned street. Moonlight left a trail of silver on his dark silhouette as he said quietly, “So I told Maurine I would be her family from now on. Her grandson.”
“How is it possible no one knew?”
“Alejandro and I looked very much alike. We were the same age, same build. And after the accident, my face was injured. We used that to explain the difference. Not that anyone asked. People had long since stopped coming to the castle. The duke and his family had chased most of the tenants away by harassing them over rents. Even their old society friends shunned them, since they were always asking to borrow money. Alejandro’s parents felt ashamed of how far they’d fallen. Just not ashamed enough to work for something better.” He looked up. “My mother was the only servant left, and she hadn’t been paid in a year.” Taking a deep breath, he said simply, “When Abuela claimed I was her grandson, and pawned the last of her jewelry to pay the transfer-of-title fees, no one questioned it.”
“But a few people knew.”
He nodded. “Pilar, our governess.” He glanced at the restaurant door. “My older sister. Theresa.”
My lips parted. “Your sister?”
“Half sister. She’s eight years older. She was working in Granada when the accident happened. She rushed to the hospital as soon as she heard, but Abuela convinced her to keep the secret. They have all kept it. Because they love me. And they love Abuela.” He looked away. “As I grew older, it felt wrong, stealing Alejandro’s title and name. I promised myself that I would never marry, never have a child. The family line, and the family lie, would end with me. I convinced myself that was redemption.”
I stared at him, tears now falling down my cheeks in the moonlight. “That was why you said you’re no good at keeping promises,” I whispered. “Because you had a child. And then you married me. I thought...” I shook my head. “I thought you meant you could never keep your promises of fidelity....”
“That I would cheat on you?” he said incredulously. He came closer, his face blazing with emotion as he reached out to cup my cheek. “From the moment we met, you’ve been the only woman I wanted. Even for the year we were apart—there was no one else for me. No one.”
“But...when I told you I loved you...”
He gave a low, humorless laugh. He shook his head. “You really don’t understand, do you? When I promised myself I’d never marry or have a child, I made sure I would keep that promise by only allowing myself to date women like Claudie...cold, sophisticated, heartless women I’d never be tempted to love. You were different. You were the woman I could not resist,” he said softly. “You made me break every promise I’d made to myself. I wanted to tell you everything. Where you were concerned, I had no self-control.”
I stared up at him, my lips parted.
“When I heard you were pregnant with my child, I was desperate to find you. But once I did, and we were wed, I suddenly knew I’d never be able to tell you the truth. At first, because I was afraid you’d use the information to blackmail me, and try to take my son away. Then because I owed it to Miguel. You were so proud our son would someday be a duke....”
“I never cared about that!” I said fiercely. “All I care about is you. And Miguel...” I looked up at him with an intake of breath. “Your real name is Miguel.”
He gave me a wicked grin. “You can see why I didn’t mind our son’s name.”
My knees shook, because my world was spinning. “But after we were married—surely then you knew you could trust me?”
“You have such an honest heart.” He sobered. “I didn’t want you to have the burden.”
“Burden? Are you kidding?” I gave a laugh that was giddy, almost hysterical. “If you knew what I’d imagined...”
“It’s worse than you think.” His face had turned deadly serious. “My grandmother and I both broke laws with our lies. We could be charged with fraud and possibly sent to prison. For myself, I would have been willing to take the risk, to tell you the truth. But Maurine...” He looked down. “I was afraid to take the risk, for her sake. The idea of her in jail...”
A sudden noise down the quiet street, perhaps a cat knocking over a trash can in a nearby alley, caused us both to jump. I looked at him.
“You can trust me. No one will ever know.” I swallowed and whispered. “Did you really mean what you said in the tavern?”
“The song?”
“That you—” I blushed a little “—actually—love me?”
His eyes went wide. Then, with a low laugh, he pulled me in his arms.
“Oh, querida. I have loved you from almost the first moment we met. Your sweetness, your nobility, your honesty.”
“I was so afraid.... I believed all the wrong things....”
Alejandro wrapped his hands around mine. “And now you hold my heart, my life, in your hands,” he said quietly. “You have the power to take Miguel from me, to go back to Mexico, to walk away.” He lifted his dark gaze to mine in the moonlight. “You own me completely. What will you do?”
“What will I do?” I whispered, tears in my eyes. Putting my arms around him, I pulled him close and pressed my forehead against his heart. “I will love you, Alejandro. Forever.”
