Читать книгу Their Convenient Marriage - Mary Lyons - Страница 7

IT WAS always the same dream…

The plaza in Seville is ringing with the loud shouts and whistles of the bystanders. She is almost deafened by the noisy, blaring trumpets and drums of the brass bands as the cavalcade of many horses and their riders, all in traditional Spanish costume, make their way slowly through the crowded throng of spectators.

She is struggling to control a high-spirited, nervous horse, perspiration running down her frightened cheeks as she clings tightly to the thin leather reins, helplessly unable to prevent her mount from either rearing up or lashing out with its hind hooves. The scowling faces and muttered oaths of the other riders are causing her face to burn with shame and humiliation. She knows it will only be minutes…seconds…before disaster strikes.

And then…he is there! His tall and handsome figure, clothed in a black matador’s costume, is racing through the milling crowd towards her. Firmly grasping hold of her horse’s reins, he turns to smile up at her as she slips out of the saddle and down into his arms, weeping with relief while clinging tightly to the strength of his hard, firm body.

Suddenly, the scene changes and they are dancing…spinning…whirling to the throbbing music of guitars. She is aware of nothing but the hypnotic beat of clapping hands and the rapid ‘click-clack’ of their heels on the floor as he swirls her about his tall, dominant figure.

Totally mesmerised by the glinting warmth in his eyes, she finds herself being dragged from the dance floor, her hand firmly clasped in his as they run laughing through the empty, deserted streets, before he hails a horse-drawn carriage. And then, within the confined darkness of the vehicle, with shafts of moonlight illuminating his high cheekbones and dark gleaming eyes, he slowly takes her into his arms and she ardently raises her lips to meet his.

She is shivering and trembling with delight at his deepening kiss, quivering at the sensual touch of his hands sweeping over the soft curves of her body. Her emotions are spiralling completely out of control as she whispers, ‘I love you, Antonio. I love you with all my heart!’

But then…with shocking suddenness…she finds herself on the other side of the carriage.

‘At your age? What can you know of love?’ he grinds out savagely, his voice sounding harsh and strained as the vehicle comes to a halt. Swearing under his breath, he pushes her out of the carriage in front of him.

‘Go home to England! Go home. Grow up. And let us both forget that this incident ever happened!’ he adds grimly, before stalking ahead of her into the house and quickly disappearing from sight.

Totally shattered, and weeping as if her heart will break in two, she stands gazing after him, her eyes blind with tears as she realises that she will never, ever see him again.

It was always the same dream…the same nightmare…