Claiming His Wife Read online

  He believed his assumption was the correct one, that since leaving him she'd been indulging in mul­tiple affairs. And was he jealous? Roman, jealous! squashed the surge of hope very decisively. Letting herself believe that her husband really did love her could be dangerous, could lead to a disap­pointment that would be almost impossible to bear. "Why are you asking all this? Why now?' she asked dully, hopelessness dousing all that vehement anger as she at last understood the insulting reality of what had been troubling him.

  Was everything about to end? It certainly looked that way, especially since he obviously didn't believe her assertion that she hadn't been with any other man.

  For the first time since they'd been back together they hadn't instinctively turned to each other, making love until the sun burned holes in the sea mist, taking in turns to fetch breakfast in bed. This morning the sun that had woken her had been perfunctory, but his suggestion that they take their coffee down to the summer house hadn't bothered her. Not until now. Was he already tiring of her, as had once been strin­gently prophesised? Was his stubborn belief that she'd been unfaithful the excuse he was looking for?

  Cassie hugged her arms around her midriff, shak­ing inside now. Everything seemed spoiled, about to fall apart. 'Leaving aside your insulting remarks about my supposed promiscuity, I thought we'd—' she lifted her slender shoulders in a hopeless gesture '—we'd settled our differences.'

  'With sex? I think not.' The white shirt he was wearing gleamed in a sudden shaft of sunlight. Impressive shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug. 'I admit that at first I found your unexpected response to me astonishing, and, being a normal male, I de­lighted in your sexual generosity. But that was the froth, was it not? It is what's beneath the surface that interests me.'

  Male lust—was this Roman's way of warning her that mere lust was what the last five weeks had been about? Cassie pondered miserably. She was a hun­dred per cent thankful that she hadn't let herself hope that he was learning to love her. Well, she hadn't, not really.

  She didn't know what he wanted to hear her say, but at least he was giving her a little breathing space as he bent over the coffee tray on the low table, pour­ing from the silver pot, sugaring hers.

  Lost in disquieting thoughts, unprepared for his next question, she gave a shocked gasp as he asked levelly, 'Tell me, did you marry me for money?'

  'What put that in your head?' she demanded when she could get her mouth to frame the words. 'So I'm a gold-digger now, as well as a slut!'

  'It was suggested. Before our marriage.'

  'Who by?' she spluttered hotly. 'One of your aunts, at a guess—neither of them liked me!'

  'I refused to believe it at the time,' he stated, as if she hadn't spoken. 'You were sweet, unspoiled; you didn't demand designer dresses or fancy jew­els—the exact opposite of the society creatures I was used to having pushed under my nose. I had a hard enough time persuading you to let me buy your wed­ding dress and a suitable trousseau. Do you remem­ber?'

  Of course she remembered! He'd already dis­charged those of her father's debts that the sale of the house hadn't covered, and she hadn't wanted to be a further drain on him, even if he could well af­ford it.

  She and Roy hadn't had much, but they could have pooled their resources. She could have kitted herself out with something his exalted family wouldn't have been too ashamed to see her wearing. But, no, even that amount of independence had been denied her!

  'So what changed your mind?' she demanded fu­riously. If he wanted a fight, he could have one, even if the thought of being at odds with him tore her apart. 'Just when have I ever asked you for money?'

  'Our wedding night, and the years that followed,' he answered flatly. "That changed my mind. You weren't interested in me as a husband, the father of your children. You were free of those debts you felt morally bound to discharge, and as soon as enough time had passed for you to be sure your brother was settled, drawing a healthy salary, you ran away, in­forming me that you'd be suing for divorce. I did wonder then if laying your hands on a hefty chunk of alimony had been your intention all along.'

  He spread his hands expressively. 'What else was I to think? It was the only explanation that made any kind of sense. And of course,' he added with a dry-ness that sent a shaft of pain through her heart, 'the only reason you are here with me now, allowing me to use your body, comes down to money—stolen money.'

  That he should think her a mercenary little gold-digger incensed her, but she clamped her soft lips together and forced back the blistering words she wanted to throw at him. He did have a point.

  And now, if nothing else came of their time to­gether, he had to hear her side of the story.

  'I was never interested in your money,' she told him shortly. 'I was grateful when you offered to pay the outstanding debts—especially when you insisted that the sum involved represented no more to you than the loose change in your pocket. It meant that the remaining creditors didn't have to suffer—that Roy and I wouldn't have to live on the breadline, taking what jobs we could get to pay off the rest of the debts. So I guess, where that was concerned, I took the easy way out.

  'But,' she emphasised firmly, 'if I hadn't been madly in love with you I would never have married you. Roy and I would have gone back to England and found some kind of work.' She gave him a fierce glare. If he was worried she might demand half his wretched estate, then she could put him out of his misery.

  These last few weeks together had meant nothing to him, apart from fantastic sex—which was proba­bly already beginning to bore him.

  Been there, done that!

  Otherwise why would he be trying to pick a fight, as good as accusing her of marrying him for his money?

  'I have no intention of asking for a single peseta on our divorce!'

  Why was she talking of divorce when for the past few weeks she'd been hoping that their marriage was mended? she groaned silently. The knot of misery behind her breastbone tightened, spread down into her stomach. She felt distinctly queasy. And she knew the answer to her own question. Of course she did. He wouldn't be throwing these vile accusations at her if he wanted their marriage to continue.

  She stumbled to her feet. Everything was going wrong. When they'd wandered down through the gardens this morning everything had been touched with magic, and now—

  A commanding hand closed around her wrist, halting her attempts at a dignified flight, edging her back onto the seat beside him.

  'You said, and I quote, that you were "madly in love" with me when we married—I believe you are lying because I saw no evidence of it.'

  It was an accusation; of course it was. But gently said. His fingers slid away from her wrist. Meaning she was free to go now he'd made his point? Meaning she could defend herself or not? That he was indifferent?

  Any moment now she would burst into tears and humiliate herself. She could feel her lungs tremble, the pressure building up in her throat and behind her eyes. But she wasn't going to let it happen.

  'You already know the truth, Roman. But I'll re­fresh your memory.' The words emerged more acidly than she'd intended. Deliberately, she pulled in a slow breath and softened her tone. 'When we mar­ried, I was an anachronism—a nineteenth-century woman living in the late twentieth. I was brought up by a domineering father, convent-educated, and had no experience of men—barring Father, Roy, and Cindy's brother, of course. Father thought females were put on this earth to be of use to males, and for no other reason.'

  She took a gulp of hot coffee and replaced the cup with a clatter that threatened to break the saucer. 'When I left school at eighteen, he used the strength of his character, plus a large dollop of emotional blackmail, to convince me it was my duty to stay home and replace the part-time housekeeper he'd had employed after Mum died. So when I met you, fell in love, my self-confidence was already about floor level. I'd fallen for you in a big way, but I knew you were way out of my league—wealthy, sophisticated, oozing with self-confidence. Everything I wasn't.'


  But she'd married him anyway, because she'd been so in love with him it had hurt. She'd known he hadn't loved her, but she'd had his affection, and that had seemed very much better than having any other man's doting adoration.

  'So I was the object of a rather belated juvenile infatuation.' He dismissed the love that had swamped her life with a tired smile. 'What went wrong? I did everything possible to see that you were comfortable, free from anxieties. Did I not try to ease you into your new role, your new lifestyle?'

  'Ease?' she scorned. 'Leaving me with your mother and the aunts while you flew to England—?'

  'It was for the best,' Roman said bluntly. 'I had to sort out the financial mess your father had left behind. Seeing the family home sold up, dealing with lawyers and creditors would have upset you unnec­essarily. It was far more important that you got to know my family—your new family—better, accli­matised yourself, began arrangements for our wed­ding. So please don't try to accuse me of doing the wrong thing.'

  'No? You acted exactly as my father would have done. Arrogantly,' she derided. 'And don't look so affronted! I may have been unable to voice any opin­ion three years ago, but I can now! You decided what was best for me without asking me what I wanted. I was so well conditioned that I never even thought of objecting. I did as I was told to do. And suffered for it. By the time we were married I had been thor­oughly brainwashed. I was nowhere good enough for you.' She ticked off on her fingers, her voice tight with the memory of how humiliated she'd been made to feel. 'I was a foreigner, had no breeding, no money, no looks to speak of. You, naturally, were the cat's flaming whiskers! But you were being typ­ically difficult, only marrying me to spite your fam­ily. You were highly sexed and experienced; I would very soon bore you. As soon as I'd given you the heir the estate needed, I'd be pensioned off, hidden away.'

  His stillness following her heated, heartfelt out­burst emanated tension. His eyes looked black and chillingly cold and his voice was low and dangerous as he asked, 'Who said these things?'

  'Does it matter now?' She suddenly felt empty, drained, as if a light had gone out inside her. Recalling those earlier, desperate insecurities, and how they'd been fostered—no doubt with the inten­tion of making her call the wedding off—had re­minded her that they were indeed worlds apart, in culture, social standing, everything; the past few weeks had been nothing but a fantasy, a foolish dream.

  'It matters. Tell me.'

  As forceful as ever, she thought defeatedly. Well, what the heck? The women of his family hadn't earned her loyalty. He probably wouldn't believe her, anyway. He'd already accused her of marrying him for his money and of sleeping around during their separation. Calling her a liar as well wouldn't make a whole lot of difference.

  'Your aunts,' she said shortly. 'To give her her due, your mother didn't take part in those intimate family discussions—she made her point by being rather chillingly polite.'

  'For Dios!' He shot to his feet, his wide shoulders rigid, the now bright sunlight accentuating the hard lines of his face. 'You were my choice—how dared they?' he growled.

  Cassie shivered. Roman in a temper was a sight to behold, brooding eyes glowering, his hands bunched into savage-looking fists, tucked hard against the sides of his long lean legs.

  But at least he hadn't called her a liar or accused her of impugning his exalted family. That thought took root, warmed her a little and then blossomed sweetly as he held out a hand to her, his voice soft when he said, 'Come here.'

  She went. Well, wouldn't she always? His arms enfolded her and she leant her head against the angle of his shoulder, her heart lurching with the love she could no more banish than fly as he murmured, 'I begin to understand a little. By the time we got to our wedding night, what little confidence you'd had in yourself had been well and truly shattered. Faced with an experienced bridegroom who was supposedly prepared to hide you away and pension you off when you'd done your duty and provided the estate with an heir, you froze.

  'Naturally, you didn't want to make love with me because it could lead to a pregnancy, and you didn't want to spend the rest of your life hidden away, closely chaperoned by the females who had already made you feel unwanted.'

  He sounded almost smug, Cassie thought with a weak smile, and he was patting her back as if she were a lap dog in need of quieting. Never mind all those earlier unpleasant accusations, being held in his arms was having the usual effect. She couldn't fight the way her body now needed his so desperately.

  'You should have told me all this at the time,' he chided gently. 'I could then have put your fears at rest.' A final comforting pat and his hands slid up to her shoulders, holding her away from him. 'But you always did seem tongue-tied around me, though you could chatter nineteen to the dozen with Cindy and her brother. It is a pity that you were so in awe of me. A few words of explanation would have made all the difference.'

  Spoken like a true feudal overlord—a Spanish one at that. Lofty, patronising. He was back to treating her like a silly child without an atom of sense in her head or an opinion worth listening to.

  At one time she would have meekly agreed with anything he said. She'd been brought up to believe that men were superior beings, that they always knew best.

  Now she tipped back her head. 'Pregnant or not, I was pretty effectively hidden away, wasn't I? Besides...' She gave him a radiant smile to soften the criticism. Being held by him was giving her the confidence she needed to delve into the past, display all her earlier failings. And maybe, in doing so, she could convince him she wasn't the promiscuous ma­dam he'd accused her of being. 'I would never have married you if I'd thought I'd get put in a cupboard and locked away as soon as I gave birth to your heir. I knew you weren't cruel. It was...' She splayed her hands out against his chest, feeling his body heat, the heavy thud of his heartbeats beneath the soft white silk.

  She wanted to move closer, very much closer, but that must wait. Already the closeness of him was making her tremble, making her heart race. 'I'd been told you were highly sexed, experienced,' she went on shakily, her breath coming raggedly. 'Your aunts were at pains to mention your affairs—models, danc­ers, all beautiful. Not for marrying, of course, but necessary for a young man, provided discretion was observed.'

  She moved closer, fitting her body to his. She was so hungry for him; surely he knew that now? Surely he would understand?

  She felt the tug of his breath just before he abruptly moved away, and anxiety peaked her brows as she said to his rigidly held back, 'Roman—I was a virgin, and, worse than that, I'd never had a proper boyfriend. I was afraid of disappointing you. The fear stuck in my head and I couldn't get it out. Do you understand? I kept thinking you'd compare me with those others—the beautiful, experienced ones who knew how to please a man.'

  Why wouldn't he turn and look at her? Why?

  'That first night fear of disappointing you made me freeze. I knew—knew—' She was beginning to stumble over her words; the ungiving rigidity of his spine and the way he was holding his head was turn­ing her back into the tongue-tied wretch she had been before.

  She gathered herself and said more firmly, 'I knew you didn't love me—you'd picked me because I'd make no demands on you that you wouldn't be happy to meet. But you did have affection for me, and I thought that would be enough. It wasn't, though,' she confirmed bleakly. 'If you'd loved me I'd have been able to tell you how I felt. If you'd loved me you wouldn't have been comparing me to those others; you would have taught me how to respond, taken away the fear. But I knew you weren't in love with me and I was too ashamed of myself to explain. I just pushed you away whenever you came near. I couldn't face more humiliation.'

  Silence. Just the soft call of a dove, the lazy rustle of light wind in the trees. Her throat went tight. Was he turning her words over in his mind, testing them for validity?

  'Say something,' she begged thickly. He did turn then, and what she saw in his eyes pushed her breath back into her lungs.

  Regret
? Sadness? How could she be sure?

  'Then I must accept the larger part of the blame,' he said stiffly. She had never heard him sound quite so Spanish. He withdrew his hands from the side pockets of the tailored grey chinos he was wearing and glanced at his watch. His eyes were blank as he imparted coolly, 'When you left me my first instinct was to get over to England and drag you back.'

  He was speaking slowly, that sexy accent more marked than usual, as if he were carefully picking his words. Cassie couldn't believe he hadn't been only too happy to see the back of his unsatisfactory wife.

  'Why would you have wanted to do that?'

  He acknowledged the incredulity of her tone with a slight dip of his dark, breathtakingly handsome head. 'Why? Because you were mine.'

  And Roman Fernandez didn't relinquish his pos­sessions easily—not even when they were worthless, she acknowledged mutely. 'So why didn't you follow me?'

  Would she have returned to Spain with him? Perhaps. During those first few weeks back in England she'd been a mess. She had destroyed her marriage before it had started. She had loathed her­self. If he had come for her, demanding her return, she would have gone, hoping that by some miracle things would improve.

  But he hadn't come—had made no attempt to con­tact her—and she'd known she was on her own, had to make a life for herself.

  'I changed my mind.' Another restless glance at his watch. He seemed to be avoiding her eyes, as if he again wished to distance himself from her. 'You were, to put it mildly, very immature. Not in a gig­gly, schoolgirl way—that would never have attracted me to you—but lacking in a sense of who you were. Introverted and insecure. I believed that having to stand on your own two feet for a while—be entirely responsible for your own well-being, without a father or a husband to tell you what to do—would allow you to grow up.'

  If his eyes were suddenly hard, his voice was even more so, 'And I was right. You grew up with a ven­geance, mi esposa. Certainly, you have no more fear of sex. I have ample evidence of that. The only thing I do not know—or wish to know—is who tutored you so thoroughly.'