Claiming His Wife

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.'

CHAPTER NINE

'Roman!'

But he was already walking rapidly away, striding along the winding path that led back towards the house, his feet brushing the bordering lavender plants, releasing the sweetly astringent perfume into the sparkling air. If he'd heard her anguished cry he gave no sign of it.

Casting an agitated glance at the coffee tray, Cassie decided to come back for it later. It seemed pretty hopeless, but she had to make another attempt to convince him that no way had she been sleeping around during their year apart. He was the only man she had made love with, or wanted to be with.

She caught up with him as he entered the court­yard through the arched doorway in the stone wall. Her heart was pounding and she knew her face had turned a fiery, anxious red. 'Roman—wait!'

In complete contrast he was cool, composed. She had never seen him look so solemn. One dark brow lifted slightly in silent enquiry as he glanced down into her troubled features.

'I want to talk—and I want you to listen.' Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. Would she ever be able to make him believe she hadn't been tutored in the art of pleasing a man in bed by a string of experts? The subject had obviously been troubling him for the last five weeks and now he couldn't get it out of his head.

'The talking has been done, querida,' he intoned with a bleak finality that cut deep into her soul, his beautiful smoky eyes devoid of all expression. 'It was cathartic but necessary, you understand. The last few weeks have been—' wide shoulders drifted el­oquently upwards '—what can I say? A dream. But always one must wake and face reality. We had to discover why our marriage had been such...' He paused, as if searching for a word that wouldn't be too hurtful. 'So uncomfortable. Now—' again that infuriating, frustrating glance at his watch '—I'm ex­pected in Seville for a business meeting later this morning. I shall be away for two days. We will talk again on my return. Not of the past, but of the fu­ture. '

Take me with you! She wanted to plead. But didn't. She felt as if she'd been hit with a brick. He had spoken as if he had every intention of giving her the divorce she'd asked for a year ago and the old pattern was repeating itself. Business trips taking him away for longer and longer periods. Always leaving her behind.

Yet it had been different this time, she told herself wildly. This time their coming together had been glo­riously successful; they'd been like two halves of a whole, blissfully inseparable. Did that, in the end, count for nothing?

As the cool silence of the house swallowed him, she sank, onto a stone bench in the courtyard and listened to the cool music of the fountain, breathing the scent of the sweetly perfumed oleanders into la­bouring lungs, doing her very best to calm down. A divorce was the very last thing she wanted. She loved him so much.

He'd asked questions and she'd answered them as honestly as she knew how. His curiosity had been satisfied and he now knew why she had been forced to leave him, why their marriage had been such a failure to begin with.

That his conclusions were the wrong ones simply wouldn't occur to him. The past lived. The mistakes hadn't been erased, and a new and equally devastat­ing misconception—that she'd been sleeping with other men—had been born. His whole attitude told her that he was set on continuing what she had started—the ending of their marriage.

The mental pain was so overwhelming she didn't know how she was ever going to be able to cope with it. And when, minutes later, he stood over her, she looked at him blankly, the sparkle blanketed from her eyes beneath the weight of her misery.

He looked cool and fresh, and she could smell the tangy cologne he always wore, a scent that would live in her memory for ever. His car keys were in one hand, a slim overnight case in the other.

He said levelly, 'I've recalled Manuel and Teresa; they should be here within the hour. After our less than wholehearted attention, the house and the gar­den need some supervision,' he explained, dauntingly practical and chillingly cool.

Cassie shivered. So the second honeymoon was well and truly over. Her heart was hurting and her mind felt as if someone had ripped it apart and flung the ragged pieces to the four winds. Useless to ask him to listen to what she wanted to say while she was in this state. He wouldn't welcome near-hysterical protestations of innocence or tearful pleas to take her back on a permanent basis.

Besides, she didn't want to come over as a gib­bering wreck. She needed time to wind down, gather some control and come to terms with what had hap­pened this morning. His absence would at least give her that.

'Fine.' She returned his glance as coolly as she could manage and turned away before he could see the tears that were brimming in her eyes. 'See you in two days. Take care.'

Ten minutes later Cassie was dressed in a cool cotton shift dress in clear lemon-yellow, comfy flat sandals with a floppy-brimmed straw sun hat covering her coiled-back hair. No way was she going to be here when the housekeeper and her gardener husband re­turned to take up their duties.

She needed to be on her own, away from the house where everything was a bittersweet reminder of Roman. She needed to think, to get herself together, face what looked like being the final breakdown of her marriage. She also had to discover whether there was any truth in what she was beginning to believe...

Out in the shade of the narrow street that wound down into the heart of the old town she gave a small sigh of relief, feeling marginally more in control of her emotions. Teresa, as she remembered the short but heftily built woman, was a bit of a martinet, rul­ing the seeming army of staff with a rod of iron, making sure el patron's slightest wish was antici­pated, treating the unsuitable new bride with decid­edly sniffy disdain.

That, Cassie decided, she could do without right now!

Her first port of call was the chemist in the main square, and as she tucked the package into the bottom of the straw bag that teamed with her hat and stepped out into the sizzling sunlight she gave a slight shiver.

Soon she would know, one way or the other.