Of course they were, she reminded herself very quickly.
He was simply making doubly sure that his weakminded, hysterical captive would not make a second attempt to do away with herself. He wouldn’t want that type of scandal. It would bring dishonour on his no doubt illustrious and proud name.
On that reassuring piece of deduction she relaxed into the sheltering curve of his body and fell instantly and blissfully asleep.
CHAPTER SIX
THE rattle of china and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee woke her.
Sarah blinked her eyes rapidly and opened them to the warm golden sunlight which made the faded gold silk of the wall-coverings glow and shimmer, reflecting their light up on to the magnificent wooden mudéjar ceiling, and then her gaze homed in on the equally magnificent Spaniard.
At least he was up and dressed, she thought thankfully, surreptitiously wriggling further down in the bed for the sake of modesty. And that was a decided comfort, not to mention a huge relief, because she could have woken and found herself still held tightly in his arms, his warm male body curved protectively around hers, his hands all over the place.
Although, she had to admit uncomfortably, the very sight of him, so tall, so commanding, his hard, handsome face freshly shaved, his superb body clothed in leg-clipping black trousers and a flowing white shirt, set off a decidedly unfortunate chain reaction within her.
A reaction she simply had to ignore, she informed herself strictly. If you ignored something long enough it would cease to trouble you. Wouldn’t it?
Her body had no right to respond so—so dramatically to this dreadful, lawless man. Her mind would take charge and dictate otherwise, she consoled herself. And she would dwell exclusively on the advantage she’d gained late last night. Work on it, make it come right for her. Because at the moment the down-side of the coin was his seemingly chivalrous need to give her his ‘protection’ in bed!
She had to make sure there wouldn’t be a repeat performance, and—
‘Do you always take this long to come awake?’
The dark, smoky voice cut through her mental ramblings and she looked at him from wary eyes, making rapid assessments. He had pulled a heavily carved, straight-backed chair to the foot of the bed and was just sitting there now, watching her between his thick lashes, the enigmatic expression he seemed to have mastered so well firmly in place.
She hated it when he looked at her like that. She didn’t know what was going on inside that wellshaped skull. Was he about to fling open doors and let her go? Drive her to the airport to make sure she got on a flight back to England? Surely, after last night’s performance, he wouldn’t want the responsibility of keeping her here?
‘What’s the point in waking up to a prison?’ she asked with thin petulance, just to ram her feebleness home—in the unlikely event of any forgetfulness on his part. ‘You don’t know how badly all this is affecting me.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I do,’ he replied with a silkiness that had her frowning. ‘And your “prison”, as you call it, is something we have to discuss. So drink your coffee and get dressed. We’ll have breakfast together in the courtyard and talk it through.’
The smile he gave her was utterly disarming, as no doubt it was calculated to be, she decided cynically, ignoring it, locating the source of the heavenly aroma as she turned her head to the side-table where he had obviously placed the wide-bowled cup of steaming coffee as she had struggled up from sleep.
Breakfast in the courtyard, and a discussion, sounded hopeful. At least he was no longer planning on keeping her locked in here for the duration. If she handled the discussion part of it carefully she could be out of here and on her way by noon.
‘If you insist.’ She made herself sound uninterested. She reached for the cup. ‘I’ll join you as soon as I’m ready. I can find my own way.’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it.’ Black eyes glimmered. ‘After the fright you gave me last night I can’t have you wandering around on your own. Who knows what you might take it into your head to do?’
Pig! He couldn’t really believe, could he, that she was that unbalanced? Although he had been satisfyingly convinced by her charade last night. She was, she recognised crossly, hoist with her own petard. Smothering a sigh, she said demurely, ‘Then you must give me the privacy to get washed and dressed in the bathroom.’ With the door firmly locked, she added silently. But he gave her back a sorrowful shake of his head.
‘Afraid not. You might hack your head off with one of my razors. Believe me, I’m no voyeur. But unfortunately you leave me no choice.’
She eyed him suspiciously over the rim of her cup, considering her options.
He looked sincere enough, but then she wouldn’t trust him with an orphan’s piggy-bank, let alone trust him to be up front with his enemy’s daughter, the woman he was openly using as bait. Goodness only knew what was going on behind those black Spanish eyes. Concern for her well-being, after that splendid piece of acting on her part? Or something nasty and utterly, utterly devious?
As far as she was concerned, she had two options: refuse point-blank to move out of this bed until he had taken himself off, and risk making him too angry even to think about discussing anything, or allow him to think he’d won this round, meekly do as she’d been told and so be able to have that vital conversation while he was still in a reasonable mood.
Grinding her teeth with exasperation, she slid out of bed, grabbed her fresh underwear from her travel bag, yesterday’s clothes from the wardrobe, refusing to look at him, and stamped into the bathroom, trying with one frantic hand to prevent the ripped nightie from gaping too revealingly.
He padded closely behind her, pushing the bathroom door back into its frame and standing in front of it, and she twisted round, quelling the instinct to yell at him, and managed to demand in clear, cool tones, her dignity commendably in place despite the strain he was putting on it, ‘Do the gentlemanly thing and turn your back. I promise not
to go near your razors.’ Which was a touch tart, she realised belatedly, for someone who only hours ago had been supposedly rendered desperate enough to consider suicide as an option!
A flicker of what looked like amusement kindled deep in those fascinating eyes. But she couldn’t be sure because he obligingly turned away. After giving his averted profile a quick hard look, she regretfully ruled both the bath and the shower out of play and made for the basin. She would clean her teeth, quickly wash her face then scamper into her clothes and earn herself a civilised discussion, one which would go all her way—provided she continued to play her cards right.
Her scanty ablutions over, she dragged her nightie over her head, moaning inwardly as she heard the fragile fabric rip even further, and as she emerged from the folds she looked up to find his innocently bland face directly in front of her. And slapped it.