Bride in a Gilded Cage

The rest of their dinner last night had been stilted, and Isobel had escaped as soon as she could. That morning the housekeeper had told her that Señor Romero would be out all day, inspecting the estate by helicopter and on horseback. The time alone hadn’t served to give Isobel any sense of regaining control of her emotions. She’d been on edge all day.

She couldn’t help the sensation of having been flayed inside, as if strips had been torn off her own tender inner body.

Just then a movement caught her eye, and her gaze snagged on the tall, powerful figure of Rafael emerging from the golden light of the house. Isobel shrank back, but knew logically that he couldn’t possibly see her across the lake. Her body tightened in a far too familiar way as she drank him in almost hungrily. The broad strength in his shoulders tapered down to a lean waist and those long, long legs. Even from here she could see the unleashed power in his tautly muscled form. She could tell that he was tense, and the fact that she could do so spoke of a kinship that she felt deepening every day.

With extreme reluctance Isobel finally got up and made her way back to the estancia, feeling very much as if she were voluntarily walking into the lion’s den.

Rafael waited in the lounge that evening for Isobel to come in for dinner. He took a sip of whisky and relished the burn of velvet-smooth liquid as it slipped down his throat.

The previous evening had left a bitter taste in his mouth all day; he hadn’t been able to get Isobel’s face out of his mind, nor the flash of something achingly vulnerable in her eyes when he’d spilled his guts. And when he’d set her back from him after kissing her senseless. He grimaced. Who was he kidding? He’d almost been senseless, too. He was the one who lacked any control. Within touching distance of Isobel he turned into something feral, and the way she consistently pushed him away sent him into orbit with frustration.

He couldn’t fathom why on earth he’d felt compelled to share something with her that up until now had been between him, his brother and his deceased father. Nor how the sympathy in her liquid brown gaze had got him right between the eyes. So much so that he’d told her curtly that he wouldn’t discuss it again.

His hand clenched around the glass as he stared unseeingly out through the open patio doors. Yesterday he’d teased her for being a romantic. She’d blushed and then scowled at him, showing none of the guile or finesse he was used to in that situation. He’d obviously hit on a nerve. How could she be so different? How could she want something that clearly didn’t exist? A cottage with a white picket fence, two people living without a care in the world…It was ridiculous. It didn’t exist.

At the hands of his father he’d learnt an early lesson not to expect love or support, and yet he’d revealed a mortifying streak of vulnerability and had foolishly thrown caution to the wind when Ana Perez had whispered lies in his ears about how much she loved him. She’d loved his money and his social status. Never again would he be so deceived. And he had the ultimate protection now, in the form of this marriage.

A sound came from behind him, and Rafael forced his tense muscles to relax. He turned around. Isobel stood in the doorway, and as soon as her image registered on Rafael’s retina his blood ran hot in his veins.

But he just smiled urbanely, and saw her react as colour tinged her cheeks. He gestured for her to come in. ‘Drink?’

Isobel walked in and immediately felt hot under the collar—literally. She’d instinctively covered herself up with an unflattering silk shirt, buttoned all the way to her neck, and now she felt ridiculous. As if clothes could protect her like armour around this man…

She nodded, that heat climbing up into her face. In comparison to her, Rafael looked cool as a cucumber. ‘Water, please.’

Before he handed her the glass he took her hand, and Isobel jumped. She looked at him warily. His eyes were molten and dark.

‘Let’s call a truce for now. Try to get on. Give this a chance. I’m giving you space…’

His eyes dropped down her body, and to Isobel’s mortification she could feel her breasts swell and peak into hard points against the silk of the voluminous shirt.

‘But I warn you now that if you ever come before me dressed like this again I’

ll strip the clothes off you and redress you myself. Dressing like that only makes me want to uncover the secrets of your delectable body even more.’

Heat and fire rushed through Isobel, and she felt in serious danger of falling down. She pulled her hand free with an effort and nodded jerkily. ‘Fine. A truce.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing at all wrong with what I’m wearing. It was part of the trousseau.’

Rafael growled. ‘If that’s the case, the stylist is getting sacked. I’m warning you, Isobel, don’t push me. I’m prepared to give you your precious space, but only for a finite time…’ He finally gave her the glass of water, lifting his own glass high. ‘To a truce—and a long and successful marriage.’

With the utmost reluctance Isobel touched her glass to his and took a drink, thankful that she didn’t choke.

The following morning at breakfast Isobel felt gritty-eyed after a restless night. Rafael, however, looked as fresh as a daisy.

‘I thought you might like to come around the estate with me today—get a proper feel for it. We can go on horseback.’

Isobel could feel herself go pale at the thought of taking in all that expanse again, and she put down her coffee cup with a clatter. She darted a look to Rafael. ‘I don’t know if I’m—’

He cut her off. ‘You’re going to have to get to grips with it some time. I’m sorry for giving you such a whirlwind tour the first day. I can see how overwhelming it must have been. But perhaps this way it’ll be a little more manageable.’

Isobel felt torn. Of course she wanted nothing more than to get to know the estancia—but an entire day alone with Rafael? She’d already avoided something like this the day before. But now…she had no excuse. Her cowardly heart beat fast. She nodded abruptly. ‘Okay. That sounds nice.’

A couple of hours later, astride a huge horse, with a widebrimmed gaucho hat on her head, following Rafael, she knew nice didn’t do it justice.

Isobel couldn’t help a burgeoning feeling of something scarily like joy from expanding her chest. And pride to know that everything in sight had belonged to her grandmother and was now partly hers again…Paris and the life she’d led there seemed like a far distant memory.

An assertion gripped her: she belonged here. It rushed through her blood, stunning in its intensity. Up till now she’d never had that feeling.

The pampas stretched out around her, and the Sierras Chicas rose majestically in the distance. A lump, unbidden, constricted her throat. Just then Rafael stopped his horse and looked back. He sat with easy grace in his saddle, lean and awe-inspiring. Faded jeans moulded to hard thigh muscles. Isobel gripped her reins hard. She’d been avoiding looking at him ever since she’d watched him swing all too lithely into his saddle.