She shouldn’t be telling him this. It had nothing to do with him, and would serve no purpose whatsoever, but it was liberating to finally share it with someone.
‘What was it, Georgina?’ he urged as her silence lengthened.
He reached out and pushed back the hair from her face and she dropped her gaze, not wanting to see the sympathy in his eyes. How could a man as ruthless and in control as Santos possibly understand?
‘Tell me, Georgie.’
One hand stroked her hair whilst the other held firmly onto her hand. She had no means of escape, no way out.
What would he think of her if she told him?
‘At first she was just incapable of looking after us—that was unless she was in the throes of a new affair—but soon it was down to me to get Emma to school, to put a meal on the table.’
He stopped stroking her hair, his hand resting on her shoulder, warm and comforting. ‘Go on.’
Those first words had unleashed all her hurt and she knew she should stop. She shrugged, not wanting to allow him any closer emotionally.
‘So I got out as soon as an opportunity presented itself. I had to. It was the only way of keeping a roof over our heads and food on the table. Any money my mother had was spent on what she considered important—not on what actually was, like food and rent.’
He sat back from her, his hands falling to his thighs, silent for a moment as he took in what she’d said. ‘That opportunity being your marriage to Richard Henshaw?’ His voice was hard, a slight growl in his throat.
She looked up at him. He really did think she’d married purely for the money and status Richard had given her. Words of defence were on the tip of her tongue, but something stopped her, froze them as if the warm sea breeze had changed to a bitter winter wind. Instead she wanted to tell him—wanted him to know.
‘He offered me everything I wanted—and more.’
She sat taller in her seat and looked him in the eye. For a moment she’d almost told him the truth—told him how Richard had literally rescued her, offering her security for Emma and asking for nothing other than that she took his name. But sense had prevailed. If he wanted to think of her as a gold-digging socialite then he could.
‘And, yes,’ she added, with the haughty tone she knew made her sound so like the woman he thought she was resounding in her voice, ‘I married him for his money and his status. But you can’t accuse me of hiding that from you. Not when it is common knowledge.’
* * *
Santos’s stomach hardened as his breath came fast. He clenched his teeth against an attack of jealousy as he imagined Georgina with another man—one she’d just admitted she’d had no feelings for. She hadn’t attempted to hide the fact that she’d used a man who must have known he was ill when he married her.
She’d used Richard and she sat there now with the innocence of a child and waited for his reaction. He was angry with himself—angry at the irrational jealousy that raged inside him just thinking of her with another man. She was his wife, and what he felt for her now surpassed anything he’d felt for previous lovers.
‘We all have a past, querida.’ He kept his tone as nonchalant as possible, regretting having started the conversation. He’d known of her reputation when he’d agreed to their ludicrous deal, so why did it matter so much?
Control, he reminded himself. Whatever happened he had to be in control, and for a moment there he’d almost lost it—almost given in to the temptations of the devil. This whole episode was about getting what he wanted, not about emotions. Never emotions.
He stood up and walked to the side of the yacht, checking their location, almost relieved to see they had arrived at his chosen bay. He breathed deeply, enjoying the salty tang in his mouth, trying to revitalise himself before he turned back to look at the woman who was now his wife.
‘Yes, we do. Including you.’
The accusation in her voice was clear and he couldn’t help but smile at her pretence at fury. Her expression was severe, but her eyes were telling a different story.
‘It’s called life, Georgie.’ He put out a hand and stepped towards her. ‘And right now ours is for living. What about a swim in the sea? Wash all your troubles away?’
For a moment he thought she was going to refuse. Confusion furrowed her brow, then she regained her composure, took his hand and smiled up at him, openly flirting.
‘A swim sounds delicious.’
Delicious. She was delicious, with the wind wrapping the almost see-through kaftan close to her glorious body, the blue bikini showcasing just what a figure she had. Lust thudded in his veins and he cursed his wayward thoughts.