‘Considering the way your own sister dresses—’
‘But only in the privacy of her own home, in an effort to shock and annoy me,’ Joaquin interposed wryly. ‘I looked at you and I read the message in the clothes you wore.’
‘What message?’ Lucy was now taut, flushed and discomfited.
‘That you were sexually available, that you knew the score, that you wanted me to look and desire you,’ Joaquin supplied with a raw edge to his dark deep drawl. ‘I got the wrong message, es verdad?’
Lucy dropped her head, for there was a certain amount of truth in what he said. Cindy adored being the centre of male attention. Cindy always dressed on the edge of provocation. ‘They weren’t my clothes.’
‘Did you think I hadn’t worked that out yet?’ Joaquin spread one lean brown hand in an angry movement. ‘Just like you fondly imagined outside the church today that I might not be able to tell you and your twin apart?’
‘A lot of people say they can’t—’
‘Then they’re playing to the gallery. Cindy looks older. Same features, but different expression and cynical eyes.’
‘I wouldn’t have been too happy if you hadn’t been able to tell us apart,’ Lucy conceded.
‘I would have been happier had I found out my mistake before you left my country,’ Joaquin admitted, his beautiful mouth curling. ‘I only ever intended to spend the one night with you—’
‘Let’s not talk about that,’ Lucy cut in uncomfortably.
Joaquin dealt her a gleaming glance, his hard jawline squaring. ‘I have never brought a woman to Hacienda De Oro. It is my family home. Out of respect for my female relatives I observe certain standards there, but desire overcame my fine principles,’ he stated. ‘I had nothing with which to protect you. I believed you had recently been living with a man—’
‘I understand that.’ Lucy just wished he would drop the subject.
‘Do you? Precautions did cross my mind, but my hunger was stronger than my caution,” Joaquin confessed curtly. ‘So now we both pay the price.’
A wash of prickling tears hit the backs of her eyes. ‘It doesn’t have to be like that, Joaquin.’
‘Do you think I’m whingeing like some teenage boy faced with his obligations?’ Joaquin laughed with what sounded like genuine amusement, and that made her glance up in sharp disconcertion. ‘Now that I have spent all afternoon and most of the evening counting the costs, let me count the benefits.’
‘Benefits?’ Lucy queried in surprise.
‘I shall have you in my bed whenever I want. I shall have a child, and I like children. I will also get a keeper for my very troublesome sister.’ As he spoke Joaquin closed the distance between the door and the bed and reached for her hands to pull her to him with easy strength. ‘Yolanda’s too old for a substitute mother figure, but just ripe for a big sister with a sympathetic manner. She likes you. You certainly made a hit there!’
Still trying to adjust to that volatile change of mood which had so taken her by surprise, she felt her mouth run dry as Joaquin just lifted her against him like a doll. Her heart hammered, the most wanton sense of anticipation rising as she collided with his shimmering green eyes. But Joaquin did not kiss her. Instead, he flipped open the door again, and she belatedly appreciated that he was actually taking her out of his bedroom.
‘But maybe it’s not Yolanda whom I most want and need to be a hit with…’ Lucy confided in a sudden rush, the awkward sentence tripping off her tongue, ill-considered but honest in sentiment.
‘It is all that is on offer, querida. Unlike you, I do not tell lies. If you did not have my baby inside you, you would not be here now.’ Further down the well-lit corridor, Joaquin thrust open another door and carried her over to the bed.
‘But I couldn’t live with you feeling like that!’ Lucy confessed, so great was her recoil from that blunt statement.
‘I do not have one of those tolerant forgiving natures that everybody is supposed to have these days,’ Joaquin delivered in a driven undertone. ‘I have a very strong sense of what is wrong and what is right, and what you did to me was very wrong. Do not ask or expect me to pretend otherwise.’
Having shattered her with that speech, he laid her down on the bed with careful, even gentle hands. ‘Buenas noches, Lucy.’
Lucy stared at the ceiling until her vision clouded with the strength of her stare. Tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes and stung her taut face. Well, she had asked how he really felt about her and he had told her. He had told her, with the kind of sincerity that scorched, exactly how he felt. She had been judged and found wanting and he did not believe that he would ever manage to forgive her. She couldn’t possibly marry him. She couldn’t possibly!
She tossed and turned all night, but eventually she weighed every possibility in the balance and that was when she decided that she would marry him. First and foremost their baby deserved that she made that commitment and try to make their marriage work. She would have to be patient where Joaquin was concerned, but with time and opportunity on her side mightn’t he start seeing her in a different light? All right, so he didn’t love her, but nobody got absolutely everything they wanted, did they? She was willing to compromise.
On the way downstairs next morning, Lucy could not help noticing the absence of any form of seasonal decoration, yet in little more than a week it would be Christmas day. Probably Joaquin and his sister always spent the Christmas period in Guatemala, she reflected.
Joaquin lowered his newspaper when she entered the dining-room for breakfast. Still clad in her bridesmaid’s dress, because she had nothing else to wear, Lucy felt a little foolish.
‘The special license will be granted for the day after tomorrow. I expect my diplomatic status helped.’ Casting aside the newspaper, Joaquin rose to his full, formidable height, his well-cut charcoal-grey business suit accentuating his wide shoulders and lean muscular physique.
He took a lot for granted, and Lucy stiffened. ‘I haven’t said I’ll marry you yet.’
Cool green eyes set in a darkly handsome lean male visage arrowed into hers. ‘Will you?’ he said drily.
Her colour heightened. ‘Yes.’
‘I never doubted it for a moment, querida,’ Joaquin murmured silkily. ‘One of my staff is handling the arrangements. The application requires a copy of your birth certificate.’
Anger and embarrassment claimed her and she bit down on her tongue before she said something she might regret.
‘I suggest that you move in here today,’ Joaquin continued evenly. ‘Yolanda’s school breaks up for the holidays tomorrow and she’ll be home in the afternoon. I’d be obliged if you were in residence by then.’
Taking her seat at the beautifully set table, trying not to seem sensible of the attentions of the manservant pouring a cup of coffee for her, Lucy asked, ‘Won’t you be here?’
‘I’ll be in Paris by this afternoon.’
She worried at her lower lip. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘I’ll be back in London late tomorrow night.’
As he headed for the door, Lucy scrambled up again. ‘You’re leaving now?’
‘Tell me, am I likely to get forty questions every time I leave you?’ Joaquin enquired drily.
Lucy reddened, but she nodded with unapologetic certainty.
His brilliant eyes shimmered over her face and then narrowed. He caught one hand in her hair and pulled her mouth under his in an onslaught that was so unexpected that a tiny cry of surprise escaped her. It was a devouringly hungry kiss that sent her reeling. The stabbing thrust of his tongue sent a wave of excitement hurtling through to her to the extent that his equally abrupt withdrawal felt like a punishment.
Dark colour scoring his proud cheekbones, Joaquin released her and expelled his breath. ‘I almost forgot. The ring…’
Still recovering from that explosive kiss, Lucy watched him lift a small jeweller’s box from a side-table and extend it to her. ‘Ring?’ she questioned, her heart startin
g to beat even faster, her reddened mouth to curving into a smile.
‘A betrothal ring.’ Joaquin frowned, his beautiful mouth harshly compressed as he made a positive production out of glancing at his watch like a male severely pressed for time. ‘My sister will expect it. Take her shopping with you for a wedding gown.’
‘A wedding gown?’ Lucy clutched the box in one hand and made a speaking gesture with her other at what was she actually wearing. ‘But I could wear this—’
An expression of distaste crossed his lean strong face. ‘No Del Castillo bride would wear a second-hand dress!’
He reached the door and then swung back to murmur reflectively, ‘Choose something white…a white dress. Full-length and traditional.’
He was thinking of Cindy’s bridal apparel, which had been pink and short, she registered dully. ‘Anything else?’ she asked, not really expecting a further response.
Joaquin contemplated the wall rather than her, hard jawline set in a stubborn thrust, apparently deep in thought on a subject which she had not expected him to take one iota of interest in. ‘A veil…and perhaps a tiara…I’ll have my mother’s jewellery flown over. You’ll need a bouquet…white roses,’ he stipulated without hesitation. ‘And don’t put your hair up.’