Claiming His Wife

Would he believe her when she insisted she hadn't spent that year away sleeping around, learning by experience? He hadn't so far, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to try again.

Would he truly understand that, apart from his monumental Spanish pride being damaged by having a runaway wife, that year had been necessary? He'd said she'd needed to-grow up, but more than that, she had needed to find out who she was, what she was capable of—had needed to find the self-respect that had been missing for most of her life. Roman looked so sombre. She had her misgivings, and they deepened when he turned to face her, his features shadowed and stark in the cool dim light.

'I want you to know that I made a bad mistake when I blackmailed you into staying with me, sleep­ing with me. I've thought hard about this over the past few days. What I did was unworthy, dishonour­able. Unforgivable.' He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets, his mouth a straight hard line, his eyes dark and unreadable.

A current of fear arced through her. What was go­ing on here? Was this some kind of coded message? Would she ever be able to breach those vast, remote defences of his? Could her words alone touch him? He had retreated to a place where she couldn't reach him, just as he had done when he'd decided she was frigid and had ceased to bother with her.

At least she could try! 'You don't have to apolo­gise for anything,' she said quickly.

'I'm not. Haven't I already said that what I did was unforgivable? So,' he went on in a flat mono­tone, 'you are free to go now. I release you from our bargain. And before you start worrying about that brother of yours—who should be old enough to look after himself—if he keeps his nose clean, works hard, he can enjoy

a good position on the finca.'

Dismissed. Just like that! These few weeks had meant nothing to him. A woman to sleep with, that was all she'd been to him, and now she'd served her purpose she could go.

Anger sparked in her eyes. 'Let me get this straight—Delfina's safely engaged and due to leave the country in a day or two, and,' she added for good measure, 'you've satisfied your curiosity about my present attitude to sex, so I can leave!'

She hadn't known she could feel this betrayed, so surplus to requirements. Or so blisteringly angry! At least anger was keeping the hurt away—for the mo­ment.

He seemed to be having a problem with her anger, judging by the frowning bar of his brows. And then he tilted his head just slightly. 'If that's how you want to see it. I am merely explaining you are free to go.'

Or stay? But he hadn't mentioned anything about her staying. And she could tell by the closed-in look on his face that her presence was suddenly distasteful to him. But she'd give him one last chance; she owed that to herself and to their unborn child.

'What about the divorce?' she asked, and wished she hadn't sounded quite so humble. She prayed he'd say he didn't want that to happen, prayed so hard her heart hurt.

'If that's what you want,' Roman conceded slowly. His minimal shrug looked decidedly dismissive. 'But in the meantime I'll make you a generous allowance. I know, because you've told me—' his mouth curved bitterly, '—that you're quite capable of looking after yourself, but the job and the flat you had have gone. For that I take full responsibility— and I don't like the idea of you having to wait on tables, or serve behind some seedy bar because you're unqualified for anything better, living on a low wage in some squalid room.'

It was like a slap in the face. A hard slap. Holding herself together was going to be tough. She lifted her chin and said staunchly, 'Then I'll pack. I'll stay overnight in Seville and catch the first available flight back to England.' She headed for the stairs, but his harsh voice halted her. 'Tell me when you're ready and I'll drive you.'

She didn't turn. She couldn't. Why let him see the tears that were now flowing unstoppably? She swal­lowed hard. 'Thanks but I'd much prefer Manuel's company. Perhaps you could tell him I'll be ready to leave in twenty minutes.'

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Roman dismounted and handed the reins of his sweat-lathered horse to the groom who came hurry­ing from the stable block to meet him. Beneath the straight brim of his black, dust-covered Cordoban hat his features were scored with harsh lines.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the sweeping upland valley; a pair of eagles planed overhead in a cloudless sky that was deepening to amethyst.

His boots rang on the cobbles of the yard as he strode towards the main house, slapping the dust from the sleeves of his heavy-duty canvas jacket.

Nothing had worked during the month since Cassie had left. Not a damn thing. Not the long hours of unremitting physical hard work here on the estate, the endless cold showers, stern and lengthy lectures to himself on the advisability of cutting his losses, getting on with his life, etc, etc.

Something had died inside him when she'd walked out of their marriage for the second time. Only his ingrained pride had stopped him from going after her, up the sweeping staircase he never wanted to have to see again in the whole of his life, begging her to forgive him, pleading with her to stay.

The first time she'd left him had been hard. This time it was a whole lot tougher.

He'd given her the opportunity to leave, and against all his hopes she'd taken it. But what else, with honour, could he have done? To have put pres­sure on her to stay with him would have been un­thinkable, given what he'd already done to her.

Initially, the idea of forcing her to stay with him had seemed logical. It would have given them the chance to get to know each other all over again, al­low him to prove that he could be good husband material. Not the remote figure he'd turned into dur­ing the first two years of their marriage, too insen­sitive, or too damn proud to ask why she flinched and looked at him with frightened eyes whenever he came near her.

But later the idea of blackmail had left a sour taste in his mouth. He'd come to despise himself for using her natural concern for her brother against her. And, yes, if he was honest with himself, jealousy had come into it. Where and how had she learned to be so sexually responsive? And who with?

Now that side of it didn't seem to matter. Provided it was in the past.

As usual, Asuncion had left a cold supper on a tray in his study. Food had been the last thing on his mind these past weeks.

And, thankfully, the aunts had joined his mother in Jerez for the Sherry Harvest that had been cele­brated earlier this month. He could do without the presence of chattering females and he guessed the icy tongue-lashing he'd doled out on the subject of their less than helpful treatment of Cass in the past had sent them scuttling for cover, staying at the house in Jerez for much longer than usual, hoping that time would improve his temper.

Time wouldn't alter a thing; he knew that. Only his wife's love could make him feel whole again.