Bride in a Gilded Cage
Isobel flushed at being reminded of their unbreakable ties. And also at being reminded of that nebulous pull she felt to the estancia that had been her grandmother’s.
Even so, she fought. It was all she had left to do. Her response to him made her lash out again. ‘Damn you, Rafael, you think you know it all. It goes against everything in me to bind myself into a loveless marriage to fulfil the terms of some agreement. There has to be another way.’
He smiled a hard smile. ‘I’m not a tyrant, Isobel. I won’t be locking you away in a high tower.’
Isobel still fought. ‘I’d rather be locked in a tower than be forced into an arranged marriage with a cynical, spoilt, jaded Buenos Aires playboy who has nothing better to do than make arrogant demands because he’s decided he’s happy to honour some ancient agreement.’ Isobel realised she was breathing hard. ‘I want you to leave.’
An incredulous expression stole across Rafael’s face. ‘You have no idea, do you?’
Despite herself Isobel had to ask. ‘No idea about what?’
Rafael was watching her carefully. ‘About how badly your father is doing…He’s made some highly risky investments lately, spurred on by your mother, and they’ve all backfired. He’s on the verge of bankruptcy.’
‘Oh, please,’ Isobel said disgustedly. ‘If this is just your attempt to make me feel even more vulnerable—’
‘It’s not.’
He sounded so grim that Isobel just looked at him, and felt a cold finger of dread touch her spine.
‘Your father is in serious trouble, Isobel. He stands to lose everything.’
Isobel instinctively reached for the high-backed chair near her, needing to hold on to something. Right then she knew implicitly that Rafael wouldn’t be lying about this. He wouldn’t need to. Her father had always had a rash side; it was what had made him a financial whiz in the first place, and brought him to the attention of her mother’s family, who’d wanted her to marry into the prestigious and more stable banking world in Europe. Isobel had always suspected that the sale of the estancia had probably had as much to do with her father’s reckless trading as her grandfather’s own poor judgment. And she could well imagine now that the collapse of the global economy hadn’t been kind to him.
She tried not to reveal how shaken she was by this news, and recalled that she hadn’t heard from her father in some weeks. He’d always made an effort to keep in touch.
‘How do you know this?’
Rafael grimaced. ‘It seems you’ve forgotten how small our world is in Buenos Aires. It’s not common knowledge yet how bad things are for him, but I’m in close contact with some of his lenders and it’s not good. I’d say he has at the most a month before it becomes public knowledge.’
Isobel had gone inward, and she said now, more to herself than Rafael, ‘My mother mustn’t know…if she knew about this…’
‘Oh, she knows all right. That’s why they came to see me some weeks ago. Their very future hinges on this marriage going ahead, so needless to say they were extremely relieved when I told them I had it in hand.’
Isobel looked at Rafael. She was stunned. Everything had just been tipped on its axis, and suddenly her last remaining hope of any possible way out was being ripped from under her feet.
As if to ram it home, Rafael spelt it out. ‘When we marry, the estancia will become half yours, as my wife. Your parents will receive their sizeable inheritance and your family will be fine. And there’s something else you should know—the agreement says that I only have to pay half of what the estancia was worth, but I’ve agreed to pay your parents half of what it’s worth now. Needless to say, we’re talking a difference that runs into millions. But I’m prepared to do this as I have no wish for my wife’s family to struggle financially in the future.’
And then he stuck the knife in even deeper. ‘How can you turn your back on your family when they need you? Or turn your back on receiving the legacy of your grandmother’s ancestral home for your own children?’
Isobel had let go of the counter and her fingernails were scoring half-moons in the palms of her hands. She hated Rafael for the sense of responsibility that washed over her in a sickening wave.
Isobel realised she was shaking like a leaf. ‘Get out of my apartment, Mr Romero. You’ve said what you came to say, now get out.’
‘Isobel, you know you don’t have a choice.’
‘Of course I do,’ she said desperately, refusing to give up even now. ‘There’s always a choice. And I’m not going to ask you again to get out.’
She walked over to the door and opened it wide. To her intense relief Rafael moved towards it. But he stopped just at the threshold. Isobel tried desperately to ignore the way her skin felt hot and seemed to be stretched tight. She avoided Rafael’s eyes.
‘I’ll come for you tomorrow afternoon, Isobel. It’s time to come home and fulfil your duty—to me and your family. Your fate was written a long time ago, and it’s bound up with mine—irrevocably.’
‘Get out,’ Isobel said, almost pleading.
Finally he’d gone, and she heard his steps descending the stairs. Closing the door, she sagged back against it and then her legs gave way. She slithered to the ground and sat like that for a long time, her brain blissfully frozen in a state of shock.
Across Paris Rafael stood at the window of his dimly lit bedroom suite. The Eiffel Tower shone and glistened like a giant bauble outside. He had to admit that he admired Isobel more and more after meeting her again. She was still fighting. A dart of panic gripped his gut for a second. He couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t have run again by tomorrow.
He knew, though, that the news of her father’s dire straits would have made her stop to think. Rafael frowned. He’d truly never been in this situation before, where a woman patently wanted nothing to do with him. His ego wasn’t dented…he knew Isobel wanted him. And after that kiss the depth of his own attraction for her had stunned him slightly. It had been near impossible to pull back and not give in to the urge to keep going—to caress her slender curves, pull up her dress to inch his hand up those quivering thighs.