Bride in a Gilded Cage

He breathed deep, sensing a delay in having his needs met. His suspicion that his new wife was playing the game of a tease made him grind out, ‘Isobel? What is it?’

The confidence and fiery bravado that he’d become used to was gone, and suddenly she looked very young. Through the make-up he could see dark shadows under her eyes, and something clenched in his gut. But he quashed it. She was acting. That was all. Testing her control over him. He was certainly not about to let her see how much he wanted her.

Isobel bit her lip, her eyes darting to Rafael and then away again. More concerned than irritated now, despite himself, he said, ‘Isobel—’

She blurted out, ‘I just…I really want to go to bed alone. This has all happened so fast, and I’ve barely even seen you since we came back to Argentina. Two weeks ago I was living in Paris and yet here I am…It’s a lot to take in.’

Isobel forced herself to look at Rafael, her hands wringing together even tighter, knuckles showing white. She couldn’t do this—couldn’t just let him take her to bed like this. For so many reasons—not the least of which was her response to him, and how much it confused her, and how she had to get it under some kind of control so that she could cope. But right now she couldn’t. And she was terrified he’d touch her and scramble all her thoughts. He’d done that in the church earlier with his kiss. And then when he’d kissed her again in her bedroom she’d v

ery nearly lain back and given herself up completely.

Rafael just looked at her, his face unreadable in the shadows of the dark room. Eventually he let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. Tension vibrated off him in waves, enveloping Isobel.

‘I’m not in the habit of forcing unwilling women into my bed, Isobel, and I’ve no intention of starting now with my wife. Please, by all means, go to your own bed.’

Isobel looked at him warily, suspicion coiling deep within her that he was giving in too easily. There had been an element to his voice she hadn’t missed but couldn’t place—almost as if he wasn’t entirely surprised. He’d stuffed his hands into his pockets, and his face was as blank as before, but a muscle twitched in his jaw.

Sensing that she was on a very short leash, Isobel backed away towards the connecting door. ‘Thank you.’

But when she reached it she realised that it was still locked from when she’d locked it earlier. Flushing with embarrassment, she stalked back and past Rafael to go out through his main door, and heard his softly mocking, ‘You really don’t need to lock me out, Isobel. Soon enough you’ll be welcoming me with open arms.’

Isobel’s hand was on the knob, and her heart hammered when she heard Rafael call her name. Back straight, she tensed even more when she realised he was right behind her. Panic nearly made her sway. Had he changed his mind?

She started to turn around, to plead if she had to, but every word died on her lips when she felt his hands at the top of the back of her dress. She couldn’t move.

‘I don’t think you’re going to be able to get out of that by yourself…let me help.’

Speechless, and feeling as though she was burning up from the inside out, she felt Rafael take the zip and slowly pull it down—all the way until the knuckles of his fingers touched the bare, sensitive skin just above her buttocks. She still had a hand on the knob of the door, and her other hand held the now gaping dress to her chest. Burning all over, she managed a strangled sound of something vaguely coherent and pulled the door open.

All she heard as she fled to her own room was a soft, dark chuckle. She shut her bedroom door behind her, resting against it for a long moment before a curiously unsatisfied ache down low in her abdomen registered. It was an ache that she didn’t want to think about, and she resolutely ignored it as she undressed and crawled into bed.

The morning came with a somewhat rude awakening: the sound of a tray banging down by Isobel’s bed. She sat up in a panic, not knowing for a second where she was. It all came flooding back, though, when she saw the sour features of Juanita as the housekeeper drew back the heavy curtains and allowed sunlight to flood the room.

‘Good morning,’ Isobel said faintly.

Juanita all but ignored her, turning at the door to say curtly, ‘Your husband is in the dining room. He is waiting for you.’

And then she was gone. On the tray that Juanita had delivered was a glass of orange juice. As much as Isobel would have liked to ignore the summons, she was wary of antagonising Rafael.

After a quick shower, and dressing in her own jeans and a faded check shirt, she went downstairs, bringing the tray down with her. She found the dining room when she saw Juanita emerge through a heavy oak door. The housekeeper barely acknowledged Isobel, just took the tray and gestured with her head to the door.

Isobel went in and saw Rafael’s impressive back facing her. She slipped into the seat to his right, at the head of the table, and tried to ignore the way butterflies had erupted to life in her belly. If she’d been more in control of herself perhaps they would really be man and wife now, in every sense of the word.

He was reading a paper and sipping coffee from a small cup which should have looked ridiculous in his huge hand, but didn’t. Isobel avoided his eye and shook out her napkin. ‘Good morning.’ She reached for a fluffy-looking croissant. ‘I think your housekeeper has it in for me.’

Rafael tutted and shook his paper. ‘Nonsense. She’s just a romantic at heart, and I don’t think she’s under any illusions as to the nature of our marriage.’

His voice was dry. He was clearly referring to their separate beds last night. He turned back to his paper, leaving Isobel seething with a tumultuous mix of emotions in her breast. She took a bite out of her croissant and chewed disconsolately. It had looked so delicious, but now it tasted like sawdust.

After a couple of minutes’ silence, Rafael put down the paper and fixed those dark eyes on her. She couldn’t look away.

He ran his eyes over what she was wearing and Isobel flushed.

‘I knew I should have told Juanita to dispose of your own clothes.’

Isobel gasped, but before she could say anything, Rafael continued.

‘We’re leaving for our honeymoon in a couple of hours. I’ll have Juanita pack for you. I told you before, Isobel—I won’t have you making a mockery of me and our marriage.’