Bride in a Gilded Cage

‘What are you talking about?’

Isobel took a deep breath. ‘I want to open up a dance studio. A tango dance studio. I know there’s a million of them in Buenos Aires, but I want to teach children as well as adults. Offer all different kinds of dance classes in a non-exclusive way.’

Isobel could feel a little of her enthusiasm coming back. ‘And I’ve also been thinking about dance therapy—for disadvantaged kids, or kids who have learning disabilities. A psychotherapist friend in Paris has been working with kids through dance and the results can be really amazing…’ Isobel trailed off and looked at Rafael warily. He still hadn’t spoken.

She gestured with a hand to the property brochures on the table. ‘That’s what I was doing today. I wanted to see what kind of places were for sale or rent…and I’ve always liked La Boca so I thought it might be a good place to start…’

Rafael just looked at Isobel for a long moment. He struggled against waves of affront and anger to know that she’d judged him so arbitrarily on the basis of a newspaper report. He hated that he cared that she thought so little of him.

She was still dressed in the plain jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt she’d been photographed in earlier. She looked all at once sexy as hell and vulnerable. And coming home to him now was the realisation that he still hadn’t bedded his own wife. When his head of security had called him earlier to inform him that she’d gone out and they’d lost her, the rush of panic to his gut had been nothing short of cataclysmic.

The remembered panic and that lingering anger galvanised him now. ‘I will not have my wife setting up a dance studio to teach tango on the streets alongside people who perform for a few pesos.’

Isobel gasped; her eyes flashed. ‘It would not be on the streets alongside street performers, and you know it. I’m talking about setting up a proper studio, bringing money into a disadvantaged area and helping children and adults from all parts of society. Not just the rich kids. I’d also be offering job opportunities.’

Isobel watched as Rafael stepped back a pace and put his hands in his pockets.

‘You will not embarrass me like this, Isobel—wandering around talking to anyone and everyone. Whether you like it or not, you are from a certain part of society, and you would do well to remember that you have a responsibility to me as well as yourself. Your image will be scrutinised by everyone in our social circle, your every movement analysed. And mine by proxy. I’m involved in a delicate business negotiation. I can’t afford to have a loose cannon for a wife.’

Rafael heard the words coming out of his mouth and a part of him winced inwardly. He sounded like a pompous snob, but he couldn’t stop himself. His inarticulate need to control Isobel was too strong. Her behaviour today had brought up far too many conflicting emotions for him to deal with. And he couldn’t think straight when she was in front of him like this.

Tight-lipped with fury, Isobel bent down and swept all the property brochures off the table. She stalked over to a bin in the corner where she deposited the lot. She turned around, stiffbacked, and said curtly, ‘I’m glad we got this sorted. Now I know exactly how small the cage is that I’m supposed to live in. From now on I’ll be sure to be appropriately attired every day and remember my Ps and Qs and not to think for myself again. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. I’ve lost my appetite.’

She walked out of the room and Rafael sat down on the sofa, arms resting on his knees. For the first time in his life he had to admit to feeling out of his depth. The photo in the paper caught his eye. Isobel was smiling warmly into the man’s face. He hadn’t seen her smile like that at him once…

She’d smiled at the estancia, but that had been after the exhilaration of riding in the great stretches of the pampas and hadn’t been anything to do with him.

He flicked the pages over and saw another headline, which mocked him now. Clearly Isobel didn’t care enough to investigate what Rafael was really up to. Her opinion was based on an erroneous newspaper report published weeks ago. He had to concede he hadn’t exactly done anything to change that opinion, but he’d told himself that he would not let her opinion get to him, that he didn’t care what she thought, because if he did it would mean that he’d learnt absolutely nothing about self-protection. That he was as potentially weak and vulnerable as he had been all those years before, when Ana Perez had nearly destroyed him.

One thing he had to admit made a curious form of dread trickle through him: when he’d believed himself in love with Ana, he’d never cared this much about her opinion of him. Wearily, he took the paper and put it in the bin, and then went to find Juanita to ask her if she’d take some food up to Isobel’s room.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE following day was a Saturday, and they were going to the polo tournament, and then later to a charity dinner, with Rafael’s business associate Bob and his wife. Isobel was still feeling bruised and hurt by the evidence of how far Rafael was willing to go to control her. Her plan had been a bright glimmer of hope and he’d doused it.

Determined not to let him see how hurt she felt, she put her armour on. She wore a white designer trouser suit, stiletto heels and dark glasses. She was waiting for him at the front door and didn’t turn around when she heard him behind her.

He strode past her and opened the passenger door of the fourwheel drive. Isobel walked over to get in, ignoring Rafael’s helping hand. She thought she heard him sigh impatiently.

He strode around the fr

ont of the car, darkly handsome in a charcoal suit, white shirt and slim tie. Her heart clenched despite herself when she noticed that he looked tired, and she fought down the concern that came out of nowhere to grip her. What was wrong with her? she wailed inwardly. If anything, last night should have given her ample reason to hate Rafael. He’d been unbearably snobbish, priggish and controlling.

To have her worst suspicions of him confirmed like this made her feel unaccountably bleak inside, and Isobel didn’t attempt to make conversation on the way to the polo ground. As soon as they got there, Rafael swept her along in his wake to the exclusive VIP area, where they were greeted by uniformed waiters carrying trays of champagne.

A little later Isobel was making polite conversation with Rita. She’d noticed how the woman had glanced nervously at Isobel’s drink and Isobel had winced inwardly, still mortified to know she’d caused a scene of any kind.

The polo match went on in the background, but it was obvious from Rafael’s intense conversation with Bob that this was just a backdrop for more negotiations. Rita chattered inanely about the shopping in Buenos Aires being so much better than in Texas, where they were from, and Isobel tried her best to look interested.

When Rita excused herself to go to the bathroom Isobel breathed a sigh of relief, wondering how much longer this torture was likely to last. She pulled distractedly at her jacket, realising that a tag must still be attached somewhere as something was scratching against her skin.

Just then Rafael’s arm snaked around her waist and he drew her in to his side. He bent his head and said quietly, ‘Stop fidgeting.’

Isobel looked up, and heat flooded her belly when she saw the lazy smile on his mouth and the latent heat in his eyes. She couldn’t believe it. Even now, after his behaviour last night, she still reacted to him. At the last second, before his charisma could suck her under, she reminded herself it was just because they were in public and he was putting on an act. She wished she was immune to it by now.

Rafael had been trying to keep his attention on his conversation but it was impossible with Isobel beside him. When he’d come down this morning to greet her she’d been at the breakfast table, pale-faced and impassive.

She’d flicked him a glance and said quickly, gesturing to her tracksuit, ‘Don’t worry—I’m not planning on wearing this to the polo tournament. I’ve been working out in the gym.’