The Spaniard's Pregnant Bride Read online

  “I half expected you to show up looking like an indignant creature.”

  She frowned. “I do not look like an indignant anything. I am neither a creature nor a child. I am a woman, and I know how to dress like one, particularly when I receive a dinner invitation.”

  “Consider me pleasantly surprised.” He reached out, extending his hand, and the moment threw her back violently to that night in the ballroom. When he had extended a leather-covered hand in her direction, the moment she had consented to being led down into the underworld. “Shall we?”

  She felt as though he was asking a different question entirely. As though he was asking for her very soul, and not just her hand.

  Her arms felt like lead at her sides, and she could not bring herself to accept the offer. Not again. Not with visions of that night swirling around in her head, making her feel dizzy, faint. Slowly, he dropped his hand back to his side. “Or, you could just follow me.”

  He turned, blazing the trail to the terrace, where a table had been set for two. It was a gorgeous setting, no less lush and perfectly suited to her than her dress had been. Her favorite foods were set out on the table. Pasta, thin slices of beef, green salad drenched in vinaigrette dressing, covered in cheese.

  “How did you know?”

  “I have spent a great deal of time eating dinner at your family home, Allegra. I have observed things.”

  Something about his words made her feel like he had reached inside her and grabbed hold of her heart, squeezing it tight. She gritted her teeth, pushing against the sensation. “I don’t believe you were paying close enough attention to me to figure out what I like to eat.”

  “Or, perhaps I called your brother and asked. It’s up to you. Figure out which one makes the most sense.” He took a step forward, grabbing hold of the back of the chair and pulling it out from the table. “Have a seat.”

  He made her feel guilty. Made her feel as though, somehow, she was the one who was out of line, when in fact he was the one who had loaded her up onto a plane and coerced her into saying yes to this engagement, complete with custody threats. She should not be feeling guilty simply because she didn’t respond warmly to his apology dinner. Or, whatever it was.

  “It looks delicious,” she said, but, she nearly choked on the words.

  “I have no doubt it is. My staff does very good work.”

  “Italian food as well as Spanish, I see.”

  “I had someone brought in specially to make the food in a manner you would enjoy.”

  He said those words dismissively, almost icily. And yet, she couldn’t help but be almost touched by them. It seemed as though he was actually trying to make her feel welcome here. Though, she had much the sense that she was a prisoner being offered her last meal. She was caught between those two sensations. Of feeling warm, cared for, and feeling as though she was trapped.

  “Don’t you think that perhaps we should delay our marriage a little bit?”

  “Not long. I don’t have any desire to see tabloid pictures of you walking down the aisle looking as though you are about to burst. Those will be photographs our child will have access to later. And while I imagine someday they will be able to do the math on their conception, I would rather it were not so plain. In the age of the internet, there are no secrets to be kept.”

  “I’m not suggesting we get married directly before my induction. But maybe until I’m past the most unstable part of the pregnancy?”

  “And when will that be?” he asked, not waiting to start eating the meal set out before him.

  “In about a month.”

  “Well, it will take at least that much time to gather all of our plans. The wedding of nobility will never be a small affair, even if we do limit the guest list. There will be interest, and I have no desire to sweep this marriage beneath the rug. Again, for the sake of our child.”

  Allegra had not imagined that he wanted to have a full-on wedding ceremony. Instead, she had been sort of picturing a courthouse situation. But then, she imagined Spanish dukes didn’t do courthouse weddings.

  “Oh,” she said, sounding every bit as confused as she felt. “It’s only that... I mean, you have been married before.”

  “Precisely,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “I have been married before, and those photographs will be available for our son or daughter to see. I do not wish for that child to think that I married his or her mother in haste, and with less honor than I gave to my first wife.”

  “But that’s exactly what’s happening.”

  “Appearances,” he bit out, “are essential when you live life in the public eye. Appearances are often more essential than reality.”

  Allegra knew well enough how true that was. It was why her parents were constantly rolling their eyes at Renzo’s antics. He was a playboy of the highest degree, but because he was a man his acumen in business canceled out his behavior. She had been warned, from a very early age, that the public would not be so forgiving of her. The discussion was never so much about what she actually did, so much as about what became public.

  “I do understand. It’s just that... I suppose, we could make the argument that we were so very much in love we had to rush to get married?”

  He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. “A fact that would be much easier to create, were we not planning on divorcing within two years.”

  “Marry in haste, divorce just as quickly?”

  “While that makes its own sort of sense, I insist that we do this right.”

  She let out a heavy sigh, and the two of them continued eating in silence. She never knew what to say to him. She never had. Whenever he would come over for dinner in the years past, she would simply sit and listen as he and Renzo bounced stories off each other, their interplay effortless, and delightful to her father and mother.

  Delightful in a way that Allegra never seemed to be. She was always afraid of saying the wrong thing, and when she did speak, she inevitably did. Either she didn’t have the answer people were looking for, or she ended up in a fight. That was how it always went with Cristian. Tongue-tied, or angry. There was very little in between.

  True to his word, the food was excellent, and Allegra ate more than she should. In spite of the fact that she still had a wedding dress to fit into. She wondered if she would be expected to wear the same wedding dress. That was a terrible thought.

  On the heels of that thought came the realization that she would indeed be too big for that dress by the time her wedding date to Cristian rolled around. She was pregnant—she wasn’t going to go on any prewedding crash diets.

  Her mother was going to be apoplectic.

  She was still brooding about this when she finished her dinner. And then, Cristian moved from his position in his chair, rising to a standing position and reaching into his coat pocket. He made for a striking figure, standing there in front of her, backlit by the sea and the sinking sun. He was wearing a sharp, black suit, as he often did, and yet, something about now made it different. Maybe the fact that they had been lovers, even if using that word was stretching the truth a bit.

  Sex against a wall was hardly making love. And being with a man once—when he didn’t even know who you were—was hardly the same as being his lover.

  When he fished his hand back out of his pocket, he was holding a velvet ring box between his thumb and forefinger. Her heart stalled out. “Cristian...”

  But before she could protest, he was sinking down to one knee in front of her on the terrace, opening the lid on the box and revealing an intricate, glittering ring, an emerald blazing at the center of a finely etched setting.

  “We must make it official,” he said, his voice low, grave. “If we are to have a real wedding, then we will have a real engagement.”

  He reached inside the box and took the ring out, holding it up so that it caught the light. It glittered there, like a promise. The fire dancing inside of it so small and tentative that she knew the slightest breeze could snuff it out.

 
And then, he lowered it, and extinguished the light, along with the metaphor that was overwrought at best.

  He took hold of her hand, slipping her ring onto the fourth finger. “You will be mine,” he said, his tone firm, his words sure. “You will be my wife.”

  Through all of it, she had been unable to speak. Unable to say anything.

  “Say yes, querida.”

  Her mouth was dry, her throat tight, and she couldn’t speak. So, she nodded instead.

  This was her second engagement. But it was the first time a man had ever gotten on one knee in front of her. It was the first time a man had ever proposed to her. Though, she supposed that Cristian hadn’t exactly proposed. He had told her that she would be his, and she had nodded her agreement.

  She imagined that was a brilliant summation of Cristian’s existence. What he wanted, he commanded. And he received.

  She was angry with herself for not being an exception.

  When he reached out his gloved hand, she had acquiesced. When he had demanded silence, she had given in. Now, out on this balcony overlooking the sea, he had asked for her hand, and again, she had allowed him his way.

  He smiled. The curve of his lips was slow, lazy and something quite unlike anything she had ever experienced before. He had never looked at her like this, not once. His smiles had always been directed at her family, and any that had been tossed her way had been sardonic at best. There was something sensual in this, something hot. Something that seemed meant for the masked woman she had been in that Venetian ballroom, and not for his friend’s younger sister who he could barely stand.

  “There,” he said, his tone triumphant. “Should we have any reporters following us, they will have seen that this is authentic.”

  He moved back to his seat, taking his position in front of his plate.

  “What?”

  “You are headline news,” he said, his tone conversational, casual. “If we had been followed to my home, I would not be surprised. There is likely someone hidden in an alcove just outside the property using a telephoto lens to try and figure out what the two of us are doing together, given your scandal. Now, they know.”

  “So...this was all for show?”

  Something about that realization enraged her, insulted her. Yes, she knew that there was nothing between herself and Cristian, but he was proposing that the two of them get married, and stay married for the next two years. He had gotten her pregnant with his child, and for a moment... For just a moment... He had made her feel something. He had made her feel as though he was looking at her. As though he saw her. And then, it had turned out that it was all a ruse.

  Before she could fully think her actions through, before she could stop herself, she found herself rising out of her chair, crossing the short space between them. She leaned in, her heart pounding heavily, her hands shaking. Her stomach was tied up in knots so tight she could barely breathe. “If you intend to put on a show, Cristian, you’re going to have to do better than that. You missed the most essential thing in a proposal.”

  He tilted his head back, looking up at her. “I do not think I did,” he said, reaching out and taking hold of her hand, brushing his thumb over the gem on her finger. “Are you not wearing my ring?”

  “It isn’t about a ring,” she said, reaching up, bracketing his face with her hands, his skin hot beneath her palms. “It’s this.”

  And then, she leaned forward, and pressed her lips to his.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CRISTIAN FELT LIKE he had been lit on fire inside. And that it was slowly burning its way outward. Allegra’s lips were soft, her kiss unpracticed. And it was undoing him completely.

  They had not kissed before. He had been inside her body, had felt the press of her mouth against his neck, his chest—all before he had known it was her. That day they had made love up against the wall, he had skimmed his hands over her bare curves.

  But he had never tasted her lips.

  She was innocence and sin, and he knew for certain this was how a man was drawn through the gates of hell. With the kiss of a temptress masquerading as an angel, unpracticed carnality disguising the depth of debauchery that was hidden beneath the surface.

  He knew that. But even knowing it he did not pull away.

  Allegra angled her head, parting her lips and brushing the tip of her tongue against the seam of his mouth. He opened, allowing her entry, growling as she breached him, tasted him, tested him.

  He grabbed hold of her hips, steadying her as she pushed her fingers through his hair, clinging to his head as she kissed him with a desperation that transcended skill. Had a woman ever kissed him like this? If she had, he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anyone. Anything.

  Just like that, a kick of guilt hit him square in the ribs.

  His wife. He had forgotten his wife. Yes, she had been dead for three years, but that was no excuse. She was the woman he had made vows to. The woman he had failed. The last woman, before Allegra, that he had kissed.

  But Allegra will be your wife. She is the mother of your child.

  And if he wasn’t careful he would break her, the same as he did everything else.

  He wrenched his mouth away from hers, pushing her back. “Enough,” he said. “That should be sufficient enough to convince anyone.”

  She looked dazed, her lips swollen, her hair tumbled. She looked a bit too much like the wanton creature he’d had the night of the masquerade. And a bit too familiar. Pushing against his conscience, against his steadfast assertion that he certainly had no idea who she was that night.

  But of course he hadn’t. Had he known, he never would have touched Allegra. He gritted his teeth, fighting with the beast inside him, fighting to keep his focus trained on a point behind her, and not on her kiss-swollen mouth.

  She was breathing hard, her petite shoulders moving up and down with each and every intake of air. He was determined to ignore that as well.

  “Did he ever kiss you?” He should not have asked that question. He should have stood up from the table and gone back into the house. He should put as much distance between the two of them as possible.

  “Did he...” She blinked rapidly. “Raphael. Did Raphael ever kiss me?”

  “Yes. Unless you have another fiancé that you neglected to tell me about.”

  “Of course he did,” she said, her tone defensive.

  “How?”

  He was warming his hands on hellfire, with every word he spoke. But knowing it didn’t change his desire to do exactly that. Hell, he had broken off their kiss. He deserved something for that.

  “What do you mean how?” She sounded intensely irritated, and confused. No different from the way Allegra typically sounded when she spoke to him.

  “Did he kiss you on the mouth, as we just did? Did he slide his tongue against yours? Taste you deeply? Savor you as though you were a dessert?” Every suggestion he spoke stoked the fire of his arousal even hotter. “Or did he kiss you on the top of your head like you were his puppy?”

  A dusky-rose color spread over her high cheekbones. “That is none of your business.”

  “Like you were a puppy, then.” He watched as fury lit her dark eyes. This, at least, was a familiar sight. Allegra, enraged at him. “Have you ever been properly kissed, Allegra?”

  Her dark eyes went round, her lips tightened into a flat line. “Of course I have.”

  “Before the kiss we just shared?”

  “You’re awful.” She turned to leave, and he rose from his seat, following slowly after her.

  “Try not to destroy the illusion,” he said.

  “What illusion?” she asked without turning around.

  “That the two of us are blissfully happy about our new engagement. And that I am following you into the house so that I can ravish you on the nearest piece of furniture.”

  Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t turn again. Instead, she continued on into the house, and he went behind her, closing the door and pressing a button
that lowered all the curtains.

  “Now you’re welcome to unleash a volley of weapons upon me. It is private.”

  “I’m too tired to attack you with weaponry. Verbal or otherwise. I want to go to bed. Alone.”

  “You speak as if there was another option. It may surprise you to hear this, Allegra, but I am not going to play the part of wicked seducer.” His body throbbed in response to those words, calling him a liar. “I have every desire to ensure that you exit our marriage as unscathed as possible. If you choose, you could leave the child in my care. If you want to move on from this as though it never happened, you would receive no judgment from me.”

  She shook her head. “That is not what I want. I’m not going to leave my child. I’m not going to act like I had no stake in this mistake. I did. This is my consequence, and I’m happy to take it. I want a child, Cristian. Maybe not yours, and maybe not now, but I have always wanted one. As for the pieces of this that are less than ideal, I will simply accept them.”

  “Then, from now on I expect that you will not act as though you are a prisoner. You were given a choice.”

  She tilted her chin up. “I will act however I choose. I have gone past the point of pretending to be perfect. I have ruined every plan my parents ever had for me. I have ruined myself. I think the payoff is that I no longer have to behave. Good night.”

  She turned and walked up the stairs, leaving him angry, hard and aching, and with absolutely no relief in sight.

  * * *

  Allegra did her best to avoid Cristian over the next few days, and he seemed completely all right with that.

  Instead, she rattled around the house attempting to amuse herself. She had a few charities that she was involved in that she checked on, but otherwise, she was at loose ends. That was the problem with spending your whole life training to become a princess. You ended up with a lot of skills that didn’t apply otherwise.

  Suddenly, she felt hollowed out, useless. She had spent her entire life leading up to the moment when she would become Raphael’s wife. And now, she wouldn’t be. In two years, she would be Cristian’s ex-wife, and then beyond that what was she supposed to do?