Bride in a Gilded Cage

Rafael sat in the lobby of the Plaza Athénée hotel and waited for Isobel. It was one of the grandest hotels in Paris, but Rafael didn’t notice the trappings of wealth around him, the expensive scents of the women there as they passed by with unconcealed looks of interest in his direction.

A coil of delicious tension snaked through his body—a sense of anticipation he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He remembered the moment in that study three years before, when Isobel had stood up to him, taking him by surprise, and he recognised the same sense of anticipation.

He saw his car pull up outside the main door and stood, grimacing slightly when he felt that tight coil of tension move southwards. With ruthless control he called his body to heel. And then the minute he saw Isobel’s silhouette emerge from the car that control was blasted to smithereens.

She passed two men as she walked in the main entrance, and Rafael saw how they both turned to look. He was no better, with his eyes glued to the graceful curve of her body. She wore the unmistakable signs of her breeding unconsciously; her dress was most likely chainstore, and nothing more than plain and black…but it could have been a Dior creation the way it hugged her torso and clung softly to her slim thighs, flaring out slightly at the knee. His eyes dropped to see her feet encased in silver high-heeled sandals and his desire escalated. With a burst of pique at his uncontrollable hormones, he went to intercept her.

Isobel tried not to be intimidated by the plush luxury of the iconic Paris hotel. It was a long time since she’d been somewhere so opulent, and she found it a little overpowering now. If she’d felt like a bag lady earlier, now she felt as if she might be mistaken for a cleaner.

She went towards the reception desk, with the intention of getting them to inform Rafael that she was here. She was not expecting the great man to be waiting himself. But just then something tall and dark caught her eye. She turned to see Rafael, in a coal-black suit and white shirt, striding across the marble lobby towards her. Isobel quailed inwardly. He looked angry, a glower transforming his features as he came closer and closer. She felt a hot rush of sensation when she remembered the tango they’d danced earlier and how closely he’d held her.

He came to a stop just inches away, and Isobel was more nervous than she cared to admit, reacting testily to his obvious irritation. ‘There’s no need to look like you’re about to take my head off. I’m only too happy to turn around and go home.’

For a second she saw Rafael battle with something, and then the glower was gone, replaced by a smile so gorgeous and charming that she was sorry she’d said anything. He put a disturbingly warm hand on her elbow.

‘Come through to the bar. We’ll have an aperitif before dinner.’

Isobel had no choice but to follow him. His hand was like a steel brand on her elbow, and heat radiated up her arm. No other man had ever had such a viscerally intense physical reaction on her body. To her relief when they walked into the bar he let her go, so they could sit down at a table. The décor was a sophisticated mix of modern and antique, the lighting was low and the tones of conversation around them reverentially hushed. Soft piano music played in the background.

She’d dreaded this moment of seeing Rafael again for three years, and yet now that it was here it didn’t feel as if it was dread making her belly tighten…

A bowing waiter materialised, as if from thin air, and Rafael looked at Isobel. She felt flustered and hot. ‘I’ll…just have a sparkling water, please.’

Rafael just looked at her, before glancing at the waiter and saying, ‘A shot of whisky. No ice. Thank you.’

The waiter walked away and Rafael settled back into his chair, long legs stretched out under the table. Isobel’s usual sense of co-ordination and grace had deserted her somewhere back in the lobby. She felt as tightly wound as a spring and sat straight, legs tucked under her chair, as far away from his as she could get.

The corner of his mouth tipped up in a small smile and her chest literally ached for a second.

‘I have to admit it, Isobel, you’ve surprised me and proved me wrong.’

She schooled her body and mind’s traitorous responses and replied tightly, ‘I wasn’t aware that I was doing anything with you in mind.’

His smile grew. ‘You threw down the gauntlet when you left Buenos Aires.’

‘I also told you that I never wanted to see you again.’

He smiled. ‘Well, you knew that wasn’t going to happen.’

Isobel felt the colour leaching from her face like a physical reaction, draining all the way down to her feet. No escape.

He continued. ‘I’ve kept tabs on you, and believe me, if I’d thought it necessary I would have come for you a lot sooner.’ He shrugged minutely and almost smirked. ‘But it would appear that your closest association has been with your gay dance partner, so I wasn’t too worried.’

Heat flooded Isobel’s cheeks at his ‘I would have come for you a lot sooner.’ ‘You had me followed?’

Rafael shrugged again, and grimaced delicately. ‘I wouldn’t say followed, per se, I merely had access to your movements. After all, you are essentially my fiancée.’

Fury raced through Isobel, and she seized the opportunity to feel righteous, with something concrete to be angry about. ‘You had me followed, and that is unacceptable.’

She stood up, but in an instant Rafael was standing, too, dwarfing her across the table. His face wasn’t remotely charming now.

‘Sit down, Isobel. I will not allow you to use something so flimsy as an excuse to walk out of here just because I make you feel nervous.’

Shock upon shock reverberated through her. Isobel’s jaw felt sore from clenching it. She felt as transparent as a glass screen, but lied, ‘You don’t make me nervous. And I’m not going to stay unless you apologise for having me followed.’

Tension crackled between them. Rafael’s eyes glowed, a dark and almost black-brown, and Isobel had a sudden flash of memory, back to when he’d kissed her and she’d seen flecks of green in their depths. She felt weak.

Rafael struggled not to kick the low table out of the way and haul her into his arms, crush her mutinous mouth under his. Two spots of colour were in her cheeks, standing out against the pallor that lingered, evidence of her discomfiture.

Easily, because it cost him nothing, he said, ‘I apologise. Now sit down.’ When she didn’t move straight away he bit out, ‘Please.’

Finally she sat, and an enticing scent teased his nostrils—her scent. Rafael sat, too, and shifted in his seat so he could be comfortable—which was a challenge when his body seemed determined to respond to rogue hormones and not logic. Sexual frustration was not a state he’d ever known until the last six months, and right now it was screaming through his veins.

The waiter came back and put down their drinks. Isobel reached for her water and lifted it to take a big gulp, but just before she did she saw Rafael’s glass lifted, too, towards her. He raised a brow.

She blushed, embarrassed, and clinked her glass to his faintly.

‘To your health.’

She mumbled something incoherent, her eyes glued to his as they both took a sip. The sparkling fizzy water burst down her throat and brought her back to some sort of reality.

‘So tell me,’ he drawled, ‘how has it been for you living in Paris?’

Isobel looked at him, and he could see her bite her lower lip. He wanted to reach across and take her chin between his fingers, kiss that spot. She looked down and up again, something fleeting crossing her face, before she asked in a strangled voice, ‘You want to talk about my life here in Paris?’

Rafael sat forward, elbows on his knees, intent on this woman in a way he hadn’t felt about any woman in a very long time. ‘That’s exactly what I want.’

Isobel sneaked a glance at Rafael. Tension had been gradually building in her body since they’d moved into the plush and opulent dining room, lit with a thousand glinting lights from intricately heavy chandeliers. A waiter came and unobtrusively cleared their empty plates. If asked, she knew she wouldn’t remember what they’d eaten, delicious though it had been. Rafael lifted the white wine bottle and gestured to Isobel. She’d only had a few sips from her glass. She shook her head quickly.

Rafael refilled his own glass and shot her a look. ‘You don’t drink?’

Isobel grimaced slightly. ‘I don’t have the head for it.’ Desperation mounted inside her as she watched him take a lazy sip. She couldn’t believe that there was no way out of the situation, and in that moment something else struck her—a feeling of guilt at knowing that he had once tried to forge his own path, marry for love, and it had been destroyed, all because of this legal agreement.

Isobel leant forward. ‘Mr Romero…’ she faltered. ‘That is, Rafael…you can’t want to marry me. Neither one of us wants this. Is there no other way we can salvage the agreement without marrying?’

Rafael leant forward, too, putting down his glass. His face was hard, his voice arctic. ‘No, Isobel, there is no other way. And you’re quite wrong. I do want this marriage. The sooner you come to terms with the fact that we are getting married, the better. If we were to try and get out of this agreement the legalities would tie up any monies from the estate for the foreseeable future—a situation your parents really cannot afford. And, as I’ve told you before, I’m not about to jeopardise one of my most valuable assets.’

CHAPTER THREE

RAFAEL continued, with no clue as to the meltdown going on inside Isobel’s head. ‘I almost lost a lucrative deal just a month ago, because my client didn’t believe I was a secure bet.’ He grimaced. ‘He was a family man, and viewed my single status as an indication of a lack of stability which he somehow linked to my business practice. It was only when I explained to him that I was engaged to be married that he came back on board.’

Isobel sat back. If Rafael had told one person, the whole of Buenos Aires would now know. No wonder her mother had sounded so complacent. Rafael kept talking, watching her carefully, his dark eyes focused on her, and Isobel felt as though she’d been hit by a lorry.

‘So you see, Isobel, the wheels have been set in motion. The press has already been speculating about my upcoming nuptials.’

Isobel’s mouth opened, even though she hadn’t even formulated anything to say, but Rafael lifted a hand. ‘Let me finish.’

She shut her mouth. She wasn’t capable of doing much else.

‘On the day of our wedding your parents will receive the money owing to them for the sale of the estancia.’

Isobel blankly looked down and saw her cappuccino. She hadn’t even registered the waiter delivering it. Her whole life was reduced to this moment in time. She saw everything in a flash: her strict upbringing, her parents’ incessant arguments, the respite of her boarding school in Britain and the influence of her staunchly middle-class English relations.

All her dreams seemed to wither into ashes at her feet. She had never stood a chance of escaping this fate. She looked back up to Rafael and found her voice. It sounded husky. ‘I haven’t changed my mind. You’re still the last man on this earth I would choose to marry.’

He looked completely unperturbed. ‘What’s the problem, Isobel? You’ve made your point, and commendably. No one would deny that you meant it when you left Buenos Aires to pursue your independence. You’ve earned my respect. Clearly you’re not a gold-digger or a spoilt brat.’

‘Wow.’ Isobel’s short sharp laugh had a slightly hysterical edge. ‘Thanks for the compliment.’

He ignored her. ‘But the fact remains you have a duty and a role to fulfil—a life with me back in Buenos Aires. You didn’t really expect to escape for ever, did you? What was your plan? To live a step above squalor, teaching tango for the rest of your life? Fall in love with a humble dancer, settle down and have babies?’

The derision in his voice finally broke through Isobel’s shock. She sat up straight, shaking all over. ‘That’s exactly what I had planned. Right along with a small cottage with a white picket fence, roses around the door and the human right of being free, allowed to live my life the way I want. Just because I was born into a certain society—does not mean that I’m beholden to it.’

Rafael smiled cynically, and his voice held a bitter edge. ‘Ah, if only that were true. You and me, Isobel, we are constrained by our society, and by our obligation to our backgrounds and our families. You come attached to an estate worth millions. Not even you can walk away from that responsibility without damaging those closest to you.’

Before Isobel could react Rafael had smoothly taken something out from the inside pocket of his jacket. It was a velvet box. Isobel’s brain was starting to implode. She watched warily as Rafael handed it across the table to her. She had a sudden pathological fear of touching the box.

Barely stifling his irritation at her less than interested response, Rafael flipped the lid up to reveal a stunning glittering diamond bracelet.

‘It’s just an early token for your birthday, Isobel…and a taste of what you can expect in the future as my wife.’

Isobel stilled in shock. She put down her napkin. ‘I thought we’d established that I’m not a gold-digger.’

‘That doesn’t mean you can’t accept a gift and enjoy it. Take it, Isobel.’

Isobel knew that she’d have to be held down and restrained before she’d accept the bracelet. She stood up shakily. Rafael made a move to stop her, and Isobel looked at him haughtily. ‘I presume I’m still free to go to the bathroom?’

Rafael inclined his head and watched her walk away a little unsteadily. He closed the lid of the box and placed it back on the table. He brooded. He hadn’t expected her to turn green at the sight of a stunning diamond bracelet, no matter how principled she was. He also hadn’t expected her to resist when he came for her. He had to admit he’d expected at least some sense of resignation. She surely hadn’t believed that she’d never have to return and take her place, take up her role? Was she completely delusional?

He flicked a glance at his watch. She’d been gone ten minutes. He looked at the doors; no sign of her return. And he knew right then, with a cold rage filling his chest, that she’d run out on him. Coolly, he motioned for the bill. He had a plan for the future and Isobel was it—whether she liked it or not.

‘You and me, Isobel, we are constrained by our society, and by our obligation to our backgrounds…’ The words reverberated in Isobel’s head, along with the image of that diamond bracelet. Tears pricked her eyes. She couldn’t believe that her life as an independent woman was being so comprehensively threatened. She couldn’t go so far as to say to herself that it was over, because that meant defeat and that she had no choice.

At that moment, though, as if to confuse her utterly, Isobel had a memory of her grandmother, just before she’d died, telling her that one day she would inherit the estancia. But of course that had been before they’d sold it to Rafael’s father. She’d been only six when her grandmother had died.

She could barely remember the estancia, as it had been so long since she’d seen it, but she did remember that it had felt like an enchanted place. It was where her grandparents had met, and she’d heard the romantic story many times.

Despite their own arranged marriage, her grandparents had been truly in love. It had pervaded everything around them. Isobel knew now that her grandmother’s death had sent her grandfather off the rails, and that was when he had started to gamble and drink too heavily, incurring great losses which had undoubtedly led to his need to sell the estancia…and this situation.

She could remember the way her grandfather had looked at her grandmother after they’d danced a tango together, oblivious to everyone around them…Isobel had always vowed that she too would marry for love, and not get sucked into a cold, sterile marriage like so many she’d seen growing up. Going to school in England had given her the false illusion that she was in control of her destiny. But she hadn’t been—not since the age of eight, when events outside of her control had taken place.

An uncomfortable voice pointed out to Isobel that in the past three years she hadn’t met the elusive love of her life, but she quashed it. Don Rafael Ortega Romero was the last man on earth she’d find that connection with. And if he thought for a second that she’d meekly go home just because it was the right thing to do, he had another think coming. She couldn’t give up on her dream so easily, no matter what was at stake. There had to be another way out.

Despite the way she’d felt hot under his gaze all evening, she couldn’t imagine for a second that he actually fancied her. She didn’t like the way that thought sank right to the depths of her belly like a stone, but at least it meant that perhaps she could appeal to him on that level. Why would he want to shackle himself to a wife he wasn’t even attracted to?

Isobel’s Métro pulled into her station. She felt mildly guilty for having run out on Rafael, but at the same time she knew that it was only his ego that would be dented.

As she climbed the steps out of the metro and emerged back into the warm air of the dark evening she felt a horribly familiar prickling feeling. So she wasn’t all that surprised to see Rafael waiting for her, leaning casually against a wall. Isobel averted her eyes, ignored the betraying kick of her heart, and started to walk purposefully to her apartment, just a couple of blocks away. Rafael kept pace with her easily.

‘I didn’t think you were brought up to walk out on a dinner date, Isobel.’

Isobel flushed, embarrassed despite her best intentions. ‘I wasn’t. But for certain people I’ll make an exception. Especially when the conversation descends to farce.’

‘There’s not many women who would consider marriage with me farcical, Isobel. I have to say that you’re unique.’

Isobel had to step aside to avoid bumping into an old lady. Immediately, she felt Rafael’s arms around her, steadying her. She broke away jerkily. They reached her door and Isobel prayed that her hand wouldn’t shake as she unlocked it. This man disturbed her more every time she saw him, threatening her on many more levels than she cared to admit to.

When she’d opened the door he drawled easily, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in for a coffee?’

Isobel turned in the doorway and looked up, thankful that his face was somewhat obscured by the dark. ‘No, I’m not.’

She started to close the door in his face, but he was too quick and easily stopped it closing. This time a steel thread ran through his voice. ‘Well, tough, because I’m coming in. We haven’t finished talking.’

He was immovable. Isobel knew with a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t budge. Now or ever. She was fighting a losing battle. Silently she stood back.

Isobel took a certain satisfaction in having Rafael endure her tiny and cramped studio apartment. Undoubtedly he was used to far more salubrious surroundings. All she had separating her bedroom area from her sitting room/kitchen was an old clothes rail with a sheet draped over it.

Even so, Rafael’s huge and charismatic presence made her want to get him out of there as soon as possible, so she busied herself making coffee, noticing that Rafael had a good look around before sitting down and dwarfing her one decent chair.

She handed him a steaming cup. ‘It’s instant,’ she said sweetly. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

‘Not at all,’ he replied, equally sweetly, and took the cup from her.

Isobel moved away and leant against the counter of the kitchen, crossed her arms over her chest. Rafael took his time sipping the coffee before he put the cup down on a low table in front of him and leant forward, arms on his knees.

He looked at her from under hooded lids with an unmistakably cynical gleam in his eyes. ‘Are you telling me that if I’d pretended that we weren’t bound by a legal decree to wed, that if I’d alluded to some romantic feelings and couched a proposal in the language of hearts and flowers, you would have accepted, Isobel?’

His words impacted upon her in her solar plexus like a punch to the gut, and they shouldn’t. Panic gripped her. Had he seen something of the tender inner core of her? ‘Of course not,’ she scoffed. ‘I know you don’t have a heart, or else you wouldn’t be agreeing to such a cold union.’

Rafael stood, and Isobel instinctively backed away hurriedly, but realised that the counter was at her back. He was instantly menacing and darkly threatening, and Isobel was reminded that once upon a time he had had a heart, had wanted to marry someone he was passionate about. The thought lacerated her now.

He arched a brow and came closer. ‘Cold, Isobel? On the contrary, I don’t plan on this union being cold at all. In fact, right now I feel that it could be very hot.’

Isobel just looked at him speechlessly as he advanced. He was so tall and dark, even more so than she remembered. The memory of that kiss sent a wave of heat through her body. If he suspected for a second—She put out a restraining hand in panic, in case he might find out just how vulnerable she felt inside. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ Her brain scrabbled for words. ‘I meant…I just meant that—’

Rafael was so close now that Isobel had to look up. One more step and her hand would be pressed against his chest. And then he took that step, and sensation exploded. ‘Let’s see exactly how cold this marriage will be, hmm?’

Before Isobel could evade him he’d stepped right up to her, so that her hand was pressed right into a hard wall of muscle and his two hands were around her head, caressing her skull. As if time had slowed down his head lowered and lowered, until nothing remained but heat and his mouth settling over hers like a firebrand.

Her other hand clutched the counter behind her. It was the only thing stopping her from falling down as the rush of sensation made her legs weak. Rafael’s mouth moved over hers with expert precision, teasing, tasting. But then any teasing was gone as his mouth firmed and became a ruthless pressure, dominating her with sensual ease. Exactly as it had that night three years before, and as no other man had done in the interim.

Isobel didn’t have the defences for this onslaught. She was crippled by how awfully familiar his touch now felt. Her lips parted instinctively and Rafael uttered a groan deep in his throat, his hands leaving her head to descend over her body and haul her in closer to his lean length.

When his tongue touched hers Isobel was horrified to hear a mewl coming from her throat, but she couldn’t stop herself from responding. Desperately, on some rational level, she tried to…But it was impossible. Her whole body was going up in flames, her back arching to press even closer to Rafael’s chest, between her thighs pulsing with desire.

With a shocking move Rafael thrust one hard thigh between her legs, and Isobel felt an explosion of hot, wet lust at her core. His hand moved up over the curve of her waist and cupped one breast, his thumb moving back and forth over the thin material, making her nipple tighten painfully against the fabric.

He moved his hips and she felt his burgeoning arousal. Isobel tore her mouth away, breathing harshly, to stare up into triumphant and mocking eyes. His hand caressed her breast intimately. Her soul withered to know that he’d so easily exerted his dominance over her, and with all her strength she brought her hands to his chest and pushed hard.

When he finally moved back after a long moment it killed Isobel to know that he’d done so out of his own choice and not through any action on her part. She was like a puny kitten next to him.