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“Be serious.”
“I’m trying to be. But I’ve never asked any woman to marry me before. I’m starting to think I must be doing it wrong. Do I need to get down on one knee?”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Then what is it?”
I’m afraid you’d make me love you again. The cold knot near my heart, which had started to warm on the edges, returned to ice. “Come on,” I mumbled, looking at the ground. “We both know that I’m not exactly duchess material.”
“Are you trying to let me down gently?” he demanded. He stopped, leaning our baby against his hip as he looked at me. “Is there someone else? Perhaps the person who helped you flee London last year, and travel around the world?”
“It’s not like that.”
“When a man protects a woman,” he said grimly, “it is exactly like that.”
“How do you know it’s a man?”
“By looking at your face,” he said softly. “Right now.”
I looked away. My throat hurt as I took another sip of the rich, sweet coffee, watching all the mothers and fathers and smiling nannies hovering on the edge of their children’s delighted play. Some of them looked back at me. They probably imagined we were a family, too.
But we weren’t.
I would have given anything if Alejandro could have been a man I could trust with my heart. A regular guy, a hardworking, loving man, who could have been my real partner. Instead of a selfish playboy duke who didn’t know the meaning of love, and if married would plainly expect me to remain a dutiful wife imprisoned in his castle, raising our child, while he enjoyed himself elsewhere. Why shouldn’t he? If love didn’t exist, I could only imagine what he thought of fidelity.
“Why did you seduce me, Alejandro?” I blurted out.
He blinked. “What?”
My voice trembled as I looked up at him. “If you weren’t trying to get me pregnant to provide an heir for you and Claudie, why did you seduce me? Why did you even notice me?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Are you really going to make me spell it out? Fine. You’re—you—” I waved my half-full coffee toward him “—and I’m...” I indicated my white dress I’d worn for thirty-six hours now, wrinkled and possibly stained with baby sick I didn’t know about, and I shivered in the cool morning air. “I believed Claudie’s story last year because, for the first time, everything made sense. There was no other reason for you to... I mean, why else would a man like you, who could have any woman in the world, choose a woman like...”
Reaching out his hand, he cupped my cheek. “Because I wanted you, Lena. Pure and simple. I wanted you.” Looking down at me, he said in a low voice, “I’ve never stopped wanting you.”
My lips parted. I trembled, fighting the desire to lean into his touch. The paper cup fell from my hand, splashing coffee across the grass. But I barely noticed. Craning back my head, I blinked back tears as I whispered, “Then why did you break up with me like that, so coldly and completely? Just for telling you I loved you?”
Alejandro stared at me, then dropped his hand. “Because I didn’t want to lead you on. I’d promised myself I’d never have either wife or child....”
“But why?” I said, bewildered. “Why wouldn’t you want those things? You’re the last of your line, aren’t you? If you died without an heir...you would be the last Duke of Alzacar.”
“That was my intention,” he said grimly.
“But why?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” He looked down at Miguel in his arms. “Fate chose differently. I have a son.” His dark eyes blazed at me, filled with heat and anger and something else...something I couldn’t understand. “And I will protect his future. Right or wrong.”
“You keep saying right or wrong. What is wrong about it?” I narrowed my eyes. “If you’re trying to imply that he’s not good enough—”
“Of course not,” he bit out.
“Then it’s me—”
He shook his head impatiently, his jaw tight. “I’m talking about me.”
The great Duque de Alzacar, admitting some kind of fault? I blinked. I breathed, “I don’t understand....”
“What is there to understand?” he said evasively. “Now that I am a parent, my priorities have changed. Wasn’t it the same for you, when Miguel was born?”
I hesitated. It was true what he said, but I still had the sense he was hiding something from me. “Yes-s....”
“We have a child. So we will do what is best for him. We will marry.”
“You didn’t want to marry me in Mexico.”
“That was when I thought you were a liar, a thief and probably a gold digger. Now my opinion of you has improved.”
“Thanks,” I said wryly.
“Why are you fighting me? Unless—” He gave me a sharp, searching gaze. “Are you in love with someone else?”
The image of Edward flashed in front of my eyes. I wondered if Alejandro would still keep his improved opinion of me if he knew I’d been living in another man’s house. It would look sordid, even if the truth had been so innocent. At least—innocent on my side. Swallowing, I looked away.
“I’m not in love with anyone.” My voice was barely audible over the noisy children at play.
His shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. “Then why not marry me?” His tone turned almost playful. “You really should consider it for the jewels alone....”
I gave a rueful laugh, then looked at him. “I’d never fit into your world, Alejandro. If I took you at your word and became your wife, we’d both be miserable.”
“I wouldn’t be.”
I shook my head. “Your expectations of marriage are lower than mine. It would never work. I want—” I looked down as my cheeks turned hot “—to be loved. I want what my parents had.”
Alejandro abruptly stopped. We were in the far back of the playground now, in a quiet overgrown place of bushes and trees. “But what about our son? Doesn’t he have some rights, as well? Doesn’t he deserve a stable home?”
“You mean a cold, drafty castle?”
“It’s neither drafty nor cold.” He set his jaw. “I want my son, my heir, to live in Spain. To know his people. His family.”
I frowned at him. “I thought you had no family.”
“My grandmother who raised me. All the people on my estate. They are like family to me. Don’t you think he deserves to know them, and they should know him? Shouldn’t he know his country? Where else would you take him—back to Mexico?”
“I loved it there!” I said, stung.
“We will buy a vacation house there,” he said impatiently. “But his home is with his land. With his people. With his parents. You of all people,” he said softly, “know what it means to have a happy, settled childhood, surrounded by love.”
I sucked in my breath. I felt myself wavering. Of course I wanted all those things for my son.
“You’ll be a duchess, honored, wealthy beyond imagining.”
“I’d be the poor stupid wife sitting at home in the castle,” I whispered, hardly daring to meet his gaze, “while you were out having a good time with other, more glamorous women....”
His dark eyes narrowed. “I have many faults, but disloyalty is not one of them. Still, I can understand why you’d immediately think of cheating. Tell me—” he moved closer, his sardonic gaze sweeping over me “—did you enjoy having the use of Edward St. Cyr’s house? His jet?”
My eyes went wide. My mouth suddenly went dry.
“How did you find out?” I said weakly.
“Before my jet left Mexico, I told my investigators to dig into the layer of the shell company that owned the house in San Miguel. If it wasn’t Claudie who helped you,” he said grimly, “I intended to find out who it really was.”
Well. That explained why he’d stopped asking. “Why have you pretended all day you didn’t know?”
His handsome face looked chiseled and hard as marble beneath the gray sky. “I wanted to give you the chance to tell me.”
“A test?” I whispered.
“If you like.” His eyes glittered. “Women always find the quality of danger so attractive. Until they find out what danger really means. Tell me. Did you enjoy using St. Cyr’s possessions? His money? His jet? How about his bed? Did you enjoy sharing that?”
“I never shared his bed!” I tried not to remember the husky sound of Edward’s voice. It’s time for you to belong to me. Or the way he’d flinched at my reaction—an incredulous, unwilling laugh. He’d taken a deep breath. You’ll see, he’d whispered, then turned and left. Pushing the memory away, I lifted my chin. “We’ve never even kissed!”
“I see.” Lifting an eyebrow, Alejandro said scornfully, “He helped you out of the goodness of his heart.”
That might be pushing it. I bit my lip. “Um...yes?”
“Is that a statement or a question?”
“He’s a friend to me,” I whispered. “Just a friend.”
Alejandro looked at me more closely. “But he wants more, doesn’t he?” The sweep of his dark lashes left a shadow against his olive skin, his taut cheekbones, as he looked down at our baby in his arms. After all this time, he still carried Miguel as if he were no weight at all. He said in a low voice, “I won’t let my son keep such company. Because I, at least, have clear eyes about what danger means.”
“And I understand at last,” I choked out, “why you suddenly want to marry me.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Lena—”
“You say he is dangerous? Maybe he is. But if it weren’t for Edward St. Cyr, I don’t think I could have survived the darkness and fear of the past year. He was there for me when you deserted me. When you left me pregnant and alone and afraid.”
His face turned white, then red. “If you’d given me the chance—”
“I did give you a chance. You never called me back.” I took a deep breath. “I know now you weren’t the monster I thought you were. But I’ll never be able to trust you like I did. It’s lost. Along with the way I loved you.”
Silence fell, the only sound the children playing on the other side of the trees. I heard their shrieks of joy.
When Alejandro spoke, his voice was low, even grim. “Love me or not, trust me or not, but you will marry me. Miguel will have a stable family. A real home.”
I shook my head. He moved closer.
“You promised to come to Spain, Lena,” he said. “You gave your word.”
I threw him a panicked glance. “That was when—”
“Ah. You hoped you could break your promise, didn’t you? Perhaps with St. Cyr’s help?”
My silence spoke volumes. His dark eyes hardened. “You gave me your word that if I brought you to London, you would come with me to Spain.”
He was right. I had. Now, I felt so alone and forlorn. Alejandro was starting to wear me down. To break my will. To remind me of a promise I’d never wanted to keep.
“It will only lead to misery,” I whispered.
“Wherever it leads,” he said softly, “whatever we’d once planned for our lives...you are part of my family now.”
“Your family. You mean your grandmother?” I shivered, imagining a coldly imperious grande dame in pearls and head-to-toe vintage Chanel. A little like my own grandmother, in fact. “She will hate me. She’ll never think I’m good enough.”
He gave a low laugh. “You think you know what to expect? A cold, proud dowager in a cold, drafty castle?”
“Am I wrong?”
“My grandmother was born in the United States. In Idaho. The daughter of Basque sheep ranchers.”
“Idaho?” My mouth fell open. “How did she...?”
“How did she end up married to my grandfather? It is an interesting story. Perhaps you can ask her when you meet her.” His lips twisted grimly. “Unless you intend to break your promise, and refuse to go to Spain after all.”
I swallowed, afraid of what it would mean to go to his castle. Surrounded by his family and friends. Surrounded by his power. How long could I resist his marriage demand then?
“Enough. You always spend too long in your mind, going back and forth on decisions that have already been made. End it now.” Reaching into his pocket, Alejandro pulled out a phone and dialed a number. He pushed it into my hand. “It’s ringing.”
“What?” I stammered, staring down at the phone. “Whom did you call?”
“My grandmother. If you are breaking your promise to me, if you are truly not willing to bring Miguel to Spain to meet her, tell her now.”
“Me? I can’t talk to your grandmother!”
“No. I can’t,” he said coldly, “because I love her. You have no feelings for her whatsoever, so you should have no trouble being cruel.”
“You think I’m cruel?” I whispered as the phone rang.
His eyes met mine. “Tell her she has a great-grandchild. Introduce yourself. Tell her I’ve asked you to marry me. Go on.”
I stared at him numbly, then heard a tremulous voice at the other end of the line.
“¿Hola? Alejandro?”
It was a warm, sweet, kindly voice, the sort of voice that a grandmother would have in a movie, the grandmother who bakes cookies and is plump and white-haired and gives you hugs and tells you to eat more pie—or in this case, more paella?—because food is love, and she loves you so much that you’re her whole existence, her light, her star. It was the type of voice I had not heard since my parents had died.
“Alejandro?” The woman sounded worried now. “Are you there?”
