The Spaniard's Blackmailed Bride

‘You don’t wipe me away that easily.’

She didn’t doubt it, her mouth still full of the taste of him.

‘We have to talk,’ she croaked as her parents were absorbed into a circle of guests and a buzz of conversation went up all around them. ‘Tonight. In private.’

The spark in his eyes flared, one dark eyebrow lifted in surprise. ‘I did not expect you to be so accommodating quite so readily.’

Already rattled by his kiss, she was in no mood for his easy confidence.

‘We have to talk! We need to set down some ground rules for this arrangement.’

He took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, handing her one. ‘Oh? That sounds very important.’ He took a bored sip of his wine that told her he thought it sounded anything but. ‘In that case we will talk. But later.’ He took her free hand, surrounding it in his warmth, and headed into the ballroom. ‘First the happy couple must mingle with our guests seeing they’ve come especially to wish us well.’

‘You mean they’ve come to knit at my execution. They’re nothing but ghouls, wanting to witness the ultimate degradation of one of their own.’

He stopped dead and lowered his head to hers, his body close, his voice a clipped whisper in her ear. ‘You had a choice. You did not have to agree to this.’

‘I had no choice, and you know it. You left me without any choice at all.’

‘Wrong,’ he hit back. ‘You could have walked away from me and—’ he swept his champagne-bearing hand around the room ‘—and all of this.’

‘I couldn’t—’

‘No! You could have, but you didn’t—for whatever reasons you had, you chose not to! And, having made your decision, I expect you to live with it. Now, I suggest we meet some of our guests.’

It was many hours and many more cases of champagne later that the party wound down, leaving only a few of Cameron’s colleagues, who seemed all too content to settle in for brandy and cigars in the library. Carolyn had excused herself an hour ago, pleading too much excitement, and Briar sympathised.

It had seemed an endless night, moving on from one group of people to the next, filling the time with the same small talk, trying to instil the right measure of excitement into her voice. She could see the doubts, she could see the cynical way half the attendees accepted the marriage, the questions they asked, aimed to find any chink in the story, seeking out the truth they knew was there if they just dug in the right place.

She could even see the looks of envy that were fired her way from women who obviously thought Diablo was some kind of catch. Just because he hadn’t been embraced by Sydney society didn’t mean there wasn’t a queue of women lining up to be photographed on his arm.

Diablo had carried himself through the night like a consummate professional, letting his answers trip from his tongue—their attraction had surprised them both but now they couldn’t wait to be married, and the icing on the cake was his father-in-law-to-be’s sudden change in fortunes.

And all the while he’d bluffed his way through the potential minefield of the evening, he’d never let her stray more than inches away, his arm proprietorialy looped over her shoulders or around her waist, or just reaching out to stroke her arm, or tuck a strand of hair away from her face. Briar, on the other hand, had smiled through gritted teeth at the pointed questions and gentle caresses and wished the whole evening over. After what felt like an eternity, thankfully, it nearly was.

‘Now, you wanted to talk.’

They had just bid farewell to the last of the departing guests at the front door. She shook her head, revelling in being able to put some distance between them at last. At last the pretence was over. But the strain of deflecting their barbed queries coupled with Diablo’s constant presence at her side had left her with such a thundering tension headache that all she wanted to do now was to go to bed. The last thing she wanted to face was an all too revealing statement of how she saw their marriage working.

‘It can wait,’ she conceded, rubbing her temples. ‘I’m just glad this farce of an evening is over.’

But Diablo was talking to a passing waiter and she didn’t think he’d heard her.

‘Why do you call it that?’ he said, turning back to her a moment later and proving her assumption wrong. ‘Our engagement is no farce, nor will our marriage be.’

‘You know it’s a farce! And having to pretend that this relationship is anything other than the business transaction it is, it’s just impossible.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘You think this marriage is merely a business transaction?’

‘Isn’t it? It’s hardly a love match.’

He ushered her into a small sitting room opposite the ballroom just as the waiter returned, bearing a tray with two glasses, one a tumbler of what looked like Scotch, the other a tall frosty glass, its contents sparkling. He lifted them both from the tray and held out the tall glass as the waiter exited, closing the door behind them.

‘What is it?’ she said, not taking it.

‘Drink it. It’s an old Spanish headache remedy. It will make you feel better.’

Briar eyed the glass suspiciously. There was no telling what ingredients might go into making an ‘old Spanish headache remedy’. ‘And you care how I feel? I don’t think so.’

He shrugged, still holding the glass even as he took a sip from his own. ‘You would rather keep your headache?’

She murmured her thanks as she took the glass, aware she was being churlish, wondering at his ability to rub her up the wrong way. She sniffed tentatively at the glass, took a sip and, with surprise, instantly recognised the slightly bitter taste of paracetamol. ‘Old Spanish headache remedy’ indeed. She lifted her eyes to meet his and found them creased at the edges, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

He was laughing at her.

‘Now,’ he continued, ‘let’s stop wasting time. Tell me about these “ground rules” you’re so keen on implementing.’

‘Do we have to do this now?’ she protested, after finishing the contents of her glass. She wasn’t up to going ten rounds with anyone right now—let alone with Diablo. ‘It’s late. Can’t it wait?’

‘No. We will be married in two weeks and for much of that time I have business overseas. If you want anything incorporated into our pre-nuptial agreement, then you best tell me now.’

His cold words broke over her like a rogue wave, catching her unawares, tumbling her into the sandy depths. ‘What pre-nuptial agreement?’

‘Oh, come, come.’ He swept away her protest with one potent hand. ‘Surely you didn’t expect we would be married without one? As you say, ours is hardly a love match.’

For a moment she bristled at his ready agreement with her summation. Only then common sense prevailed. If his terms for this marriage could be in writing, so too could hers. Two could play at that game.

‘Of course, you’re right,’ she conceded, feeling a surge of confidence. ‘A pre-nuptial agreement would be for the best. Then we both know where we stand.’

He downed the rest of his drink in one mouthful and she watched as he swirled the smooth liquor around his mouth and kick back his jaw as he sent it southwards. And through it all his eyes smouldered, never shifting from her, as if weighing her up, evaluating her.

‘Sí, exactly. So tell me, Briar, where do you stand? What terms would you like included in the arrangement that outlines our future life together?’

‘You mean our marriage together,’ she corrected.

He smiled in a way that made her shiver. ‘I said what I meant. Now it’s your turn.’

She swung around and laced her fingers together, taking a couple of breaths before she was ready to face that bottomless dark gaze once more. She could feel her colour rising again and gave thanks for the low lighting. What she had to say was difficult enough without one hundred watts to illuminate it. ‘It’s really quite simple,’ she began, turning. ‘As you agreed, this marriage is hardly a love match. And, in that case, I think it’s sensible that we understand what we bring to the marriage—in your case, it’s money. In mine, it’s my family connections.’

She hesitated. Diablo’s body language as he sprawled into one of the wing-chairs and looked up at her was not giving anything away.

‘You think all you have to offer is your family connections?’

‘Isn’t that the reason you came up with this plan?’

He said nothing. Just surveyed her some more. In apparently excruciating detail. Her skin bristled with irritation under his deep-seated gaze, her senses fusing.

‘Go on,’ he urged at last, without bothering to answer her question.

‘So I’ve come up with a plan as to how we’re going to work this out. Clearly, we have no choice now but to go ahead with this marriage but, equally clearly, it’s obvious that neither of us is completely happy about the arrangement.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says both of us! We’re both doing this out of necessity, nothing more. And, like the performance I put on tonight, I want you to know that I’m prepared to put on a public face after we’re married that says we’re man and wife.’

‘How accommodating of you.’

‘Well, I understand how important this is to you—and to me and my family. I’ll do my best to make it work, to give a convincing performance as your wife.’

‘And in private?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You talked about how things would be in public. I’m wondering what you have in mind for our private life, when nobody else is watching.’

The heat continued to build under her skin. Of course, he wasn’t about to make this easy for her. She stiffened her back, kicking up her chin resolutely. ‘Then we live our lives separately, just as we have until entering this sham of a marriage. In public I agree to play your wife, even your adoring wife on the occasions that demand it. Out of the public eye we will lead separate lives. If you want this marriage of convenience to satisfy your need for connections, then so you shall have it, but you can’t expect anything more.’

His only response was a blink of his eyes, slow and loaded. Then he leaned forward.

‘And just how separate a life do you expect to lead while you occupy my bed?’

She snorted, outraged at the idea. ‘That’s just it. I won’t be. Given your track record, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding yourself someone who is more willing in that department. All that I ask is that you be discreet about it.’

He brushed aside her slur with a shake of his head. ‘You haven’t thought this through.’

‘Of course I have…’

‘No. Clearly you have missed something. For how are you to bear my children if you won’t at least share my bed? Or are you merely suggesting a much kinkier way of getting pregnant?’

The heat under her skin flared into a sizzle, spreading its warming tentacles out to her furthest regions. He wanted her pregnant? He wanted her to bear his children? But that would mean making love with him!

Making love with Diablo. What would that be like? All olive skin and lean muscled limbs, control and power and heat. She shivered.

‘In your dreams!’

Because there must be no children to complicate this marriage, no fallout for when they divorced, as she’d already decided they would.

His smile started and ended at his lips, his eyes refusing to get involved. ‘So you know about my dreams? How convenient. Because soon I won’t just have you in my dreams. Soon I will have you underneath me, in my bed—or out of it, as you clearly seem to be advocating.’

She battled with shredded senses to regain some kind of foothold in this argument. But she was slipping, losing grip. She was supposed to be stating her terms. When had this become a discussion about where the act of sex itself would take place?

‘Why do you try to twist everything I say? I’m trying to be reasonable here.’

‘And you think it’s not reasonable for a wife to bear her husband his child?’

‘In normal circumstances, certainly. But this marriage is in no way normal. You know as well as I do that this arrangement is no more than a contrivance, to pay off my father’s debts and to make you look better in the world.’

He paused, his eyes narrowing. ‘If you say so. But think how much better I will look with a wife and a clutch of children. They will be half Davenports after all, socially acceptable, born into the same society that tried to keep me out for so long. Because I’m not operating under any misapprehensions—tonight I was accepted because you were on my arm. But people don’t change their colours so quickly. If anything were to happen between you and me, if our marriage was to end acrimoniously without children, I have no doubt the door to Sydney high society would soon be slammed in my face once again. And I have no intention of that happening. Children are what I want and children are what you will give me.’

‘So that’s why you want me—as some kind of brood mare, to bear your devil’s spawn.’

The corners of his mouth curved up. ‘Are you so disappointed it’s not for your sweet nature?’

She fumed with irritation. ‘You can’t make me sleep with you.’

He was out of his chair and before her in an instant, his stance dangerous, confronting. He reached out to her and his attitude suddenly softened. He touched fingertips to her cheek, trailing down below her chin and raising it closer. His other hand slipped around her neck.

‘No,’ he whispered, so close to her face she was sure he must hear the slam of her blood in her veins. ‘But maybe I can convince you.’

She could hardly breathe, let alone respond, as his fingers stirred into a slow caress at her neck that left her dizzy and swaying on her heels, her headache all but forgotten under his searing touch on her bare skin. She gasped in air, his face so close that the taste of him filled her senses, and memories of those lips and a stolen kiss resurfaced into a solid, shocking need for a replay.

‘You’re trembling,’ he said.

‘I…I’m cold,’ she lied.

He drew her closer, pressing his lips first to one cheek and then the other before drawing back.

‘I think,’ he whispered, ‘it could be fun warming you up, convincing you that making love would not be such a bad thing between us.’

She pressed her eyes shut, but behind closed lids she could still see him, larger than life, supremely confident, could still feel the sensual dance of his fingers against the bare flesh of her back.

‘And if you’re not enough for me?’ she gasped breathlessly, looking up in challenge, desperate for any kind of defence against this slow, sensual onslaught. He answered by gathering her full length against him and shock rendered her speechless. Through their clothes, she could feel his power pulsing, straining, waiting to be unleashed.

Unleashed inside her!

It wasn’t just shock that kept her from protesting. It was fascination she felt, a desire to explore more of these new sensations, a yearning for something forbidden, something carnal that this man promised, that held her mute.

‘Oh,’ he murmured, tugging on one diamond stud in her ear with his teeth, ‘I will be more than enough.’

And then he let her go so swiftly she almost collapsed to the ground. She spun away, panting and dizzy, not doubting him, the throb of her pulse echoing in newly awakened flesh, already aching and ready and lush.

‘So,’ he said so calmly that it was as if the last few minutes had never happened. ‘Now that we’ve settled that, if you have no further suggestions for inclusions into our pre-nuptial agreement…?’ He hesitated a moment or two. ‘No? Then I’ll see you at the wedding.’

She was still catching her breath, her heart still thudding, as he turned and swept from the room, his long coat swinging in his wake like a cape. Her skin still tingled from his touch, her senses still humming.

So much for her resolve to keep separate lives. How long would it take him to ‘convince’ her that her place was in his bed? She clutched her arms about her as she remembered the feel of his lean body pressed against hers and the way her own body had responded. Probably no more than five minutes based on what had just transpired.

Damn the man! But it didn’t have to be the end. So it wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped—she’d just have to change her plans accordingly.

He might think he’d won that round, but there was still one hell of a battle to come.

It wasn’t over yet!

CHAPTER FOUR

‘I’M SO sorry, Briar, this is all my fault.’

Briar squeezed her father’s hand as they waited for the organ music to come to an end. How strange it was that she should be the one calming him down right now.

‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ she assured him with a confidence dredged up from somewhere. ‘You had no choice.’

‘But Briar—’ he began.

‘None of us had any choice,’ she insisted. ‘He never gave us a chance. But at least now we’ve managed to save Blaxlea from his clutches.’

Her father squirmed in his dark suit. ‘Briar—’

But her father’s words were cut off with the strains of the wedding march ringing out, signalling that it was time to walk down that aisle and meet her fate, signalling that it was time to meet her soon-to-be husband. A quiver of sensation zipped through her, leaving her blissfully numb in its wake, so that when her father tugged her forward into the church she went without resistance.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife.’

It had to be a dream—a bad dream. Any second now she’d wake up in her own bed with the morning sun streaming through the curtains and this nightmare would fade with the darkness and she’d laugh at how ridiculous it had all been…

‘You may kiss the bride.’

Oh, God. A brain spinning with the effects of weeks of barely sleeping suddenly clicked into gear and registered the truth.

There would be no waking up to the light. There would be no laughter. Instead her nightmare stared down at her, his dark eyes chasing away the morning, chasing away all hope. They regarded her now, the heated possession contained within terrifying as he drew closer, collecting her into his arms.

Her eyes looked too big for her face, her skin so pale and her limbs so fragile it was a wonder she didn’t snap. Instead she came softly into his arms in a rustle of creamy silk, unprotesting rather than willing, and he swallowed back a sudden and totally unfamiliar urge to comfort her. But he didn’t have to comfort her. She was his now. She would accept her fate eventually.

And then his mouth slanted over her cool lips and heat arced between them in a rush.

He felt the jolt that moved through her; angling her mouth into a better fit, he felt the heat suffuse her flesh, melting her to him, and suddenly his kiss took on a life of its own and anticipation of contact more carnal hummed through his senses. If she responded this readily to just a kiss, then how much more might he heat up her temperature tonight, when they were alone?

He drew back, watched the tawny colours in her eyes eddy and swirl before coolness once again iced their depths and turned them defiant and glinting like topaz. She couldn’t disguise her cheeks so readily, though, the bright slashes of colour evidence that even if her spirit wanted to fight, her flesh was more than willing. It would be a pleasure seeing her skin flush all over. And then it would be more than a pleasure bringing her spirit into line.

Organ music soared through the lofty chapel as he laced her hand through his arm as they prepared to walk back down the aisle together as man and wife, the battery of bridesmaids and groomsmen her mother had organised from the ranks of cousins hanging behind. With Briar’s two best friends now living overseas and unable to make the wedding, Carolyn had only been too pleased to take matters into her own hands and organise everything.

Her mother stopped them before they’d gone two paces, hugging her daughter tightly and greeting her new son with a kiss as tears of joy streamed down her face.

‘If only Nat were here to see you now,’ her mother cried, and Briar bit down on her bottom lip. At least he’d been saved from witnessing this humiliation. Her father added his quiet congratulations as slowly they continued down the length of the aisle, having their progress constantly interrupted by the babble of family members, friends and colleagues, all of them from the bride’s side of the church.

The press had occupied Diablo’s side; only now they’d vacated their seats to form a camera-wielding posse in front of them, leaving a sprinkling of actual guests on the groom’s side of the church. Did this scattering of individuals constitute all of Diablo’s family and friends? She’d heard that he’d lost both his parents, but what kind of man operated so alone in the world that he had so few other contacts? And while he was frequently featured in the social pages, he’d never been seen with the same woman twice. What kind of lone-wolf had she married?

She slid a glance up at him and his eyes and jaw gave her the answer in an instant. Hard. Uncompromising. Difficult.

No wonder he had no friends.

Then they were outside in the bright sunny afternoon and enduring what felt like a never-ending round of poses and photographs.

‘Smile,’ the photographers called, reminding her once more to paste one on. Because it was expected of her. Because it was supposed to be the happiest day of her life.

But how did you smile when you’d just been bound legally to a man you hated, when you’d been forced into a marriage because you had no other choice, for without it your family would be reduced to nothing?

How did you smile when it was the last thing in the world you felt like doing?

The official photographer requested one more pose before they headed for the reception. He arranged them in yet another clinch, this time with Diablo behind, his arms circling her waist, and she stood stock-still, trying to ignore his warm breath in her hair and the tingling of her scalp. He nuzzled his face against her hair and breathed deeply.

‘Mmm,’ he whispered, the sound vibrating right down to her toes, ‘you look and smell delicious enough to eat.’

Breath snagged in her throat as a wave of heat roiled through her. Those lips had taken her unaware during the wedding—it wasn’t hard to imagine them pushing a trail southwards, kissing, suckling, devouring. She shivered. She didn’t care what he thought and she most certainly didn’t want to hear it or anything that reminded her of what lay ahead. She swivelled her head away from the photographers and hissed, ‘Rest assured, it’s not for your benefit.’

‘And does that matter?’ he asked, lifting one of her hands in his own and pressing his mouth to the back of it as camera flashes went off wildly all around them, desperate to catch the apparently gallant gesture. ‘When it is indeed me who will benefit. Do you realise how much I am looking forward to this night, to peeling this garment away and seeing how beautiful you are underneath, how beautiful you are everywhere?’

Remnant heat from his last assault sparked inside her, flames licking sensitive flesh to life. She squeezed down on her muscles, hoping to clamp down on the effect of his words. ‘How unfortunate,’ she bit back unsteadily, ‘that the feeling isn’t mutual.’

‘When the time is right,’ he growled, with just a hint of aggravation, ‘all of what we feel will be mutual. I am a generous lover, my wife; you will not be disappointed.’

She gasped and tried to push herself away but suddenly the air lacked oxygen, burnt up in the blast furnace atmosphere his words generated and in the stirring press of solid flesh behind her. Instead of letting her go, his grip around her waist tightened, keeping her impossibly close to him and his burgeoning hardness. Right now there was fabric between those places they touched, fabric that still seemed tissue thin, but later—later there would be nothing between their skin but air—and, later still, not even that.

The photographer signalled an end to the formal shots. ‘You can let me go now,’ she protested. ‘We’re all done.’