The Spaniard's Blackmailed Bride

‘No,’ he disagreed, while still easing his grip around her waist enough so she could spin away in a flurry of silk and exasperation. ‘We’re not done—not by a long shot.’

‘We’re leaving in ten minutes. I want you to be ready.’

Briar jumped. If the low voice whispering in her left ear hadn’t been enough reason to scatter her thoughts and send her pulse jumping, her new husband’s seemingly casual gesture of running his fingers up her right arm certainly had been. She excused herself from the group of guests she was talking with and followed the path Diablo had taken from the enormous marquee that had been set up in the grounds.

‘Diablo,’ she said, hitching up her skirts and skipping after him as he entered the house, ‘where are we going? There’s a suite been prepared here. I assumed…’

He spun around and smiled suddenly, disarming her as he stopped in front of the majestic staircase. ‘Is it not traditional in this country for a groom to take his new bride away for a honeymoon?’

‘You know it is. But ours is hardly a traditional marriage. Our honeymoon is likely to be over before it’s begun. Frankly I can’t see the point.’

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