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The Spanish Connection
Kay Thorpe
Sweet PersuasionLauren's visit to Callahora was purely to introduce her twins to the relatives they had never met. But Rafael de Quiros wanted his dead brother's sons to be raised in Spain, surrounded by their magnificent legacy. And he wanted Lauren to become his wife.Rafael had wealth, power, position - and the ability to inflame Lauren's senses. Never had she felt so powerless, nor so determined to resist… .
The Spanish Connection
Kay Thorpe
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u77f665bc-b0d6-57fc-ad31-0373674b7050)
CHAPTER TWO (#ua9351b67-961a-5791-991c-b65a71b9b49d)
CHAPTER THREE (#uef2866b2-f7e8-55c3-b9d9-80bbd54d7306)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
LOOKING back through the rear screen as they drove east along the coastal road, at the massive pile of grey rock framed against the cloudless sky, Lauren could see why it had been known to the ancient world as the Pillar of Hercules. It was difficult to believe that over thirty thousand people lived and worked in that small area. Seen from the air, the whole of Gibraltar occupied no more than two or three square miles.
César and Nicolás were fast asleep on the back seat of the luxurious limousine, dark heads close together, faces angelic in repose. More of Francisco than herself in those twin sets of well defined features, Lauren was bound to acknowledge.
If she had anything at all to do with it, those looks would be all that the two of them would inherit of their father. They were English by birth; their Spanish blood made no difference to that. Accepting Rafael’s invitation to visit the Javierre de Quiros estate in no way undermined her determination to retain their independence.
Rafael. A fancy name indeed for the kind of man Francisco had described. Not that the latter had turned out to be any paragon of virtue. Five years of marriage to a man who saw no reason to confine his sexual activities to one woman was enough to destroy every last vestige of love—if love it had ever really been.
Settling back into her seat, she stole a swift glance at the young man driving the car. Gabriel had those same devil-may-care good looks that had attracted her so wildly to Francisco, yet they did absolutely nothing to her heartstrings right now. ‘Call me Angel,’ he had said with a grin at the airport, ‘and I’ll call you little sister because I’m one year older than you.’ That made him twenty-five—ten years younger than Rafael, four between him and Francisco. His brother’s death didn’t appear to have affected him very badly. But then why should he mourn for a man he’d neither seen nor heard from in so long a time? Blood wasn’t necessarily thicker than water.
‘Rafael would have come to meet you himself,’ he said now, sensing her glance, ‘but he had business matters to attend. You know, of course, of the Quiros hotels?’
Lauren shook her head. ‘I know very little about family matters.’
It was Gabriel’s turn to cast a glance, lingering for a long moment on the pure oval of her face and heavy rope of honey-gold hair. ‘You’re a Quiros yourself now.’
Green eyes darkened a fraction. ‘Only by marriage. I’ve no intention of claiming any personal involvement.’
‘As Francisco’s widow, you’re one of the family. Rafael will insist on treating you as such.’
‘Even though he and Francisco were estranged for so many years?’
‘It was Francisco’s own choice to leave. He had no great love for anyone but himself.’
An accurate summary, Lauren reflected. Francisco hadn’t even loved the twins the way any normal father would. To him they had represented a responsibility he could well have lived without. If it hadn’t been for her pregnancy he would never have married her at all; she was only too well aware of that. She supposed she should be grateful for the fact that he had possessed at least a modicum of decency.
Meeting the handsome Spaniard at a party when she was nineteen, she had been totally bowled over by his rakish dark looks and confident manner. Francisco Javierre de Quiros—his very name had been a draw. The fact that he had appeared to be equally bowled over by her hadn’t helped her to keep a clear head. Within a week they had become lovers; three months later they were married: a register office affair, with only her closest friend in attendance. Francisco had refused to inform his brothers either of the marriage itself or the subsequent birth of their nephews. That had been left to her after the accident which had robbed her of a husband and the twins of a father—and only then after going through his papers to discover their whereabouts.
The invitation to visit had come by return of post, couched in terms she had found a little offputting at first in their formality. The costs would naturally be met, Rafael had advised. All the same, Lauren had left it several months before finally making up her mind to accept.
‘Do you really live in a castle?’ she asked now.
Gabriel smiled. ‘Only a part of one. The other part is run as a hotel. A very exclusive hotel, of course,’ he added. ‘No more than a dozen guests at a time, and those out of the top drawer, as you would say.’
Lauren laughed. ‘Your English is top-class too.’
‘I learn good,’ he said, momentarily destroying the illusion. ‘Rafael speaks French and German also.’
‘He must be very clever,’ Lauren commented, eliciting a shrug.
‘Some have the ear for other languages. I’m content with the English. Perhaps one day I’ll visit your country myself.’
‘That would be nice,’ she said. ‘You could come and stay with us.’
There was an odd expression in the dark eyes turned fleetingly towards her, a certain evasiveness in his answer. ‘Perhaps.’
Thronged with traffic, the road took much of his attention over the following hour or so. He drove too fast for Lauren’s comfort, but she couldn’t bring herself to remonstrate with someone she had only just met, brother-in-law or not. She concentrated instead on the passing scenery, from fertile coastal plain to the rugged heights where lay their eventual destination. A castle in Spain. It had such a romantic sound to it.
Francisco had never told her just why he had felt moved to leave his home and country, but the family rift had obviously been a very bad one. He had hated Rafael. Perhaps the latter would be prepared to tell her why. She needed to understand.
Estepona came and went. Lauren had read of the beautiful harbour there, but could see no sign of it from the road, just a long stretch of beach fronted by hotels and shops. With the season not yet into its stride, the tourist element wasn’t too obtrusive, although the sun was already hot enough to make her grateful for the air-conditioned comfort of the car.
It would be cooler up in the sierras, of course, especially in the evenings. She had brought sweaters for the boys, and a couple of light jackets for herself, just in case. Not that she intended their stay to be a lengthy one. She was here only because Rafael had asked her to come, and because she thought it only right for Francisco’s brothers to at least see their nephews. Curiosity had played a part too, she was bound to admit.
Some short time later, they turned away from the coast to start the climb towards Ronda. The road was narrow and winding, the traffic sparse, the emerging scenery breathtaking. A low crash barrier was the only protection against the increasingly steep drops to the left. Coming down again would be worse, Lauren thought, with the passenger-seat closest to the edge. For anyone like herself, who found the top deck of a bus too high for comfort, the thought alone was daunting. Odd that she suffered no sense of vertigo on a plane.
Ronda lay sprawled across a gently sloping plateau, the golden stone of its walled old quarter offset by the sparkling white of the slightly more modern stretch. Lauren cowered down in her seat as they drove across the bridge spanning the fearful depths of the gorge which split the town in two, although she could actually glimpse little of the actual drop from the car.
Prisoners, Gabriel informed her, had at one time been held in cells contained within the central span. With a three-hundred-foot plunge right outside the windows, there could, Lauren conceded, have been few prisons more secure.
Some fifteen minutes or so beyond the town, they turned off once more on to an even narrower road. The mountains were all about them now, softened by the lowering sun. The grass up here was emerald-green, the air itself crystal-clear, the whole landscape magnificent. A different Spain altogether from the general tourist impression, reflected Lauren.
Her first glimpse of the castle was awe-inspiring. Built of the same warm stone as the old Ronda township, it sat in a commanding position overlooking a sweeping amphitheatre of a valley. The high square turrets and castellated walls looked as solid and impregnable as the day they had been erected. There was even a portcullis spanning the entrance archway, she noted as they approached, raised at present but still in use if one were to judge from its appearance in passing beneath.
It was closed each night for total security, Gabriel confirmed, though from what or whom she was left to guess.
The twins awoke as the car came to a halt in the big square courtyard.
‘Is this the castle?’ asked Nicolás, hoisting himself upright to look out of the window. ‘It wasn’t very far.’
‘This is it,’ Lauren confirmed. ‘You slept the whole way here, that’s why it didn’t seem to take long.’
She got out of the car to open the rear door, steadying the two of them as they tumbled eagerly out. ‘Best behaviour, remember,’ she warned them, only too well aware of the havoc they could wreak between them if not kept in strict check. It was quite normal for twins to be more mischievous than most, she had been assured by numerous people, simply because there were two of them together. And especially boys. She could only hope that Rafael would prove tolerant where children were concerned, and not expect too much. Seen but not heard was all very well in theory; in practice the ‘but not’ tended to be replaced by ‘and’.
‘Your luggage will be brought in,’ said Gabriel. ‘Rafael will be waiting to meet you.’
‘I thought you said he was out on business?’ Lauren queried.
‘His car is here,’ indicating a low-slung coupé parked under the lee of a wall alongside several more vehicles, ‘so he must be too. He will have hurried matters along in order to be back for your arrival.’
Lauren would have much preferred the time and opportunity for a shower and change of clothing before meeting her other brother-in-law, but didn’t like to suggest it. Given its function as an exclusive hotel, the castle had to have every mod con installed.
‘You’d better lead on, then,’ she said resignedly.
She took one small hand firmly in each of hers as they entered through the iron-clad door into a large vaulted hall. The floor beneath her feet would in all probability be stone-flagged like the courtyard outside, she guessed, but it was carpeted now in deep ruby-red with pile so thick that her heels sank right in. The walls were stone, though hardly bare, their length and much of their height festooned with displays of armour and painted battle scenes, the latter interspersed with ancient portraits of high-ranking military personnel. The heavily carved dark wood table stretching almost the full length of the room held a huge centre-piece in what was surely solid silver, while above the great open fireplace hung a silver shield bearing what Lauren took to be the family crest.
‘I didn’t realise you had a military background,’ she commented as Gabriel made for a door at the far end of the hall.
‘It ended two generations ago,’ he replied, ‘but it is a source of some pride still. Our ancestors fought many famous battles. I brought you through this way in order to show you the splendour, but our private quarters have a separate entrance which you should use in the future. You and the children are to sleep in the east tower. You’ll find the views from your rooms very good.’
Lauren was sure of it. The views from any angle could only be spectacular. If the rest of the castle was of the same standard as that she had seen up to now, the hotel must rank among the finest in the country.
The door gave on to an inner hall somewhat smaller than the first. A fine carved staircase rose to an open gallery. Gabriel made for another door to the left marked ‘private’, ushering the three of them through ahead of him. The short corridor beyond was also carpeted. It in turn opened out into yet another small hall.
Quiet up until now, César tugged at Lauren’s hand. ‘I’m thirsty,’ he declared.
‘Me too,’ claimed Nicolás promptly.
‘Just a few minutes more,’ Lauren promised, hoping it would be no more than that. ‘We’re going to see your other uncle now.’
‘I don’t want to,’ said César mutinously. ‘I want to go home.’
‘Me too,’ Nicolás agreed. ‘When are we going home, Mummy?’
‘We only just got here.’ Lauren glanced apologetically at Gabriel. ‘It’s been a long day for them.’
‘Perhaps it would be better if you meet with Rafael alone for now,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll take them to find a drink and something to eat.’
Expecting protests, Lauren was surprised when neither boy hesitated in taking the hands Gabriel held out to them. Ranged together, the family resemblance was unmistakable. Lauren knew a sudden inexplicable sense of foreboding—a feeling that she alone was the outsider here.
‘Rafael will be in the salón,’ Gabriel advised. ‘That door over there. I’ll bring the children back in half an hour.’
Left alone, she took a deep breath before opening the door indicated, to find herself in a large and airy room lit by three tall windows. The walls in here were plastered plain white and hung with more portraits and landscapes, the furnishings heavy and ornate. The man seated on one of the vast sofas flanking an even vaster fireplace came lithely to his feet on her entry, dropping the sheaf of papers he had been studying on to a side-table.
Rafael was an inch or two taller than either of his brothers at around six feet, shoulders broad and powerful, hips lean. He was clad in plain black shirt and trousers, the former open at the throat to reveal a glint of gold from the small medallion nestled there. Facially, he possessed the same devastating bone-structure, the same sensuous line of mouth, yet the jaunty quality shared by both Francisco and Gabriel was missing, replaced by what Lauren could only describe to herself as arrogance. She felt an instant and purely instinctive antipathy.
‘I trust you had a comfortable journey?’ he said.
‘Very, thank you,’ she replied formally. ‘It was good of you to make all the arrangements.’
One dark eyebrow lifted. ‘I’d scarcely have left you to make your own.’
‘Oh, I’m quite capable,’ she declared. ‘English women are used to doing things for themselves.’
‘Doubtless.’ His tone was dry. ‘This, however, is not England.’ Eyes as black as coal appraised her, moving with deliberation from her face to take in every detail of her slim though shapely figure in the beige trouser suit. ‘Francisco showed remarkably good taste,’ he observed. ‘You’re not at all what I anticipated.’
‘And what was that?’ Lauren asked.
He shrugged dismissively. ‘It’s of no importance now. I take it that you left the children with Gabriel?’
‘They were thirsty,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long journey for them.’
The dark head inclined. ‘Of course. In the meantime, we have a great deal to discuss.’ He indicated the sofa from which he had risen. ‘Please make yourself comfortable. You would like something to drink yourself, perhaps?’
Lauren shook her head, moving forward to perch self-consciously on the very edge of the sofa and as far away as possible from the man still standing. ‘Not at the moment, thanks.’
‘To eat, then?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘We eat our main meal of the day very late by your standards,’ Rafael advised. ‘I’ll have something light brought to you between times. The children, of course, will take their meal at a time suited to their retirement.’ He paused, making no attempt to take a seat himself. ‘You said in your letter that Francisco left provision enough for the three of you. That was less than the truth, I believe?’
Lauren bit her lip. ‘You’ve been making enquiries about us?’
‘There was a need,’ he agreed imperturbably. ‘How else was I to know that your claim was genuine?’
‘I’m not here to make any claim!’ she denied. ‘We have a home of our own, and an income adequate to our needs.’
‘A home mortgaged up to the limit and an income scarcely adequate to cover the repayments, much less anything else,’ came the unmoved response. ‘Francisco left Spain with capital sufficient to provide security for the rest of his life if wisely invested, but there is, I gather, little of it left. From where, may I ask, will come money for education, to name but one future requirement?’
‘Education,’ Lauren answered tautly, ‘is free in England.’
‘Not the kind I’m speaking of. Unless, of course, you wish less than the best for your sons?’
‘Of course I don’t. No mother would!’
‘In which case, you have little choice but to accept assistance from the only family you have.’
Lauren was silent for a long moment. ‘You really have been doing some research, haven’t you?’ she said at length.
‘I know that you were brought up in a children’s home from the age of twelve after your parents were killed,’ he agreed. ‘I also know how hard you worked to make something of your life after leaving the home at eighteen. But for meeting my brother, you might well have succeeded. Judging from the date of your marriage, and that of the birth, conception took place some two months prior to the event. You were fortunate not to be left holding the baby, as it were.’
‘Oh, very.’ Lauren made no attempt to iron the bitterness from her voice. ‘Is there anything you don’t know?’
‘I’m aware that there were other women during the course of your marriage,’ he said. ‘I would have anticipated no less from my brother. No doubt he never told you the true reason why he left Spain?’
