The Arrogant Duke. Anne Mather
lapsed, and Juliet wondered what was going through the girl’s head. She was obviously obsessed with intrigue, seeing herself as a kind of innocent charmer, who couldn’t help but annoy a woman like Estelle Vinceiro. She seemed to imagine – what? That the Duque was perhaps attracted to her – or merely just sympathetic towards her. Did she imagine Estelle Vinceiro’s jealousy, if indeed it was jealousy, was based on truth? It was incredible! Juliet knew little, and had seen less, of the Duque as yet, but she could swear he was a man in his late thirties, and not some impressionable boy. Oh, it was ridiculous!
Teresa replaced her cup in its saucer, and placing it on the table said: ‘Is my uncle going to allow you to stay?’
Juliet hesitated. ‘I – er – I’m not quite sure. Why shouldn’t he allow me to stay, after all? You do require companionship, don’t you?’
‘No.’ Teresa was vehement. ‘Felipe is all the companionship I need.’
‘But at some time, someone did think you needed companionship,’ exclaimed Juliet patiently. ‘Or the advertisement would never have been devised.’
‘Estelle did it – it’s all her doing!’ said Teresa hotly. ‘She wants to provide me with a companion, so that Felipe will have more time for her. Odio Estelle!’
‘Teresa!’ Juliet started at the sound of that voice. ‘Que faz voce?’
‘Oh, Tio Felipe,’ Teresa held out her hands to him, and lapsed into her own language, speaking appealingly, her dark eyes wide and innocent, so that Juliet began to wonder just what she was telling him.
The Duque had changed now into a cream silk lounge suit, that enhanced the swarthy cast of his complexion. The close-fitting trousers suited the muscular length of his legs, while Juliet was surprised to see that the jacket was quite modern in design with a long centre back vent. She supposed she had expected Venterra to be quite out of touch with civilization, but a man like Duque Felipe Ricardo de Castro was hardly likely to allow anyone but a Savile Row tailor to dress him. Trying to view him emotionlessly was difficult; his personality was such that she was intensely aware of him as a force to be reckoned with.
Teresa had paused now, and he straightened from the lounging position he had adopted near Teresa’s chair, and looked straight at Juliet.
‘So, senhorita,’ he murmured, taking out a case of cheroots and placing one between his firm lips, ‘you have perhaps discovered that not everything you read in the newspapers is true.’ His tone was cool, but mocking.
Juliet frowned, resisting the impulse to jump to her feet. ‘Do you mean the advertisement, senhor?’ she questioned, at last.
The Duque inclined his head, lighting his cheroot from a slim gold lighter. ‘Of course. You have been – how shall I put it? – misled! I regret the circumstance, of course, but …’ He shrugged his broad shoulders.
Juliet digested this, and then deemed she would feel at less of a disadvantage if she did stand up. Getting to her feet, she said, rather unsteadily: ‘You – you regret the circumstance, senhor! Are you trying to tell me my services are not required?’
‘How perceptive of you, Senhorita Summers,’ he murmured lazily. ‘That is exactly what I mean.’
Juliet took a deep breath. So much for Estelle Vinceiro’s influence, she thought gloomily.
‘Might – might I ask why?’ she said, rather tremulously.
The Duque frowned now. He was obviously not used to having anyone question his commands. He glanced down at Teresa thoughtfully, and then said:
‘I think, senhorita, we might discuss this in my study. I realize you feel annoyed and inconvenienced, but I trust I can compensate you financially for any inconvenience caused. Come!’ His tone was peremptory now, and Juliet obeyed, even while she felt furious that he should imagine he could buy her off.
He led the way through the marble-floored hall, along a corridor whose windows faced a rose garden, into a room furnished austerely in dark wood and leather, and whose walls were lined with leather-tooled books. He walked round to the far side of the desk which commanded a central position after he had closed the door and indicated that Juliet should sit in the chair opposite. She did so with some trepidation, which increased when he himself did not sit down but stood regarding her with dark, sombre eyes. If he found anything attractive in Juliet’s smooth, lightly tanned features, in the widely spaced depths of her eyes, or in the sun-kissed lustre of her hair, he did not show it, and merely seemed to be absorbed with some inner thoughts.
‘Now,’ he said, at last, when the tension Juliet was • feeling had become almost a tangible thing, ‘it is too late today for you to consider making the journey back to Barbados, and from there home to England. However, tomorrow I will have the hydroplane ready and waiting for you at ten o’clock.’
Something inside Juliet snapped at his words. She had been accustomed all her life to fighting for anything she wanted, and she saw no reason to stop now. This chance would never come her way again. Once her father discovered what she had done he would never trust her completely again. She would never be sure, wherever she went, that he had not got someone tailing her, monitoring her every movement. It was already too late to get back without his finding out what she had done. Rosemary had a letter to post two days after her departure which explained a little of her actions, without actually giving her whereabouts away. It would put both Mandy and her father’s minds at rest, and prevent Robert Lindsay from calling the police.
But this man, this arrogant Duque, was attempting, with casual apologies, to ruin everything she had struggled to achieve, as well as turning a blind eye to the situation that was developing under his very nose. Couldn’t he see what was happening to Teresa? Didn’t he feel the emotion she was harbouring for him? Or did he indeed know what was going on, and found it satisfying to his ego?
Juliet wasn’t sure, all she was sure of was that in this, at least, Estelle Vinceiro was right. She linked her fingers, bent her head, and exploded her bombshell.
‘Are you aware that your niece is in love with you?’
The Duque had been waiting for her reply, flicking through the correspondence on his desk idly, but at her words, his head jerked up, and he stared at her with incensed dark eyes. Juliet shivered, and returned her own gaze to her fingers, wondering however she had dared suggest such a thing.
‘Senhorita, your remarks may be a product of your indignation at your dismissal, but they are in extremely bad taste!’
Juliet bit her lip hard. What the hell, he was firing her anyway, what had she got to lose?
‘Bad taste or not, they’re true,’ she retorted, allowing her eyes to meet his momentarily. ‘Why do you suppose she objects to a companion? Because it limits the time you might spend with her!’
‘Enough! Deus! No one has ever spoken to me like this! How do you know these things? You have been here less than twelve hours! Have you, in that time, assimilated our positions so perfectly?’
The Duque walked round the desk restlessly, making Juliet acutely aware of him as a man, with a man’s powers, and she was treading on dangerous ground, even if she was leaving in the morning. Here, the Duque Felipe Ricardo de Castro was all powerful. Who would help her, if he chose to punish her for her outspokenness? She shivered, and wished she had a cigarette.
He returned to his position behind the desk at last, relieving a little of her tension, and again studied her intently.
‘Senhorita, I have considered what you have said, and I find I simply cannot believe you. Por Deus, Teresa is but sixteen years of age; I am nearing my fortieth birthday. Such a liaison can never have occurred to a child like that. I have never, at any time, given her any reason—’ He halted, and stiffened. ‘Wait! I will not explain myself to you. You will leave tomorrow, as I have said.’
Juliet sighed, and rose to her feet. ‘Very well, senhor,’ she said, not