The Society Bride. Fiona Hood-Stewart
they moved on up towards the steps of the house. What would he expect from her as his wife?
For the first time, as they entered the huge hall, then stepped into the tiled drawing room and out onto the low-walled terrace overlooking the cerulean sea beyond, Nena faced her dilemma. Suddenly she glanced at Ramon, who was speaking to one of the servants. He looked like a man not used to being thwarted. Everyone jumped at his quiet, polite commands. What, she wondered, would he want from her?
‘I’ve ordered some champagne,’ he said, looking down at her. ‘Afterwards you might like to tour the first of your new homes,’ he added, with that same touch of sardonic humour she’d observed the first day by the lake. Remember, she told herself, he doesn’t care about you. You’re nothing more than a lucrative asset.
‘I feel rather tired,’ she said, seating herself on the colourful woven cushions that were spread over the white-washed stone sofa surrounding the wall that formed a cozy niche. ‘I think I’ll go and rest in a minute, if you don’t mind. Perhaps one of the maids could show me to my room.’
‘To our room, you mean,’ he returned firmly.
Her eyes flew up to meet his and she shivered. ‘I—I think we need to talk about that.’ She clasped her hands together and felt her cheeks go bright pink.
‘What is there to talk about?’ Ramon asked, leaning lazily back against the wall in his immaculate grey suit. He managed to look at ease in it, despite being on a relaxed Greek island.
‘A lot, I think.’
‘Oh?’ He raised an enquiring brow.
‘Yes. We—this is a marriage of convenience. You, for whatever reason, decided that it suited you to propose,’ she replied hotly, sending him an angry glare. ‘I accepted because I love my grandfather and don’t want him to end his days worrying and miserable. I don’t think that either of those reasons constitutes grounds for—for intimacy.’ She ended hurriedly, wishing this conversation wasn’t taking place.
‘I see.’ Ramon gazed at her speculatively. He hadn’t reckoned with this—had thought that once he had her to himself things would somehow smooth themselves out. Perhaps, he reflected reluctantly, he would have to give her some time to get used to the idea that she was his.
The thought sent a slash of heat racing through his body and he stood straighter. ‘We’ll talk about this later on,’ he said, seeing a servant appear with the champagne. ‘For now, let’s relax and have a drink.’
Seconds later he was handing her a glass filled with sparkling champagne. ‘Welcome to Agapos,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘May you be happy and contented here, señora mia.’
Nena made a minute gesture of acknowledgement with her glass, and instead of the sip she’d intended took a large, long gulp. She certainly needed something to get her through the next few hours…days—nights.
Ramon watched her. He would have to restrain the desire that had been consuming him for the past two weeks and control the powerful urge he had to take her to his bed. There was time for that, he told himself. No need to rush things. He was willing to pander to her present needs—for a while. Still, there was a limit to his patience.
But she was experiencing a period of deep trauma, caused by her grandfather’s illness, and their marriage must have come as something of a surprise, he realised soberly. Then there was the fact that she was very young, and apparently had very little or no sexual experience. She was perhaps afraid. It would be up to him to make sure that it all happened smoothly, that her initiation to the bedroom and its pleasures was an enjoyable experience. He took a deep breath and forced his mind onto something else before his body betrayed him.
Three nights later Ramon was feeling considerably less amenable. Nena had barely spoken to him, and when she did she was grudgingly polite. They’d spent several stonily silent hours on the beach, on the yacht, driving around the island. If he proposed a plan she agreed neither happily nor unhappily.
Indifferent.
That was what she was. And it was driving him crazy. He could have handled raw anger, tears, a show of passion. But this blatant unresponsiveness and determination to remain as distant from him as possible was intolerable.
He sent her a scorching glance across the table which had been tastefully laid on the terrace. The moon was rising and the night was dotted with stars. The perfect night to be with a woman, he thought. They could have spent wonderful hours together, yet she refused to budge from this tenacious position she’d assumed. What was going on inside that lovely head? he wondered. What thoughts rankled? What was it that was eating her?
‘Nena, I think that if there is something disturbing you, you should tell me about it. I’ve tried to be as accommodating as possible,’ he added, thinking of the separate bedrooms he’d instructed the staff to arrange, ‘but I think you owe me an explanation.’
‘An explanation?’ She lowered her fork to her plate and sent an icy stare across the crisp white cloth. ‘I don’t think I owe you anything, Ramon. Neither of us owes the other. We cut a deal. We each, apparently—though I don’t quite see it that way—are supposed to benefit from this arrangement. I can see the advantages for you. I have yet to find out what mine are.’
‘Is that how you see this? Purely as a business arrangement?’ he said, shocked that someone so young could be so level-headed, so…
‘That’s exactly how I think of it. And the sooner you do so as well, the better it will be for both of us. Why don’t we end this farce of a honeymoon at once and get back home?’
‘We are home,’ he replied coldly. ‘Home, from now on, is where I reside. My homes have now become your homes.’
‘I have to go back to my grandfather,’ she said doggedly staring at her plate.
‘I have no objection to remaining in England for the present. But in our home.’
‘But—’
‘There are no buts,’ he returned autocratically. ‘We shall stay with my parents. I have instructed my estate agents to look for a place for us.’
‘I don’t want to go to Eaton Square,’ Nena muttered through gritted teeth, her fingers clenched as she tried not to cry. ‘I want to go home—to Thurston. Why don’t you just go back to Buenos Aires and—?’
She stopped herself in time from saying back to your mistress. He had no idea that she’d seen the pictures of him and Luisa Somebody-or-other in Hola! magazine. The pictures had been taken in Gstaad, where they’d been winter sporting. In fact Ramon had no notion that she knew about his lifestyle. She had found out quite by chance about the woman in his life, as she’d flipped through an old copy of the magazine that Doña Augusta had brought for her grandfather.
And, surprisingly, it had hurt.
It didn’t matter that she despised the man for agreeing to marry her, despised his motives and everything he stood for. The sight of him—arm possessively around the shoulders of a lush, luscious, stunning brunette, obviously a highly worldly and sophisticated woman, near to his own age—had left her inordinately troubled. Not that it was anything to do with her, she’d reasoned then as she did now. What did she care how many women he slept with? She had no intention of being one of them, did she?
Ramon leaned forward and touched her hand. ‘Nena, I have no objection to your visiting your grandfather, spending time with him, and of course there will come a time—’ He cut off, unwilling to say the words he knew would hurt her so much, while deeply aware that it was his duty to prepare her for what he suspected would take place in a very short time. ‘But I do require that your official and permanent residence be under my roof,’ he finished firmly as she drew her trembling fingers from his grasp. ‘I will not allow my wife to live anywhere but with me.’
He’d never thought he would feel so strongly possessive the day he married. Had never thought about it much at all. But now that it had happened he felt a need to control,