Postcards From Madrid. Lynne Graham
to hide the tears burning her eyes he tugged her back round to face him, his every move redolent of the confidence that powered him. ‘Come back to my hotel with me for lunch…’
Suddenly shy of him again, terrifyingly sensitive to the intimate tone of his accented voice, Sophie coloured. ‘You’re not thinking of food.’
Antonio gave her a hard, devastating smile that was quite unrepentant. ‘You’re so direct—’
His lack of self-consciousness infuriated her and her whole face stiffened. ‘I imagine I’d disappoint you.’
‘I don’t think so.’ His stunning dark, deep-set eyes flared reflective gold.
‘Purely as a point of speculation, how much would you give up to be with Lydia all the time?’
Her smooth brow pleated. ‘I’d do anything for that.’
The silence eddied around her like a dangerous current.
Antonio surveyed her without expression. ‘If you had constant access to Lydia and security, would you be prepared to do everything I asked in return for that privilege?’
‘Short of crime, yes,’ she agreed urgently, but her bewilderment was growing. ‘Why are you asking me that?’
‘If Lydia needs a mother twenty-four seven, then I should marry. But I like my life as it is. That’s the problem,’ Antonio admitted with a candour he had never employed with a woman before.
‘That you don’t want a wife?’
‘If I opted for a marriage of convenience instead the problem would vanish. That kind of marriage might last between five and ten years max before ending in an amicable divorce.’
Sophie was hanging on his every word but she was totally confused. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I think there’s a possibility that we could reach a mutually beneficial agreement,’ Antonio murmured thoughtfully. ‘The wife I choose would have to know the score. I would expect to retain my freedom to come and go as and when I liked and with whom I pleased.’
‘You’re talking about a fake marriage?’ Sophie pressed uncertainly. ‘Are you suggesting that you and me—?’
‘You would gain Lydia and financial security and my life would continue as normal. That would be the deal.’
Green eyes huge, she stared up at him, transfixed by the concept of marrying him. ‘The deal? But—’
‘You’d be insane to turn me down,’ Antonio asserted, examining the arrangement from every angle and more and more impressed by his own creative ingenuity.
He believed that it was as close to perfect as a solution could be. Even so it would only be a temporary solution and he would have to have a watertight pre-nuptial contract drawn up. Sophie, however, would have no illusions as to the nature of their agreement. She would make her home on his country estate and take full charge of their niece and his conscience could be easy. As soon as he had learned that Sophie was infertile, he had known that it would be indescribably cruel to deprive her of Lydia. But only by marrying Sophie would he be able to watch over the child’s interests without being unduly troubled by further responsibility.
His grandmother, however, might well be aghast when Sophie, with her poor background and education, became his bride, but Doña Ernesta was a strong woman and she would get over her disappointment. The rest of the family and his friends would be shocked as well. Always an individual, he decided he could live with that. In any case he was finally willing to recall just how many people had been charmed by Sophie’s vivacity when they had met her in Spain. Doña Ernesta would very probably take charge of her and teach her anything she needed to know. His grandparent would also benefit from having full access to Pablo’s daughter without the burden of having to worry about the quality of the child’s care.
Sophie stared up at Antonio in unconcealed wonderment. He was asking her to marry him so that he could offer her a home with Lydia in Spain. It certainly would be a marriage of convenience, she thought breathlessly, for she could not imagine two people with less in common. Yet it was also a very practical answer to the problem of Lydia’s future welfare. Even so, she was still amazed that he should be willing to marry her for Lydia’s sake and that he should have come up with that idea quite so quickly.
‘Dios mio! Say yes and let’s get off the beach,’ Antonio urged with masculine impatience.
Sophie blinked. ‘You can’t just throw something like that at me and expect—?’
Antonio dealt her a bold look of challenge. ‘Why shouldn’t I expect an immediate positive response? You’re cleaning floors to put food on the table. You live in a home with wheels under it and it’s so shabby you won’t let me see it. I have offered you a ticket out of hell.’
Sophie reddened and shifted worriedly off one foot onto the other. ‘It’s not that simple…this isn’t hell—’
In the cool breeze, Antonio suppressed a shiver: he was freezing. He looked out at the grey sea under the grey sky and then down at the even duller shingle below his feet. ‘It is by my standards.’
‘But you’re rich and spoilt—’
‘Wouldn’t you like to be rich and spoilt too?’ Antonio murmured smooth as silk, planting a lean brown hand to her narrow back to gently press her back towards the path.
‘I can’t imagine being rich…but I think I’d like being spoilt,’ Sophie confided tightly. ‘Is this a joke? Or are you serious?’
‘If you can accept a marriage that has a finish date in sight and a husband who is a free agent, I’m serious.’
A husband who was a free agent was a contradiction in terms, Sophie reflected abstractedly. Her head was buzzing with too many thoughts at once. She was astonished, fearful, excited, distrustful and confused all at one and the same time. But she had not been exaggerating when she had said that there was nothing she would not do to be with Lydia.
Marry Antonio? Learn how to be a demure wife? Overlook his infidelity? Her gut reactions warned her that that was wrong and absolutely against her own principles. But then she reminded herself that Antonio was not suggesting a normal marriage. She could scarcely apply the usual moral standards to an arrangement that he had referred to as a ‘deal.’ A wholly self-centred deal calculated to cause the least possible interference with his enjoyment of his life, she conceded ruefully. But how could she blame him for that? His lack of interest in being a proper parent to Lydia was the only reason he was willing to make it possible for Sophie to continue filling that role for their niece’s benefit.
‘You have until tonight to decide your answer. I’ll send the limo to pick you up and bring you back to my hotel for dinner.’ Having reached the top of the path, Antonio was already signalling his chauffeur to indicate his readiness to depart.
Sophie could not help recalling the heady few minutes on the beach when Antonio had awarded her his full attention. That kiss had rocked her world. Now his spectacular dark golden eyes were cool and distant again. His indifference was a slap in the face, a rejection as much as an acknowledgement that their kiss had not been equally special on his terms. In comparison, Sophie was all too well aware that for her the kiss had been seriously addictive stuff. Just thinking about that wicked blaze of excitement made her feel incredibly hot and quivery and very unwilling to look at him.
‘What time?’ she asked, striving to match his cool with her own.
‘Eight.’
‘I don’t have anything fancy to wear,’ she warned him.
‘It’s not a problem. We’ll dine in my suite.’
Sophie got the message. Unless she could present what he deemed to be an acceptable image, she would not be seen in public. Or was she being over-sensitive? Even a little unfair? After all, she would have Lydia with her, and if the baby became sleepy Antonio’s suite would be quieter than