The Stand-In Bride Read online

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Catalina agreed. ‘Let me tell you what my Grandmama used to say about my Grandpapa-’

  Maggie was a good listener, and Catalina poured her heart out in a way she could never do with the easily shocked Isabella. Maggie already knew much of the story of her childhood in the old Moorish city of Granada, motherless, because her mother had died at her birth, leaving her with a bewildered father who was already middle-aged. But Catalina told it again anyhow, talking about southern Spain, its vineyards and olive groves, orange and lemon orchards.

  Just outside Granada stood the Santiago estate, or at least part of it, for it also included extensive property in other parts of Andalucia, all owned by the rich and powerful family head, Don Sebastian de Santiago. Catalina had met him once, when she was ten, and she was taken to the Residenza Santiago, his great home that was like a palace. For this visit she wore her Sunday dress, and was warned to be on her best behaviour. She recalled little of that meeting, save that he had been formal and distant. Soon after that she was sent to the convent school. When she emerged at sixteen her father was dead, and she found herself the ward and betrothed of a man she hardly knew.

  She was still chattering as they hailed a cab to take them the short distance to the hotel, travelled up in the lift and walked along the corridor to the suite.

  They found the main room almost dark, except for a small table lamp.

  ‘We have a cup of tea, like true English people,’ Catalina said. While she called room service, Maggie took off her coat, yawned and stretched.

  ‘I so envy you that dress,’ Catalina said longingly. ‘No straps and only your bosom is holding it up, so when you stretch your arms over your head it look like maybe it fall down, and maybe not. And all the men are watching and hoping. I wish I can have a dress that look like it fall down.’

  ‘Catalina!’ Maggie said, half-amused, half-horrified. ‘You make me out a terrible chaperone.’

  Impulsively the girl hugged her. ‘I like you so much, Maggie. You have an understanding heart, I think.’

  ‘Well, you take my advice. Stand up to this ogre and tell him to get lost. This is the twenty-first century. You can’t be forced into marriage against your will-certainly not with an old man. One day you’ll meet a nice boy of your own age.’

  Catalina chuckled. ‘I thought you believed a woman was crazy to marry a Spaniard of any age.

  ‘I meant any English woman. I dare say if you’re Spanish they might be just about tolerable.’

  ‘How kind of you,’ said an ironic voice from the shadows

  They whirled and saw a man rise from the armchair by the window, and switch on a tall standard lamp. Maggie felt a frisson of alarm, and not only because of his sudden appearance, the way he seemed to loom up from nowhere. It was to do with the man himself. There was something inherently dangerous about him. She knew that by instinct, even in that brief moment.

  Before she could demand to know who he was and how he came to be there, she heard Catalina whisper, ‘Sebastian!’

  Oh, heavens! Maggie thought. Now the fat’s in the fire.

  Obviously he’d heard every word she’d said. But that might even be a good thing. A little plain speaking was long overdue.

  She surveyed him, realising that she had been seriously misled. Catalina’s notion of elderly was coloured by her own youth. This man bore no relation to the grey-beard they had been discussing. Don Sebastian de Santiago was in his thirties, perhaps his late thirties but certainly no older. He stood a good six foot two inches tall, with a lean, hard body that he carried like an athlete.

  Only on his face did Maggie see what she had expected, a look of pride and arrogance that she guessed had been imprinted there at the hour of his birth. And right now, to pride and arrogance was added anger. If she’d cherished a hope that he hadn’t heard all her frank words, a look at his black, snapping eyes would have dispelled it.

  But for the moment anger was just below the surface, almost concealed by a layer of cool courtesy. ‘Good evening, Catalina,’ he said calmly. ‘Will you be so kind as to introduce me to this lady?’

  Catalina pulled herself together. ‘Señora Margarita Cortez, Don Sebastian de Santiago.’

  Sebastian inclined his head curtly. ‘Good evening, Señora. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I have heard much about you, although I admit that I had not expected to find you so young.’

  His eyes flickered over her as he spoke, as though he were sizing her up, prior to dismissal.

  Maggie raised her chin, refusing to be discomposed.

  ‘I was not informed of any age qualifications for my job, Señor,’ she replied crisply. ‘Only that I should speak fluent Spanish, and be able to introduce Catalina to English customs.’

  He seemed a little surprised that she had turned his remark back on him. He surveyed her ironically.

  ‘Then permit me to say that you seem to have exceeded your brief. Was it part of the terms of your employment to criticise me to my bride, or is that an English custom I’ve never heard of before?’

  ‘You take a light-hearted conversation too seriously, Señor,’ Maggie said, managing to sound amused. ‘Catalina and I have enjoyed an evening at the theatre, followed by a meal, and we were in the mood to talk nonsense.’

  ‘I see,’ he said sardonically. ‘So you were talking nonsense when you told her that she couldn’t be forced into marriage with an ogre. I can’t tell you how greatly that relieves my mind. For if you were to seriously oppose me, I tremble to think of my fate.’

  ‘So do I,’ she riposted. She wasn’t going to let him get away with that.

  He raised his eyebrows slightly, but otherwise didn’t deign to react.

  ‘It’s time for me to be going home,’ Maggie said. ‘I’ll just call a cab-’

  He moved swiftly to put himself between her and the telephone. ‘Before you do, perhaps you could favour me with an account of your evening. Did you enjoy Julius Caesar?’

  ‘Very much,’ Catalina burst out before Maggie could stop her. ‘Such a great play, and an inspired performance. We were thrilled, weren’t we, Maggie?’

  ‘Yes, do tell me.’ He turned to her. ‘Did you enjoy the performance as much as Catalina-?’

  Maggie’s alarm bells rang. ‘Don Sebastian-’

  ‘Or will you, at least, have the sense to admit the truth?’ he cut across her sharply. ‘Neither of you were there tonight.’

  ‘But we were,’ Catalina plunged on, unwisely. ‘Truly, we were.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Maggie said, laying a hand on the girl’s arm. ‘There’s no need for this, Catalina. We’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. Perhaps it’s Don Sebastian who should be ashamed, for spying on us.’

  ‘That was a most unwise remark, Señora,’ he said in a hard voice. ‘I do not owe you or anyone an account of my actions, but I will tell you this. I arrived unexpectedly and decided to join you at the theatre. When it was clear that you weren’t there, I returned here to wait for you. It’s now past one in the morning, and if you know what’s good for you, you will explain exactly where you were, and who you met.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Maggie snapped. ‘We met nobody. Catalina has been in my company, and mine alone, the whole evening.’

  ‘Dressed like that?’ he asked scathingly, taking in the elegantly sexy contours of her dress. ‘I don’t think so. Women flaunt themselves for men, not each other.’

  ‘Piffle!’ Maggie said, losing her temper. ‘Catalina likes to dress up for the pleasure of it, as does any young girl. I dressed up to keep her company.’

  ‘You’ll forgive my not accepting your word,’ he said coldly.

  ‘No, I won’t forgive you, because I don’t tell lies.’

  ‘But Catalina does. Under your chaperonage she feels free to deceive me. Now I know the kind of example you set her. You take her out gallivanting heaven knows where, and encourage her to lie about where you’ve been.’

  ‘I didn’t encourage her-I couldn’t stop
her. Yes, it was a stupid lie, but only a small one, and it wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t act like a man bringing the word down from the mountain. Stop making such an issue of something so trivial. She’s eighteen, for pity’s sake, and entitled to some innocent fun.’

  ‘I will be the judge of that.’

  From behind the bedroom door came the sound of a groan.

  ‘Poor Isabella,’ Catalina said hurriedly. ‘I was forgetting that she isn’t well. I should go to her.’

  ‘Yes, do,’ Maggie advised, regarding Don Sebastian out of glinting eyes. ‘We’ll fight better without you.’

  Catalina scuttled away, leaving the other two eyeing each other like jousters. Again Maggie had the sensation of danger that she’d felt in the first moments of meeting him. She wasn’t frightened. There was something about danger that exhilarated her when she could meet it head-on. Perhaps he should be afraid.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘Y OU are right, Señora,’ Don Sebastian said. ‘My bride is innocent in this matter. The blame lies with the woman charged with her welfare, who has so notably failed in her responsibilities. For the last time, I demand that you tell me where you have been.’

  ‘To the theatre.’

  ‘To see what?’

  ‘A light-hearted musical. Not as worthy and improving as Julius Caesar, but it’s Christmas and neither of us was in the mood for war and murder.’

  ‘And does this light-hearted musical have a title?’ he growled. He knew she was prevaricating.

  Maggie sighed. ‘Yes. It’s called Your Place Or Mine?’ she said reluctantly, realising how it sounded.

  ‘Your Place Or Mine?’ he echoed. ‘I suppose that tells me all I need to know about the kind of sleazy entertainment you think suitable for a sheltered young girl.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Maggie said firmly. ‘The title is misleading. It isn’t sleazy at all-just a little bit naughty, but basically innocent.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Don Sebastian snatched up a newspaper he had been reading to pass the time, and pointed to an advertisement for the show they had just seen. ‘Outrageous,’ he quoted. ‘Titillating! Don’t take your grandmother!’

  Maggie struggled to stop her lips twitching, and failed.

  ‘I am amusing you?’ Don Sebastian asked in a warning voice.

  ‘Yes, frankly, you are. If you knew anything about theatre advertising-which you clearly don’t-you’d realise that this kind of publicity is deliberately angled to make the public think a show more shocking than it is. “Don’t take your grandmother,” really means that even your grandmother wouldn’t be shocked. My own grandmother would have loved it.’

  ‘I can well believe that.’

  ‘Meaning? Meaning?’

  ‘Do you wish me to spell it out?’

  ‘Not unless you enjoy making yourself unpleasant, which I’m beginning to think you do. What a fuss about nothing! Catalina is young, pretty. She ought to be out dancing with friends of her own age, and what do you offer her? Julius Caesar, for pity’s sake! Men in nighties and little skirts, with knobbles on their knees.’

  ‘Since you didn’t see the performance you are hardly equipped to comment on their knees,’ he snapped.

  ‘I’ll bet they were knobbly, though. A sheltered girl like Catalina would probably have been shocked at the sight.’

  But humour was wasted on this man. His eyes had narrowed in a way that some people might have found intimidating, but Maggie was past caring. She had never met anyone who made her so angry so quickly.

  At last he said, ‘You have your values and I have mine. They seem to be entirely different. I blame myself for hiring your services without checking you out first.’

  ‘Don’t you have your finger in enough pies?’ she demanded in exasperation. ‘Must each tiny detail come under your control?’

  ‘With every word you betray how little you understand. When a man is in authority, control is essential. If he does not control all the details, his authority is incomplete.’

  ‘Details!’ Maggie said explosively. ‘You’re talking about this poor girl’s life. And if you regard that as a detail I can only say I pity her.’

  ‘How fortunate that I’m not obliged to consider your opinion,’ he snapped.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever considered anyone’s opinion in your life,’ she snapped back.

  ‘I don’t tolerate interference with my private affairs. It’s not your place to criticise me or my forthcoming marriage.’

  ‘If you had any decency, there wouldn’t be a marriage.’

  ‘On the contrary, it’s only my sense of duty that makes me take a feather-headed ninny as my wife. On his death-bed her father made me promise to protect her, and I gave my word.’

  ‘So be her guardian, but you don’t have to be her husband!’

  ‘A guardian’s power ends on the day his ward marries. I protect her best by remaining her guardian for life.

  ‘Well, of all the-‘

  ‘You know Catalina by now. Is she intelligent? Come, be honest.’

  ‘No, she isn’t. She has a butterfly mind. All the more reason to marry a man who won’t care about that.’

  ‘And how will she choose her husband? She’s an heiress, and the fortune-hunters will flock to her. Can you imagine the choice she’ll make? I don’t need her money. I’ll make a marriage settlement that ties it up in favour of her children, and then I’ll give her everything she wants.’

  ‘Except love.’

  ‘Love,’ he echoed scornfully. ‘What sentimentalists you English are. You think marriage has anything to do with romantic love? My wife will be protected and cared for. I will give her children to love.’

  ‘And she’ll have to be content with the small corner of your life that you spare her.’

  He regarded her cynically. ‘I see how it is. You think a man only makes a good husband if he prostrates himself and worships the woman, like a weakling. But I tell you that a man who truly worships is without pride, and the man who only pretends is not to be trusted.’

  ‘You think a strong man patronises the woman?’ Maggie demanded sharply.

  ‘I think men and women each have their roles, and their duty is to fill them well. And since you ask, no, I don’t think that my role is to look up to any woman. I suppose you’ve been filling Catalina’s head with your pretty nonsense.’

  ‘Catalina is young. She knows what she wants out of life, and it isn’t you.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. She’d like some fast-talking boy who’ll sweep her off her feet, spend her money and turn on her when it’s gone. Is that the fate you want for her?’

  ‘No, of course not, I-’ Something was making it difficult for her to speak. His words had touched a nerve. She turned away and went to the window, so that she didn’t have to look at him. But the darkness outside reflected the room within, and she could still see him, watching her, frowning.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked at last.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘You’re right, this is none of my business. Soon you’ll take Catalina away, and I won’t see her any more.’

  ‘What was your own husband like?’ he asked, with a flash of insight that alarmed her.

  ‘I’d rather not talk about him.’

  ‘I see,’ he said harshly. ‘You discuss my marriage, which-as you so rightly say-is not your concern, but if I wish to discuss yours, you feel entitled to snub me.’ He pulled her around to face him. ‘Tell me about your husband.’

  ‘No.’ She tried to get free but he held her firmly.

  ‘I said, tell me about him. What was he like to put that withdrawn look on your face when he’s mentioned?’

  ‘Very well, he was Spanish,’ she flashed. ‘Everything else I prefer to forget.’

  ‘Did you live in Spain?’

  ‘That’s enough. Let me go at once.’ But his long fingers clasped on her arm did not release her.

  ‘I’d rather stay like this. I don’t want to have to follow
you about the room. I asked if you lived in Spain, and so far you haven’t answered me.’

  ‘No, and I’m not going to.’

  ‘But I intend that you shall. I’ve been very patient while you interrogated me and favoured me with your insulting opinions, but my patience has run out. Now we talk about you. Tell me about your husband. Was he a passionate man?’

  ‘How dare-? That’s none of your-’ His glintingly ironic eyes stopped her, reminding her of how frankly she had spoken about his private affairs. But that was different, she told herself wildly. It didn’t entitle him to invade the secrets of her bed, or to look at her with eyes that seemed to see the things she kept so carefully hidden.

  ‘So tell me,’ Sebastian persisted. ‘Was he passionate?’ Maggie pulled herself together. ‘I’m surprised you ask. You just told me that love has nothing to do with marriage.’

  ‘And so it hasn’t. But I’m talking about passion, which has nothing to do with love. What a man and a woman experience together in bed is a life apart. It matters little whether they love each other or not. In fact, a touch of antagonism can heighten their pleasure.’

  She drew an uneven breath. ‘That is nonsense!’

  He didn’t answer in words, but his fingers twitched, catching the silk chiffon scarf and slowly drawing it away, leaving her shoulders bare. A tremor went through her at the sudden rush of cool air on her skin.

  ‘I think not,’ he said softly.

  His eyes held hers. His meaning was shockingly clear. The hostility that had flared between them in the first instant was, to him, an attraction. He was inviting her to imagine herself in bed with him, naked, turning their anger into physical pleasure. And he was doing it so forcefully that she couldn’t help responding. Against her will the pictures were there, shocking in their power and abandon: a man and a woman who’d thrown aside restraint and were driving each other on to ever greater ecstasy.

  She was intensely aware of the sheer physical force of his presence. Once, before passion had played her false, she had responded to it fiercely: so fiercely that in disillusion she’d turned away from desire, fearing it as a traitor. She’d fought it, killed it. Or so she’d thought.