is not the behaviour of a devoted wife to order her husband out of his own bathroom,’ Javier said, breaking the taut silence.
‘I…I don’t care,’ she said, her teeth chattering slightly.
He plucked a bath sheet off the warming rail and held it just out of her reach. ‘You’d better get out. You’re starting to get cold.’
Her grey-blue eyes battled with his. ‘I’m not getting out until you leave.’
He settled his tall frame into a trenchant stance. ‘I am not leaving until you get out.’
She clenched her teeth, her voice coming out as a hiss, reminding him of a snarling cat. ‘Why are you doing this? Why are you being such a beast?’
‘What is all the fuss about, querida?’ he asked evenly. ‘I have seen you naked countless times.’
Her throat rose and fell. ‘It’s different now…You know that…’
He came closer with the towel, unfolding it for her to step into. ‘Come on, Emelia. You are shivering.’
She flattened her mouth and, giving him another livid glare, stood and grasped for the towel, covering herself haphazardly, but not before he feasted his eyes on her slim feminine form. There were catwalk models who had less going for them, Javier thought. With her coltish long legs and beautifully toned arms and those small high breasts with their delectable rosy nipples, it was all he could do not to pull her out of the slippery tub and crush his body to hers. How many times had he tasted the sweet honey of her feminine body? How many times had he plunged into her, his cataclysmic release unlike any he had ever experienced with anyone else? As much as it felt like a dagger in his gut, he wondered how it had been with her lover. Had she gone down on him with the same fervour? Had she whispered words of love to him in the afterglow of lovemaking? Javier felt his top lip curl as he watched her try to cover herself more effectively. ‘You are wasting your time, Emelia,’ he said. ‘I know every inch of your body and you know every inch of mine.’
Her eyes shifted away from his, her throat doing that nervous up and down thing again. ‘I would like some privacy,’ she said, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. ‘I…I’m not feeling well.’
Javier’s brows shot together. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he asked. ‘What is wrong? A headache? The doctor said headaches are common after—’
‘It’s not a bad one, just an ache behind one eye.’ She brushed at her damp brow once more, this time with a corner of the towel. ‘It’s making me feel a little nauseous. Perhaps it’s the change of climate. It’s a lot hotter here than in England.’
‘You were only in London a week,’ he pointed out. ‘Hardly time to be reacclimatising, don’t you think?’
Her gaze returned to his, two small frown lines sectioning her forehead. ‘Oh…yes…yes, of course…I forgot.’ She pressed her lips together and looked away.
Javier saw the shadow of grief pass through her eyes before she averted her gaze. He fought down his anger, reminding himself she was with him now. His rival was dead. It was just Emelia and him now, to get on with their lives as best they could. ‘Dinner is not long away,’ he said. ‘I will need to get changed. Do you want me to escort you downstairs or do you think you will find your way?’
She clutched at the towel as she looked at him with her guarded gaze. ‘I’ll find my own way…thank you.’
He gave a brisk nod and left the bathroom.
Emelia opened the wardrobe and, searching through the array of clothes, selected a simple black dress and heels to match. As she dressed she couldn’t quite suppress the feeling that she was dressing in someone else’s clothes. The dress was made by a French designer and must have cost a fortune; the shoes, too, were a brand celebrities and Hollywood stars regularly wore. She used the cosmetics in the drawer in the en suite bathroom, but only lightly and, after drying her hair with a blow-dryer, she left it lying about her shoulders.
As she came down the grand staircase she heard Javier’s voice from the study. He was speaking in Spanish and sounded angry. Emelia knew it was probably beneath her to eavesdrop but, even so, she couldn’t resist pausing outside the closed study door. Of course hearing only one side of a conversation was not all that revealing and, although she understood very basic Spanish, he spoke so rapidly she found it hard to follow everything he said. One or two sentences did stand out, however.
‘There is not going to be a divorce.’
Emelia’s eyes widened as she listened even harder, wincing as one or two expletives were uttered before his next statement.
‘The money is not yours and never has been and, as long as I live, it never will be.’
The phone slammed down and, before Emelia could move even a couple of paces down the hall, Javier came storming out of the study. He pulled up short as if someone had jerked him back by the back of his jacket when he saw her standing there with guilt written all over her face.
‘How long have you been standing out here?’ He almost barked the words at her.
Emelia took a layer of her lip gloss off with the nervous dart of her tongue. ‘I…I was just walking past. I heard you raise your voice.’
His expression was thunderous but Emelia had a feeling the anger was not directed at her. He raked a hand through his hair and released a heavy sigh, as if deliberately trying to suppress his fury. ‘Just as well you don’t remember any Spanish,’ he said. ‘I don’t usually swear in the presence of women, but my father’s third wife is nothing but a gold-digging, trouble-making tramp.’
Emelia wondered if she should tell him she could speak and understand a little of his language, but in that nanosecond of hesitation she decided against it. Wouldn’t it seem strange that she couldn’t remember him and yet she could remember every word of Spanish she had learned over the past two years? After all, he had already implied she might be pretending. Why he would think that was beyond her, although, given the conversation she had just overheard, it made her wonder if their marriage had been as happy as he had intimated. She had just heard him say there was not going to be a divorce. Did that mean there had been recent speculation about their marriage ending? Javier had mentioned how the press had made some scurrilous comments about her relationship with Peter Marshall. There would be few men who would cope well with their private life being splashed all over the papers and gossip magazines, but Javier struck her as a particularly proud and intensely private man. There was so much she didn’t know and she didn’t feel comfortable asking in case the answers he gave were not the ones she wanted to hear.
‘It must be very difficult for you, under the circumstances,’ she offered.
He gave her a long look and sighed again, taking her elbow to lead the way to the dining room. ‘My father was a fool leaving Izabella’s mother for Claudine Marsden. That woman is a home wrecker. Why he couldn’t see it is beyond me.’
‘Some men are like that,’ she said. ‘My father is the same.’
He glanced down at her as they came to the dining room door. ‘Did your father contact you while you were in hospital?’ he asked.
Emelia’s mouth tightened. ‘No, why should he? As far as he is concerned, I am as good as dead to him. He told me he never wanted to see me again. I have
