with a posse of paparazzi. It began to dawn on him for the first time that being married to Sophie might not be the equivalent of a walk in the park. It was a sobering reflection for a male who had intended to safeguard his freedom by taking a wife.
‘You can’t let them ruin the day,’ Sophie protested at his elbow. ‘That would be like giving way to blackmail.’
Antonio stifled a derisive desire to admit that all of a sudden he knew exactly how that felt. ‘We’ll use the grounds of the hotel.’
His reward for that peace-keeping concession was immediate and startling. Sophie flung both arms round him and gave him an enthusiastic hug. ‘Thanks. Thanks! You won’t regret it.’
Before the bridal couple left the building, however, Norah Moore also insisted on taking her leave of them. ‘No, I’m not coming one step further to play goose-berry,’ she responded wryly when Sophie took her off to one side in an effort to persuade her to accompany them to the hotel. ‘You should just have said that you and Antonio…well, that kiss said it all for you, didn’t it? I didn’t know where to look!’
Reminded of what an exhibition she had made of herself, Sophie squirmed in shame and chagrin. ‘It wasn’t like you think.’
‘It was just as it should be. Your getting married will be good for my Matt too,’ the older woman informed her bluntly. ‘He’s been trailing after you like a lovelorn puppy, but now he’ll have to get over you.’
In the limo on the way to the hotel, Sophie turned to Antonio and said, ‘Why did you suggest that I might be responsible for all those journalists turning up at the church?’
Stunning dark eyes unflinching, he looked levelly back at her. ‘Someone tipped them off.’
‘Not me…for goodness’ sake, I didn’t even know the newspapers would be interested in what you get up to!’
Antonio said nothing.
Her temper roused, Sophie watched him from below her lashes. ‘Aren’t you going to apologise?’
‘If I misjudged you, I’m sorry—’
‘If?’ Sophie was outraged by the wording he had chosen to use.
‘I don’t yet know who’s responsible for alerting the paparazzi,’ Antonio countered silkily, as immoveable as solid rock in his resolve not to yield the point.
‘Well, it wasn’t me and we’re not going to have a very friendly relationship if you keep on accusing me of things I didn’t do!’ Sophie warned him in high dudgeon.
‘Who said we have to be friendly?’ Antonio drawled with deliberate provocation, lounging fluidly back in his corner of the limousine to enjoy the entertainment. He liked watching her vibrate with emotion, for that intense capacity for feeling was as rare in his experience as a genuine Stradivarius violin.
‘But you just married me!’ Sophie condemned furiously.
‘Since when did matrimony and friendship go hand in hand?’ Having made that statement to keep her simmering, Antonio surveyed her from below lush black lashes. Once again his analytical mind was engaged in attempting to dissect the mystery of her pulling power. It wasn’t just her passion. Inexplicably that tiny hat anchored to her mane of curls now struck him as the very essence of femininity. His wide, sensual mouth compressed. In fact she looked amazingly sexy.
‘That’s a horrible thing to say!’ Sophie condemned.
‘I have a whole host of lifelong married ancestors who cohabited with hatred.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me one little bit!’ Sophie slung back.
Antonio was now endeavouring to work out why she looked so sexy. He still thought the dress was a mistake, but it did somehow contrive to accentuate her delicate grace to perfection. The neckline revealed only a modest hint of shadowy cleavage. She had surprisingly full breasts for her slender build. Even overblown roses could not conceal that ripe, rounded swell from his attention. At that point and very much to his annoyance, his libido kicked in with almost painful enthusiasm. She shifted position, her hemline riding up to expose a slim length of thigh. A wolf to the slaughter, his gaze lingered to trace the limb’s progression into a shapely knee and slender calf that concluded in amazingly narrow ankles and very small feet. Suddenly he wanted her under him with a ferocity that astonished him.
‘Pablo was cruel to Belinda,’ Sophie breathed abruptly. ‘I just want you to know I won’t put up with that kind of treatment!’
All desire stifled by that disquieting revelation, Antonio settled brilliant dark golden eyes on her. ‘What did he do?’
‘What didn’t he do?’ Sophie traded heavily with a slight shiver, her anger with Antonio ebbing while she remembered what her sister had told her. ‘He killed her confidence. He was always criticising her and telling her how stupid she was and cutting her off in front of other people.’
‘I am not my brother,’ Antonio spelt out with measured clarity.
‘Oh, I know that. Pablo wouldn’t have cared what happened to his niece. He would only have got involved if there was money in the offing,’ Sophie ceded grudgingly.
She was not in the mood to say anything that Antonio might construe as a compliment. But there it was, whether she liked it or not—Antonio was a positive prince among men when set next to his late brother.
‘I dislike being compared to Pablo,’ Antonio informed her with cold emphasis.
Feeling snubbed for having been generous enough to point out that he was much more responsible and caring, Sophie flushed with annoyance and pointedly devoted her attention to Lydia. Soon after that they arrived at the hotel.
The photographer had a tough time with the bridal couple. Although the hotel gardens were superb and the sun was shining, his clients refused to act like blissful newly marrieds. Sophie only came alive when the baby was in the picture and became as flexible as a stick of rock when Antonio had finally been induced to curve an arm round her. The photographer was not quite quick enough to hide his surprise at the complete absence of a bridal bouquet. Sophie said nothing, but the speaking glance that she cast in the groom’s direction would have withered a less powerful personality.
Unaccustomed to such a ferocious lack of appreciation, Antonio looked so scornful when asked to smile tenderly down at Sophie that Sophie gritted her teeth and hissed like a spitting cat, ‘Don’t bother yourself!’
Silence simmered all the way to the airport. Sophie was more out of sorts than she could remember being in years, but not at all sure why she felt quite so angry and humiliated and wretched. Antonio received a melodramatic call from his current mistress. She asked him to deny the ridiculous rumour flying round that he, a Spanish noble of ancient lineage, had just got married to the British equivalent of trailer trash. What his mistress said in response to his icy rebuke in defence of his bride’s honour led to her being unceremoniously dumped. At that point, Antonio truly felt himself to be a saint among men beset on all sides by unreasonable women.
At the airport, Sophie parted from Antonio to take care of Lydia’s needs. She was engaged in changing Lydia into a fresh outfit when the public address system announced her name and asked her to go to a certain desk. Instant panic assailed Sophie. As she frantically finished dressing her niece she was convinced
