it is a lie.’
There was no disputing that and he wouldn’t try. But he didn’t give a damn—he understood her scruples, but when it came to immorality the Aiza clan had graduated cum sum laude and Rafael didn’t feel even a sliver of conscience at the way his moral compass pointed.
‘That doesn’t bother you?’
She’d tipped her head to one side and for a second the judgement in her gaze flicked at him.
‘I totally disagree with Don Carlos’s principles, but it is his vineyard to sell to whomever he wants. This plan is a con.’
The troubled look in her eyes intensified to one of distaste.
No. This plan is my birthright. This is my retribution.
The night he and his mother had left Spain was a blurred memory, seen through the eyes of a five-year-old, but he could still taste the fear—his mother’s and his own. Through all the tears and the pleas had been the presence of a man who had come to see ‘the whore’ with his own eyes. Of course then the word had meant nothing to him, but he’d sensed the man’s venom, had witnessed his delight in brutality and humiliation. Had watched those goons he’d brought terrorise his mother as they trashed her belongings.
But until recently he hadn’t known the identity of the man he had dreamt about for long after their ignominious return to the London housing estate his mother had grown up on. Now, though, he did know—beyond the shadow of a doubt—and when he’d seen Don Carlos there had been a jolt of recognition so strong it had taken all his control to keep his hands unclenched.
‘Rafael?’
He scrubbed his palm down his face and focused on Cora, whose troubled blue eyes studied him with concern. For a second of insanity he was almost lured into telling her the truth. An impulse he squashed without hesitation. To confide in Cora would be madness—the very last thing he wanted was for this news to go public. He didn’t want Don Carlos to get a heads-up and the lawyers in.
All Rafael wanted was the personal satisfaction of getting some Aiza land and then telling his grandfather exactly who he was. Maybe that moment would in some way compensate for the way the de Guzman family had ruined his mother’s life. Maybe the ownership of Aiza land would give him some satisfaction—he would produce Martinez wine from Aiza grapes and dedicate the wine to his mother.
‘I will pay a fair price to Don Carlos, and if he makes the decision to sell based on the fact I have married a lady that is his look-out. We will be legally married. I will have changed my lifestyle. If you have a moral issue with that then now is the time to pull out, so I can find someone else. If you are on board I need you to be on board a hundred per cent.’
Her delicate features were scrunched into a frown, and the swirl of bright colours on her dress intensified the hue of her hair, emphasised the curves of her body. Cora looked miles away from the cool, aloof woman who had climbed into his car a few hours earlier.
He found himself holding his breath as he waited her response.
‘So,’ he said. ‘Are you on board?’
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