one thing, she dreaded the thought of the possible consequences. Luis de Silva in this sort of coldly determined mood was imposing enough, but Luis angry was quite another matter. And he would be angry—furious—if she denied her relationship with him. He might have rejected that relationship, declared he wanted nothing more to do with her, but he wasn’t going to stand by and let her do the same.
‘Yes,’ she said tiredly, her voice a flat monotone. ‘Yes, Don Luis is my husband. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see him. We—we’ve been separated for some years.’
‘So naturally my appearance was something of a shock to her.’
Luis’s tone made Isabelle blink hard in bewilderment. In a split second he had switched from being pure blue-blooded aristocrat, arrogant and condescending as could be, and adopted a softer, more affable mood, using a matey, all men together approach.
And the new technique was working. She could see it in the faces of the group around her. The women were quite simply melting in the warmth of that deliberate charm, the carefully switched-on smile, the lowered, deeper voice. And the men were nodding understanding. Even the American, her self-appointed protector, was clearly having second thoughts.
‘But, believe me, I mean her no harm. I simply want to talk to her. I had to resort to this subterfuge simply in order to get her attention. I’ve been trying to get in touch with her for days but she doesn’t answer the door—her phone is never picked up.’
‘I’ve been away!’ Isabelle interjected, but she might as well not have spoken.
Luis had the group in the palm of his hand. His act was near perfect, giving the impression of being a concerned husband who only wanted to mend the rift that had arisen between himself and his wife. A rift that had been something and nothing, his attitude implied.
And they were swallowing it. Every word.
‘I could not wait any longer…’
He didn’t need that faintly wry shrug of his powerful shoulders, the supremely Spanish gesture with his hands, Isabelle thought cynically. But he used them anyway. They were his trump card, saying without words that he couldn’t help himself. That he was only a man, and a passionate man at that. A man who was so in love with his wife that he couldn’t endure another moment’s separation from her.
All around her, the murmured comments told Isabelle that Luis had won. He had swung the group’s loyalty to his side and there was no way she could fight that.
‘I really needed some time alone with her. I’m sure you understand.’
Oh, yes, they understood all right. But at least the chivalrous American wanted to be sure.
‘Will you be okay?’ he asked solicitously.
‘Oh, yes, I’ll be fine,’ Isabelle assured him emphatically. ‘Really I will.’
It was nothing less than the truth. Whatever his faults—and he had plenty of them—Luis was not a thug. He was hot-tempered, ruthless, totally convinced of his supremacy above all others, arrogant as the devil, but he would never knowingly hurt her.
At least not physically.
Emotionally it was a very different matter. That way he could hurt her simply by existing. By existing and not loving her as much as she had loved him. And when that ‘not loving’ had turned to hate, that was when he had totally devastated her soul.
But she wasn’t prepared to give in to him so easily. If you let him, Luis was perfectly capable of riding roughshod over anyone else’s feelings.
‘But I can’t come with you now, Luis. I’m at work—this is my job. I have this tour to finish.’
‘I am aware of that, mi angel.’
If she had hoped to disconcert him, then clearly it hadn’t worked.
‘And that is why I have made arrangements…’
One long, bronzed hand was lifted in an autocratic gesture, summoning someone from the darkness of a shop front.
‘Señor Morris!’
Isabelle’s heart sank to somewhere on the pavement, beneath the soles of her neat ankle boots, as, in answer to the command, the errant Andy, resplendent in his highwayman costume, appeared out of the shadows and strolled towards them, a slightly sheepish grin on his boyish face.
‘I’ll take over for you, Izzy,’ he said. ‘I know the rest of the route from here—and all the stories.’
‘But…’
She tried to protest but her weak-voiced interjection was ignored as Luis took things right out of her hands.
‘Señoras y señores, thank you for your patience with this unexpected interruption to your evening. I trust you realise that I would never have acted in this way if I had not thought it was the only thing I could do. Andrew here will be your guide from now on. If you will follow him…’
And they did. Isabelle could only stand and watch as the group headed off, with Andy launching straight into the familiar patter about the history of Clifford’s Tower. What else could she possibly do? Luis had outmanoeuvred her, checkmated her like a chess Grand Master.
Not that she was going to give in without a fight.
‘So now they’ve gone…’
Whirling, she faced Luis, her chin coming up defiantly, her eyes flashing challengingly.
‘What exactly did you want to talk to me about?’
‘Not here.’ He shook his dark head.
‘Yes! Here and now!’
If he was going to tell her that he agreed to a divorce, then she wanted it over and done with. Wanted the words spoken, the blow delivered. It was like waiting to hear that some part of her had to be amputated. Better to get it done, quickly and sharply. Hopefully, the event would hurt less that way. It was the pain that was waiting for her in the future that she couldn’t bear to think about.
‘Say what you have to say, Luis…’
‘I said not here! I do not want the whole world knowing my business.’
He couldn’t just blurt this out cold, here in the street. If he did, he was sure she would just laugh in his face and walk away.
‘My car is parked just here. We will go back to your house.’
‘We will do no such thing!’
Each minute she spent with him was only making things so much worse. Making it harder to let him go a second time. After those long, lonely years without him, just the sight of him was like a banquet to someone dying of starvation. She couldn’t look at him enough, couldn’t take enough of him in to appease her hungry senses.
And if she ever let him into her home, then it would be much worse. She would never be able to forget that he had been there; never erase the shadow of his presence from her flat.
‘Isabella…’
