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‘Sorry…’
‘Forget it. I’ll go back to my bad old ways. Easy as falling off a log,’ Duarte assured her smooth as silk. ‘We’re going to embark on our honeymoon at Ash Manor. Agreed, it’s not the Caribbean but the Caribbean does not have good associations for me—’
Duarte had her attention now. ‘Honeymoon?’ she parrotted.
‘Bliss and Toby are off the conversational agenda for the moment,’ Duarte decreed, warming visibly to the bad old ways of command.
‘How can they be?’
‘I’m logical, minha jóia. No controversial discussions equals no arguments. We can have a church blessing in Portugal and you can trot down the aisle in a rainbow of clashing colours—’
Emily fumbled to find her voice. ‘Are you sending me up with all this?’
‘Trying to take your mind off your newly discovered family connections.’
‘You don’t need to go that far—’
Duarte quirked a sardonic black brow. ‘I admit that giving you the moon, if you ask for it, is likely to prove a problem—’
‘But why…why would you do all this for me?’
‘I want to stay married, querida. Much as I would like to, I can’t chain you to the marital bed or force you to live with me. Basically, I’m endeavouring to launch a rescue bid on our marriage.’ Duarte rested his spectacular dark eyes on her shuttered and still tear-stained face. ‘If, at any point, you feel moved to offer even an ounce of enthusiasm for that venture, feel free to speak up.’
Emily tore her gaze from the undeniable enchantment of his and thought of how much she loved him, even when he was being unspeakably smart at her expense. ‘This is all about Jamie…can’t you just admit that?’
Duarte settled himself fluidly back into the far corner of the limo and scorched her with his golden eyes in challenge. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘Yes!’
‘OK…it’s about Jamie. I won’t tax your patience with all the pros and cons of a child having two parents.’
Given the honesty she had believed she craved, Emily felt dreadful. He was willing to do anything to keep their marriage afloat for Jamie’s benefit. ‘I appreciate your honesty,’ she said woodenly.
‘Happy now?’ Duarte prompted with what she considered to be sheer cruelty.
‘Ecstatic…’ she mumbled.
It was so strange to be back at Ash Manor as Duarte’s wife. Those few days after their wedding, two years earlier, she’d still not felt like his wife. Duarte disappeared into the library to make some phone calls and she went off in search of Jamie. He greeted her with a little shout of pleasure and held out his arms to be lifted.
‘Because you’re a Monteiro, I’m going to stay one too,’ she told her son mournfully but she could not stay down for long in his company.
Duarte loved his son. Duarte had experienced instant love and acceptance where his child was concerned. What did she get in comparison? She got the name, the wealth and now she was going to have the stupid dress and the stupid honeymoon rammed down her throat, whether she wanted them or not! On the other hand, whatever else Duarte was doing, he was not pining for Bliss, was he?
Why did she always want what she couldn’t have? Duarte valued their marriage and that should be enough for her now. She’d grown up a lot—she’d stopped living in cloud cuckoo and hoping he might suddenly fall passionately in love with her. But at the same time, she should also be making demands. He was never likely to be more approachable or more willing to listen to her again.
She took Jamie out for a walk in his pram. It was a high coach affair purchased in Lisbon and totally impractical for country conditions. But while she bounced the pram down a grassy laneway beneath the trees, she was considering the demands she felt she ought to make. Having returned to the house and passed her sleeping son over to his nanny, she went into the drawing room and found writing paper and a pen. Then she wrote and she wrote and she wrote.
Duarte was still on the phone when she entered the library. He gave her a slow smile, brilliant eyes roaming over her tense pink face, skimming lower, lingering in provocative places as though he was touching her. He filled her with an awareness that was so strong she was embarrassed by her own susceptibility.
‘I want you…’ he murmured huskily as he tossed the phone aside and reached for her.
‘I think you should read this first…’ Emily slid her demand sheets across the polished surface of his desk.
‘What’s this, minha jóia?’
‘My blueprint for the rescue bid,’ she told him tautly.
