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And who could he blame for bringing Bella here?
No one but himself.
By the eve of the polo match all the horses had passed the vet’s stringent tests, which was a relief. Bella had taken it upon herself to exercise Misty the moment the small mare was given the all-clear and now Nero was down at the corral with the other men, with his boot lodged on one of the wooden struts of the enclosing fence as he watched some of the new yearlings being put through their paces. He was aware of Bella coming up on his right. He felt her presence the moment she left the house and walked across the yard. He could feel her quiet determination and confidence. Both were justified. When it came to her job, Bella had no equal—other than himself, and Ignacio, of course. When it came to caring for the ponies, Bella’s energy, intuition and love for them was second to none—except, perhaps, his.
He could see her now without turning—her hair would be scraped back beneath a net under the hard hat she always wore for riding. He turned his head to confirm he wasn’t wrong—giving himself the excuse that he didn’t want any injuries on his conscience…
Of course she was wearing a hard hat. Perversely, he wanted to see her with her red hair flowing free now.
‘Nero.’ She acknowledged him briskly without breaking step.
He dipped his head briefly in response. He wouldn’t see her again until she supervised the quick changes from one pony to the next between the chukkas that divided the game. Bella would be working with Ignacio, which was a great honour for her. Ignacio traditionally worked alone. But Bella was different, his elderly friend had told him.
‘She has the heart of a gaucho—’
He looked at Ignacio, standing by his side.
‘She reminds me of your grandmother…’
Nero hummed and curbed his smile. Those few words were probably the longest speech he’d ever heard from Ignacio on any subject that didn’t include a horse. They were both staring at Bella, but he was remembering the grandmother who had brought him up, and whose portrait now hung in Bella’s bedroom. In her youth, Annalisa Caracas was said to possess the beauty of a pampered aristocrat. Nero knew she had the courage of a frontierswoman and rode like a man. Born to great wealth, Nero’s father had considered a life of ease his natural right and had allowed the estancia to slip into ruin, forcing his own mother to come out of retirement and turn it round. It was lucky for him and the ranch that his grandmother had stepped in, and Annalisa Caracas was firmly placed on a pedestal in his mind.
Yes, Annalisa Caracas had been quite a woman.
He was jolted out of these thoughts by Ignacio nudging him. Bella had just mounted up and was turning her small mare towards the freedom of the pampas. He shook his head and huffed a laugh as the gauchos cheered when she set Misty at the fence instead of taking her through the gate. The small mare sailed over and then tossed her head, and in spirit so did Bella.
This was the first time in a long time, Nero realised, that he had stood with the other men to watch a woman ride.
CHAPTER TEN
THE polo match loomed ever closer and excitement was reaching fever pitch on the ranch. But it was more than excitement, Bella realised. It was as if they were preparing for the battle of the century. No piece of turf or rail had been left unchecked and her young charges were bursting with excitement. A sense of purpose had gripped everyone on the estancia—yet these were people whose world revolved around horses and polo, and who should surely take this friendly game in their stride?
Friendly game? Some hope, Bella mused. The team representing the neighbouring estancia were also world-class players, and although she didn’t usually get worked up where testosterone-pumped males indulging in feats of macho lunacy were concerned, this was different. This was polo. But today even her great love for the game wasn’t enough to stop her being anxious for Nero.
As the day wore on people arrived from far and wide. The match had brought the great and good of Argentina in helicopters, private jets and impressive cars, but there was also a large contingent of unsophisticated vehicles—trucks, horseboxes, battered Jeeps, cars with cracked suspension, rusting wheel arches and dubious paint jobs, along with a clutch of horse-drawn carts, as well as whole families riding in convoy on their ponies, trailing mules behind them, loaded with supplies. Polo meant fiesta on the pampas. It was both an excuse for a party as well as an all too rare get-together for far-flung families. All these people needed shade and water and food, as well as the other facilities associated with a small mobile city, and Bella and the rest of the staff had worked tirelessly to ensure that the event was a success. She was thrilled to think that everyone had come to see Nero Caracas, their national hero, lead his team. Nero represented everything that was proud and fine and wonderful about Argentina—her adopted country, Bella reflected as she stared out across the pampas. That was exactly how she felt about Nero’s homeland—as if she belonged here.
And that was enough daydreaming when there was work to be done. The air of expectation gripping the crowd had made the ponies skittish—particularly Colonel, the pony on which Nero had decided to finish the match. In Bella’s opinion, it would have been better to use Colonel in the first, or at least one of the earlier chukkas, rather than keeping the high-spirited horse until the end of the match, but Nero had overruled her saying his old faithful only needed time to calm down.
If only she could learn to calm down when it came to Nero, Bella reflected as he strode towards her down the pony lines. Surely, she should have got used to how he looked by now, but the sight of him still thrilled her—she still filled her eyes with him as she might have feasted them on a work of art. Nero was brutally beautiful, but he was more than that, she thought as her heart banged painfully in her chest. Oh, to hell with it—he was the sexiest man alive!
‘Ready?’ he said briefly.
‘Ready,’ Bella confirmed.
They had both checked the ponies numerous times. They were both professionals doing the job they did best, but that didn’t cut off the electricity between them, or reduce her concern for Nero’s safety in what was certain to be a fiercely competitive match.
And then the polo groupies arrived. Argentina was no different to the UK when it came to girls managing to look as if they had just stepped out of the fashion pages of some glossy magazine in this most workmanlike of settings. And here they were, complete with high heels and short flirty skirts, picking their way across a carpet of cobbles and horse manure. If she’d tried wearing shoes like that she’d have been up to her ankles in muck by now. She had to hand it to them, Bella thought as they clustered round Nero, the girls were groomed to the max. She couldn’t blame them for their fascination. Polo was a savage game for rugged men, and horses as high-spirited could be found anywhere in the world. But as the girls fluttered round, and Nero, the king of the game, continued to ignore them and got on with his swift, practised preparations, she almost felt sorry for them. Almost, but not quite. Bella understood the tensions of the match and didn’t expect Nero to pay her any attention, but the girls didn’t understand that and thought all they had to do was look pretty and stick around long enough for Nero to turn and reward them with a smile…
He’d better not reward them with anything, Bella thought, feeling unusually moody as Nero turned to ask her for his stick. She passed it to him and, resting it over his shoulder, he cantered away without another word.
Taking her heart with him.
Don’t be ridiculous, Bella told herself sternly. What was the point of giving her heart to Nero when he’d sooner have a bag of carrots for his ponies?
There was a tense air of expectation around the field of play. Everyone was geared up for action at the highest possible level and the game promised to be riskier than Bella had imagined. It soon became clear that, as she had suspected, this was no civilised knock-about between old friends, but a long-standing grudge match with no quarter offered by either side. There was battle fever between the players and, though Bella expected to feel on edge, she had not imagined longing for the match to finish so she could be sure Nero was safe.
Just let them all get through it in one piece, Bella thought as her gaze fixed on Nero. More the warrior than ever, with his tanned face grim beneath his helmet and his thick black hair curling beneath it, his muscles pumped and flexing and his strong hands on the reins, Nero looked invincible as he cantered round the field. That light grip was so deceptive. There was such power and certainty in it…and his powerful thighs, so subtly yet firmly controlling and directing his pony’s movements.
She was jealous of a horse now?
