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Alejandro abruptly stopped. We were in the far back of the playground now, in a quiet overgrown place of bushes and trees. “But what about our son? Doesn’t he have some rights, as well? Doesn’t he deserve a stable home?”
“You mean a cold, drafty castle?”
“It’s neither drafty nor cold.” He set his jaw. “I want my son, my heir, to live in Spain. To know his people. His family.”
I frowned at him. “I thought you had no family.”
“My grandmother who raised me. All the people on my estate. They are like family to me. Don’t you think he deserves to know them, and they should know him? Shouldn’t he know his country? Where else would you take him—back to Mexico?”
“I loved it there!” I said, stung.
“We will buy a vacation house there,” he said impatiently. “But his home is with his land. With his people. With his parents. You of all people,” he said softly, “know what it means to have a happy, settled childhood, surrounded by love.”
I sucked in my breath. I felt myself wavering. Of course I wanted all those things for my son.
“You’ll be a duchess, honored, wealthy beyond imagining.”
“I’d be the poor stupid wife sitting at home in the castle,” I whispered, hardly daring to meet his gaze, “while you were out having a good time with other, more glamorous women....”
His dark eyes narrowed. “I have many faults, but disloyalty is not one of them. Still, I can understand why you’d immediately think of cheating. Tell me—” he moved closer, his sardonic gaze sweeping over me “—did you enjoy having the use of Edward St. Cyr’s house? His jet?”
My eyes went wide. My mouth suddenly went dry.
“How did you find out?” I said weakly.
“Before my jet left Mexico, I told my investigators to dig into the layer of the shell company that owned the house in San Miguel. If it wasn’t Claudie who helped you,” he said grimly, “I intended to find out who it really was.”
Well. That explained why he’d stopped asking. “Why have you pretended all day you didn’t know?”
His handsome face looked chiseled and hard as marble beneath the gray sky. “I wanted to give you the chance to tell me.”
“A test?” I whispered.
“If you like.” His eyes glittered. “Women always find the quality of danger so attractive. Until they find out what danger really means. Tell me. Did you enjoy using St. Cyr’s possessions? His money? His jet? How about his bed? Did you enjoy sharing that?”
“I never shared his bed!” I tried not to remember the husky sound of Edward’s voice. It’s time for you to belong to me. Or the way he’d flinched at my reaction—an incredulous, unwilling laugh. He’d taken a deep breath. You’ll see, he’d whispered, then turned and left. Pushing the memory away, I lifted my chin. “We’ve never even kissed!”
“I see.” Lifting an eyebrow, Alejandro said scornfully, “He helped you out of the goodness of his heart.”
That might be pushing it. I bit my lip. “Um...yes?”
“Is that a statement or a question?”
“He’s a friend to me,” I whispered. “Just a friend.”
Alejandro looked at me more closely. “But he wants more, doesn’t he?” The sweep of his dark lashes left a shadow against his olive skin, his taut cheekbones, as he looked down at our baby in his arms. After all this time, he still carried Miguel as if he were no weight at all. He said in a low voice, “I won’t let my son keep such company. Because I, at least, have clear eyes about what danger means.”
“And I understand at last,” I choked out, “why you suddenly want to marry me.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Lena—”
“You say he is dangerous? Maybe he is. But if it weren’t for Edward St. Cyr, I don’t think I could have survived the darkness and fear of the past year. He was there for me when you deserted me. When you left me pregnant and alone and afraid.”
His face turned white, then red. “If you’d given me the chance—”
