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'No? You acted exactly as my father would have done. Arrogantly,' she derided. 'And don't look so affronted! I may have been unable to voice any opinion three years ago, but I can now! You decided what was best for me without asking me what I wanted. I was so well conditioned that I never even thought of objecting. I did as I was told to do. And suffered for it. By the time we were married I had been thoroughly brainwashed. I was nowhere good enough for you.' She ticked off on her fingers, her voice tight with the memory of how humiliated she'd been made to feel. 'I was a foreigner, had no breeding, no money, no looks to speak of. You, naturally, were the cat's flaming whiskers! But you were being typically difficult, only marrying me to spite your family. You were highly sexed and experienced; I would very soon bore you. As soon as I'd given you the heir the estate needed, I'd be pensioned off, hidden away.'
His stillness following her heated, heartfelt outburst emanated tension. His eyes looked black and chillingly cold and his voice was low and dangerous as he asked, 'Who said these things?'
'Does it matter now?' She suddenly felt empty, drained, as if a light had gone out inside her. Recalling those earlier, desperate insecurities, and how they'd been fostered—no doubt with the intention of making her call the wedding off—had reminded her that they were indeed worlds apart, in culture, social standing, everything; the past few weeks had been nothing but a fantasy, a foolish dream.
'It matters. Tell me.'
As forceful as ever, she thought defeatedly. Well, what the heck? The women of his family hadn't earned her loyalty. He probably wouldn't believe her, anyway. He'd already accused her of marrying him for his money and of sleeping around during their separation. Calling her a liar as well wouldn't make a whole lot of difference.
'Your aunts,' she said shortly. 'To give her her due, your mother didn't take part in those intimate family discussions—she made her point by being rather chillingly polite.'
'For Dios!' He shot to his feet, his wide shoulders rigid, the now bright sunlight accentuating the hard lines of his face. 'You were my choice—how dared they?' he growled.
Cassie shivered. Roman in a temper was a sight to behold, brooding eyes glowering, his hands bunched into savage-looking fists, tucked hard against the sides of his long lean legs.
But at least he hadn't called her a liar or accused her of impugning his exalted family. That thought took root, warmed her a little and then blossomed sweetly as he held out a hand to her, his voice soft when he said, 'Come here.'
She went. Well, wouldn't she always? His arms enfolded her and she leant her head against the angle of his shoulder, her heart lurching with the love she could no more banish than fly as he murmured, 'I begin to understand a little. By the time we got to our wedding night, what little confidence you'd had in yourself had been well and truly shattered. Faced with an experienced bridegroom who was supposedly prepared to hide you away and pension you off when you'd done your duty and provided the estate with an heir, you froze.
'Naturally, you didn't want to make love with me because it could lead to a pregnancy, and you didn't want to spend the rest of your life hidden away, closely chaperoned by the females who had already made you feel unwanted.'
He sounded almost smug, Cassie thought with a weak smile, and he was patting her back as if she were a lap dog in need of quieting. Never mind all those earlier unpleasant accusations, being held in his arms was having the usual effect. She couldn't fight the way her body now needed his so desperately.
'You should have told me all this at the time,' he chided gently. 'I could then have put your fears at rest.' A final comforting pat and his hands slid up to her shoulders, holding her away from him. 'But you always did seem tongue-tied around me, though you could chatter nineteen to the dozen with Cindy and her brother. It is a pity that you were so in awe of me. A few words of explanation would have made all the difference.'
Spoken like a true feudal overlord—a Spanish one at that. Lofty, patronising. He was back to treating her like a silly child without an atom of sense in her head or an opinion worth listening to.
At one time she would have meekly agreed with anything he said. She'd been brought up to believe that men were superior beings, that they always knew best.
Now she tipped back her head. 'Pregnant or not, I was pretty effectively hidden away, wasn't I? Besides...' She gave him a radiant smile to soften the criticism. Being held by him was giving her the confidence she needed to delve into the past, display all her earlier failings. And maybe, in doing so, she could convince him she wasn't the promiscuous madam he'd accused her of being. 'I would never have married you if I'd thought I'd get put in a cupboard and locked away as soon as I gave birth to your heir. I knew you weren't cruel. It was...' She splayed her hands out against his chest, feeling his body heat, the heavy thud of his heartbeats beneath the soft white silk.
She wanted to move closer, very much closer, but that must wait. Already the closeness of him was making her tremble, making her heart race. 'I'd been told you were highly sexed, experienced,' she went on shakily, her breath coming raggedly. 'Your aunts were at pains to mention your affairs—models, dancers, all beautiful. Not for marrying, of course, but necessary for a young man, provided discretion was observed.'
She moved closer, fitting her body to his. She was so hungry for him; surely he knew that now? Surely he would understand?
She felt the tug of his breath just before he abruptly moved away, and anxiety peaked her brows as she said to his rigidly held back, 'Roman—I was a virgin, and, worse than that, I'd never had a proper boyfriend. I was afraid of disappointing you. The fear stuck in my head and I couldn't get it out. Do you understand? I kept thinking you'd compare me with those others—the beautiful, experienced ones who knew how to please a man.'
Why wouldn't he turn and look at her? Why?
'That first night fear of disappointing you made me freeze. I knew—knew—' She was beginning to stumble over her words; the ungiving rigidity of his spine and the way he was holding his head was turning her back into the tongue-tied wretch she had been before.
She gathered herself and said more firmly, 'I knew you didn't love me—you'd picked me because I'd make no demands on you that you wouldn't be happy to meet. But you did have affection for me, and I thought that would be enough. It wasn't, though,' she confirmed bleakly. 'If you'd loved me I'd have been able to tell you how I felt. If you'd loved me you wouldn't have been comparing me to those others; you would have taught me how to respond, taken away the fear. But I knew you weren't in love with me and I was too ashamed of myself to explain. I just pushed you away whenever you came near. I couldn't face more humiliation.'
Silence. Just the soft call of a dove, the lazy rustle of light wind in the trees. Her throat went tight. Was he turning her words over in his mind, testing them for validity?
'Say something,' she begged thickly. He did turn then, and what she saw in his eyes pushed her breath back into her lungs.
Regret
? Sadness? How could she be sure?
'Then I must accept the larger part of the blame,' he said stiffly. She had never heard him sound quite so Spanish. He withdrew his hands from the side pockets of the tailored grey chinos he was wearing and glanced at his watch. His eyes were blank as he imparted coolly, 'When you left me my first instinct was to get over to England and drag you back.'
He was speaking slowly, that sexy accent more marked than usual, as if he were carefully picking his words. Cassie couldn't believe he hadn't been only too happy to see the back of his unsatisfactory wife.
'Why would you have wanted to do that?'
He acknowledged the incredulity of her tone with a slight dip of his dark, breathtakingly handsome head. 'Why? Because you were mine.'
