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“You don’t. You can go back to New York tonight.”
She’d looked up sharply. “No!”
“You are three weeks from your due date,” he replied coolly. “You should be home.”
He seemed as if he could hardly wait to get rid of her. Once, it would have been a dream come true for her to be sent away. But now, she could hardly bear the thought of it. She’d glared at him. “I’m staying with you.”
He ground his teeth. “Belle—”
“We just got to Spain.” Her voice trembled, but she lifted her chin. “I’m not going to turn around and fly back to New York. I’m exhausted. I’m staying.”
He’d stared at her for a long moment.
“Fine. Stay. Just for a day or two. Then you’re going back.”
And he hadn’t spoken to her again, the whole ninety minutes it took to drive with the duke and the movie star and their bodyguards to the medieval village of Sangovia, tucked in a green valley, beneath the looming castle at the top of the crag.
The castle had looked beautiful from a distance, but as Belle walked through the enormous door, she thought it felt impersonal and cold inside, far worse than the palace in Madrid. The castle of Sangovia wasn’t gilded or gleaming like the neoclassical Palacio de las Palmas. The windows were small and far between, and the walls were cold stone. This castle came from an earlier, more brutal time of battles and blood.
The duke said something in Spanish to Santiago, and he replied with a nod. His father disappeared down the cold hallway, past a suit of armor, into a room she couldn’t see.
Nadia then said something lightly in the same language, before she too disappeared. For a brief moment, Belle and Santiago were alone in the dark stone hallway. She was suddenly tempted to throw herself in his arms, to ask why he’d been so distant, to try to feel close to him again.
Then they heard a cough, and turning, they saw a uniformed maid. She said in English, “I’m here to take you to your rooms.”
“Of course,” Santiago said smoothly. “Thank you.”
The maid led them through the castle, and up the stairs. A less homey or cozy domicile could scarcely be imagined. It was cold, drafty and damp. The stiff chairs they passed in the hallway all looked hundreds of years old and Belle feared might break if she actually tried to sit on one. Why would anyone choose to live here? she wondered.
The maid led Santiago and Belle to the east wing of the second floor. “All the family’s bedrooms are down here,” she said shyly, and pushed open a door.
The bedroom was formal and old-fashioned, filled with antiques, including a curtained four-poster bed. Belle glanced out the window at the view of the valley in the twilight.
“What do you think?” Santiago asked in an expressionless voice.
“It’s very nice,” Belle said politely.
“Thank you,” the maid said. She turned to Belle. “I will take you to your room now, señorita.”
Santiago suddenly scowled. “What are you talking about? My fiancée is staying with me.”
“I am sorry, señor,” the maid replied uncomfortably, “but His Excellency does not approve of unmarried persons sharing sleeping quarters.”
“Oh, really?” Santiago ground out. “Is that why he always used to seduce his maids in closets?”
The woman looked scared. “Señor—?”
“Forget it.” He gritted his teeth. “You can just tell His Excellency—”
“No, Santiago. It’s fine. Really.” Belle put her hand on his arm anxiously. “This is his home. He just lost his son. I can sleep in a separate room for a night or two.” She gave him a wan smile. “I’m tired. I just want to go to bed.”
He started to argue, then scowled at the maid. “Fine. Take us to her room, then.”
Rather than looking relieved, the maid looked even more nervous. “His Excellency asked that you come back down immediately to the salon, señor. I can take Miss Langtry the rest of the way upstairs.”
“Upstairs? How far is it?”
“Um...”
