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He wanted to love her back.
His heart was suddenly pounding.
No.
He couldn’t be that stupid.
No one could be as honest, or loyal, or good as he thought Belle was. However she might seem. If he let her inside his heart, he would regret it.
When they reached the famous art museum in the heart of Madrid, he got out quickly, opening his passenger door before the driver could. Belle, too, stepped out quickly, as if she were afraid he might offer his hand to help her out.
At least they were in agreement on one thing right now, he thought grimly. Avoiding each other.
They were parked on the quiet side of the museum, far from the long queues of tourists. He pushed his father’s wheelchair toward the side door, which led to the museum’s administrative offices. Nadia walked beside the duke, chattering to him charmingly in Spanish. Belle walked silently behind, with the bodyguards and his father’s nurse, as if she preferred to be with the staff, rather than with the aristocrats.
She probably did, Santiago thought.
Castilian-accented Spanish whirled around him as they were escorted into the lobby and whisked into the director’s office, where they were offered champagne or coffee. Through it all, Belle held herself back from the others, looking miserable and wan and as if her feet hurt.
Becoming a duchess in Spain, traveling with the jet-set, would require more rules that Belle wouldn’t like, Santiago thought. He would have to live by new rules as well, but at least he spoke Spanish. At least he was of Spanish blood. Belle wasn’t.
Plus, she’d have to temper her honest, enthusiastic, joyful nature to be cool and calm, to know how to smile pleasantly while speaking cutting words, to maneuver the hard merciless edges of the highest of European high society—a world of not just mere money, but hundreds of years of history and breeding, of jostling for position.
Santiago knew he could win in that world, if he chose, because of both his heritage and his personal ruthlessness. He’d spent twenty years fighting in business, tearing other men’s companies apart. He knew how to battle. He wasn’t afraid of war. He had a thick skin and sharp weapons.
Belle was different. She wasn’t a gold digger; she wasn’t a social climber. She’d barely seemed to tolerate New York City. He suspected she’d be happier just tending flowers in their garden, baking for their children, volunteering at their school and caring for her neighbors. She would be happy to be with a man who appreciated her every day when he hugged his family in a warm, loving home. A man who would fix things around the house. Who’d sit on the floor with their young daughter and patiently have a tea party with her dolls.
Belle didn’t want to marry a powerful billionaire, or a sexy playboy, or a famous duke. What she really wanted—what she needed—was a good man who would love her.
His father’s hoarse words came back to haunt him.
“Do you really think she could ever be happy here, in this world? It would be cruel to her. And the child. Let her go.”
* * *
Belle climbed wearily up the last flight of stairs to her bedroom in the top tower of the castle, then fell exhausted into her small bed.
After the day she’d had, watching Santiago and Nadia and the Duque de Sangovia be fêted and honored in Spanish while she was shunted and ignored, she felt weary to the bone. To the heart.
They’d finally arrived back at the castle, and the others had gone for a drink in the salon. She’d come upstairs for a nap. She barely felt the late afternoon sunlight from the tiny round window warm her skin, and she fell asleep.
When she woke, the
room was shadowy and gray, and she saw Santiago’s handsome face above her, his jaw tight, his eyes hard.
“This is your bedroom? This—closet?”
She was startled, still half lost in the sensual, heartbreaking dream she’d been having about him. “What are you doing up here? What’s wrong?”
“I came to get you for dinner. Nadia never sends anyone to tell you, does she?”
“No,” she said frankly. “She wants you for herself.”
His startled eyes met hers. “You know?”
“Of course I know. But she can’t have you.” Belle put her hand on his sculpted cheek, rough with a five-o’clock shadow. Something suddenly gave her courage. Maybe it was this moment of intimacy, of honesty. Maybe it was because, just a moment ago, she’d been dreaming of him making love to her. But looking him straight in the eye, she whispered, “Because I love you, Santiago...”
For a moment, she trembled with terror that she’d admitted it. She couldn’t meet his eyes, so leaning up, she kissed him, full on the mouth. It was the first time she’d ever initiated a kiss, and she embraced him with all her pent-up hunger and desperate love.
