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‘I think I’d like that coffee now,’ she said on a subdued note after watching the game for a few minutes. ‘They’re obviously doing fine.’
There was no element of ‘I told you so’ in the glance Rafael gave her. He wouldn’t, she thought, waste his time on such petty emotions. A man of strong opinions and even stronger will, but one whose basic integrity was in no doubt.
‘We’ll have it served here,’ he said, indicating a cast-iron bench seat set against the near wall. ‘Sit there in the sun while I go and arrange it.’
Lauren did so, watching him go back indoors again with a dawning suspicion that this was where he had intended bringing her in the first place. Nicolás broke away from his game to come over to where she sat, his eyes shining with health and high spirits.
‘We like it here, Mummy,’ he announced, speaking collectively as always. ‘Are you having a good time too?’
‘Of course,’ she assured him. ‘I’m having a lovely time!’
Hypocrite! she told herself as the child scampered back to join his brother. Only what else could she have said on the face of it? Perhaps if she tried a little harder to get along with Rafael, she would start to find some enjoyment in this holiday after all.
Wheeled out on a trolley, the coffee arrived before he returned. There was also a jug of orange juice for the children. Elena accepted the cup Lauren poured for her without demur, but smilingly declined to take the seat also proffered, sitting down instead on the grass with the boys some distance away.
In her simple cotton dress, with her black hair rippling down her back and her face free of make-up, she looked no more than sixteen. Her parents and brother, Rafael had said, were also in his employment. No doubt, Lauren reflected, jobs here at the castle carried a certain prestige.
‘I must apologise for leaving you so long,’ he said when he did return some minutes later. ‘There was a telephone call I had to make.’
‘If you have business to attend to, I’ll be perfectly all right on my own,’ she assured him.
‘The matter is taken care of,’ he returned easily. ‘We have yet to take a walk along the battlements. From there you can see everything there is to be seen.’
Including a long drop, she thought with an inward shudder. The sensible thing would be to admit to her acrophobia, of course, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Only those who suffered the same symptoms could be relied upon to appreciate the fear.
With their juice finished, the children returned to their game. César in particular was proving to have a very good eye for distance, ringing the stake on several throws. Nicolás showed no concern over his brother’s superior performance. Jealousy was an emotion unknown between the two. Eventually, Lauren knew, they would become bored with the game and start seeking further challenge, but for the present they seemed content. Happy, certainly, to be left in Elena’s charge again.
Rafael took her up to the top of the keep via the same spiral staircase leading to her own room, bypassing both her floor and the next to emerge eventually on to a stone square not nearly large enough to afford Lauren any real sense of security. She felt the familiar tingling sensation in her ankles as she stood there gazing out through the battlements at the magnificent vista, the mounting terror at the very thought of moving away from the central block.
‘It’s possible to see Ronda itself from this side,’ said Rafael, crossing over. ‘Come, take a look.’
Somehow, she forced her legs to move, to carry her forward until she stood at his side before an embrasure that afforded a bare two feet of protection from the dizzying emptiness beyond. She was going to fall! she thought desperately. She could feel the trembling weakness spreading up through her knees, hear the buzzing in her ears.
She must have made some sound, for Rafael turned his head to look at her, taking in her white face and rigid jaw with instant comprehension. His arm came around her to draw her back from the parapet to the comparative safety of the central block again, holding her close until the trembling began to abate.
‘Why did you not tell me how you felt about heights?’ he grated in her ear. ‘Why did you allow me to bring you up here?’
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered shakily. ‘It was silly of me, I suppose.’
‘Foolish to the point of stupidity. There’s no shame in acknowledging such a frailty. A matter of balance, no more.’
Her balance, Lauren thought, was disrupted in more ways than the one at the moment. She was intensely aware of the hard muscularity of his body, of the warmth and security of the arms curving her back. Her face was on a level with his throat, bared by the open collar of his shirt. She knew a sudden and almost irresistible urge to put her lips to the smooth olive skin—to know the taste of him, the smell of him. Francisco had been dead only three months, but it was more than two years since he had touched her. Not that she had wanted him to make love to her, knowing by then how many other women there had been, but her body still craved the fulfilment denied it.
‘I’ll be all right now,’ she said shakily. ‘I’m not going to pass out, or anything.’
Rafael drew back his head to look into her face, eyes black as night and twice as impenetrable. ‘You feel capable of descending the steps?’
‘If you go first,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.’
Something sparked in his eyes for a fleeting moment as he looked at her, shortening her breath and causing her limbs to tremor anew, then he released her. ‘Keep close at my back until we reach the lower floor,’ he instructed. ‘Hands on my shoulders as we descend.’
The steps were steep and narrow at this point, the spiral tight. Lauren was sure she would never have made it down again on her own without tumbling head first. The broad shoulders felt steady as rocks beneath her hands. Reaching the floor below, she drew a breath of pure relief. From here, as from her own floor, the steps were both wider and shallower, with handrails to grasp. She could negotiate those without difficulty.
Rafael made no attempt to continue on down, however, but drew her instead into a small but comfortably furnished salón, and bade her take a seat.
‘We’ll rest here for a moment or two,’ he said, ‘until you’re fully recovered. A little brandy, perhaps?’
Lauren shook her head. ‘I’m fine, really. The dizziness doesn’t last. Is this your private salón?’
‘Yes,’ he acknowledged. ‘I retreat here when I wish to be alone. Solitude renews the spirit.’
‘I shouldn’t have thought yours was ever low enough to need renewal,’ she said, and saw his brow lift.
‘You read me so well?’
‘No.’ She gave a wry little shrug. ‘Just that you seem so totally in control of your life.’
‘None of us can be totally in control,’ he returned. ‘Life holds many surprises.’
He hadn’t taken a seat himself. Lauren wished that he would. Standing there, hands thrust into trouser pockets, he seemed to tower over her. She could still feel the pressure of his chest against her breasts—recall the way her nipples had tingled and peaked to the contact. They were doing so again at the very memory.
‘Not always pleasant ones,’ she agreed, hoping that nothing of what she was thinking showed in her face. It was shameful to be having these feelings at all for a man she scarcely knew. Francisco’s own brother, for heaven’s sake! ‘It must be getting close to lunchtime,’ she added a little desperately. ‘I’ll need to tidy myself up.’
‘We normally eat our meal at two o’clock,’ Rafael advised, ‘but if you’re hungry now I’ll arrange for food to be brought.’
It was, Lauren realised, glancing at her watch, only just gone twelve. Hunger was the last thing on her mind—for food, at any rate.
‘My body clock is way out,’ she said with an attempt at humour. ‘I can wait, thanks. All the same, I’d like to tidy myself up.’ She came to her feet as she spoke, unsurprised to feel the unsteadiness still in her legs. Fear of a different kind this time, and one Rafael must not be allowed to guess. ‘It was good of you to spend so long with me, when I know how busy you must be.’
‘The day,’ he said, ‘is not yet over. We’re to visit Ronda this afternoon.’
‘Are you sure you have the time?’
‘Time,’ he said, ‘is the servant, not the master. We must use it to our advantage. Take care descending the steps.’
It wasn’t the steps she had to worry about, Lauren thought wryly, making her escape, so much as her own wayward emotions. From now on she must steer well clear of any physical contact at all with her brother-in-law.
CHAPTER THREE
THE twins were full of their morning. Already they had picked up one or two Spanish words, Lauren noted, listening to their breathless account. She hoped Elena wasn’t counting on a break this afternoon; it had been a long time since either of them had taken an afternoon nap.
They had stayed remarkably clean for once. Apart from a quick wash of face and hands, and the use of a hairbrush, they needed no further sprucing up for lunch. With the outing to Ronda in mind, Lauren exchanged her flowered cotton skirt and blouse for a pale blue dress, livening it up with some amber beads and holding back her hair from her face with a narrow bandeau the same colour. Francisco had considered her taste in clothes far too conservative. He had probably been right too, only miniskirts just weren’t her thing. She doubted if they were to Rafael’s taste either.
Lunch was a leisurely meal. Too leisurely for the twins, who found sitting still for even ten minutes a strain. Rafael had Elena come and take the pair of them out in the end, with instructions that they were to spend an hour resting.
‘I doubt if they’re going to sleep at all,’ said Lauren when they were gone from the room.
‘I said rest,’ Rafael pointed out. ‘At their age, they have need of a quiet recuperative period. Elena will see that they stay in their room.’
She wouldn’t, Lauren thought, like to take a bet on it! His peremptory assumption of authority rankled more than a little, even though she could see the sense in what he was saying. Given half a chance, he would have them all jumping through hoops to his command!
‘If you have something to say to me, then say it,’ he invited, watching her expression. ‘You consider it not my place to organise their day?’
‘It’s your house,’ she prevaricated. ‘Castle, I mean. I can’t blame you for not wanting them running all over the place.’
‘They need order in their lives,’ he declared. ‘I have a feeling that you tend to take the easier option.’
It was too close to the truth for comfort. Lauren could feel herself flushing. ‘It’s so easy for the uninitiated to criticise!’ she snapped back.
‘Meaning that, as a childless bachelor, I’m in no position to judge?’ There was more than a hint of mockery in the dark eyes. ‘Perhaps not. But can you honestly say that I’m wrong?’
She bit her lip, aware of being backed into a corner. ‘It isn’t all that easy dealing with two at the same time.’
‘Especially where the father takes little part. Did Francisco have no feeling at all for his sons?’
‘He didn’t pay them all that much attention,’ Lauren admitted, and immediately felt disloyal. ‘But I’m sure he loved them in his own way.’
Rafael shook his head. ‘You’ve no cause to defend my brother. His behaviour was inexcusable.’
‘He’s dead,’ she said with deliberation. ‘I’d prefer to let him rest in peace.’
The dark head inclined. ‘You’re more forgiving than I would be in your place, but I respect the sentiment.’ His tone altered. ‘Tell me, have you had the boys assessed?’
‘If you mean with regard to intelligence level, then yes,’ she acknowledged.
‘And the results?’
‘They both have extra-high IQs.’ Lauren strove to keep her voice matter-of-fact. ‘The important thing, I’m told, is not to treat them as anything special—to let them progress at their own pace.’
‘Very wise advice,’ Rafael agreed. ‘They need to experience all the delights of childhood.’
Something in his tone made her regard him with sudden insight. ‘You had the same problem yourself?’
‘You see advanced intelligence as a problem?’
‘In some respects. I worry about how they’ll cope in school if they have to keep pace with their actual age-group.’
‘Badly,’ he said. ‘Which is yet another reason why you have to accept help in the matter. There are schools equipped to deal with such children.’
‘The kind you attended yourself?’
The firm mouth slanted briefly. ‘My advancement was not as great. I’ll begin enquiries at once.’
‘We have until September,’ Lauren pointed out, laying delicate stress on the ‘we’. ‘There’s no immediate rush. I can gather some information myself once I’m back home.’
Something flickered in his eyes, then he shrugged. ‘Of course. And in the meantime we must see that you enjoy your stay. You are ready to leave for Ronda?’
As ready, Lauren reflected, as she would ever be. Going anywhere at all on her own with this man was likely to prove a mistake, but, short of admitting that he disturbed her too much for comfort, there was no way out of it.
They took the white coupé for the drive into the town. Dressed now in close-fitting green shirt and equally close-fitting white trousers, Rafael looked darker-skinned than ever. The loosely rolled sleeves revealed muscular forearms lightly covered in hair bleached by the sun to several shades lighter than that on his head. His wrists were sinewy, the hands holding the wheel long and fleshless, fingers tapering. Sensitive, Lauren thought, and felt a tremor run through her. This had to stop, she told herself desperately. No good could come of it.
He drove right through the modern section to park the car in the Plaza de España. A couple of coaches were off-loading tourists armed with the inevitable cameras. A cross unfortunately necessary to the prosperity of the area, Rafael returned drily when Lauren commented on the general ruination of peace and tranquillity.
‘It gets much worse than this in the summer months,’ he said. ‘The traffic is nose to tail across the bridge, with accidents a frequent occurrence. The coaches alone are a hazard. It would be better if tourists were banned from driving into the town at all, but few of them know how to walk very far. I suggest we visit the bull-ring to begin with,’ he added. ‘The oldest ring in the whole of Spain. Pedro Romero himself fought here.’ He registered her expression with a quizzical lift of a brow. ‘You disapprove of the bull-fight?’
‘I disapprove of any form of cruelty to animals,’ Lauren acknowledged. ‘And I don’t much care whose toes I tread on in saying it!’
The smile was tolerant. ‘That I can believe. However, there’s no corrida scheduled today, so you may rest easy and enjoy the architecture alone. I think you’ll find it worthy of study.’
It would be labouring the point to refuse on principle, Lauren decided. Viewing the premises was hardly akin to condoning the practice. Bull-fighting wasn’t going to be eradicated by loud-mouthed foreigners calling the odds. It would take a total change of national attitude, and that was unlikely, to say the least.
Only a step or two away from where they had parked, the Plaza de Toros was entered via a huge ornate doorway. The two coachloads of tourists had begun their sightseeing on the bridge itself, and at present there were few other people inside.
Lauren was struck by the sheer size of the ring. Standing in the middle of it, gazing up at the circling tiers of seats rising beneath double sets of finely wrought arches, she had to acknowledge the picturesque quality of the scene. The sheer clarity of light gave added depth and vibrancy to the colours of sand and stone and red-painted woodwork.
A door on the far side gave access to the museum. Lauren turned a blind eye on the many posters and photographs depicting various famous matadors in action, concentrating instead on the items of apparel displayed. The capes in particular were works of art in themselves, each one intricately embroidered in silk thread by hand, each design different.
‘They’re beautiful!’ she declared. ‘Workmanship like that has to be admired.’
‘Even for such a purpose?’ Rafael shook his head as she opened her mouth to reply. ‘No, we’ll leave it right there. Our viewpoints differ. That we must both accept.’
And not only where bull-fighting was concerned, she reflected. They were at odds on most subjects, it seemed.
From the bull-ring they traversed a traffic-free street lined both sides with shops and stalls. Either siesta was over, or the traders in general followed Rafael’s example in ignoring it, as business appeared to be going on apace. Judging from the numbers of non-nationals thronging the street, more coaches had arrived. Lauren was thankful to turn off into the quieter back streets.
‘I hadn’t anticipated so many this early in the year,’ Rafael admitted. ‘Next time we’ll make it an evening visit when the coaches have departed.’
‘You don’t have to feel under any obligation to entertain me while I’m here,’ Lauren protested. ‘You must have work to do.’
‘Nothing beyond Gabriel’s ability to take care of, for the next few days at least,’ came the smooth reply. ‘Tonight we have guests at dinner, all of them eager to meet you.’
Curious would be more like it, she thought, stifling her trepidation. It stood to reason that the sudden appearance of Francisco’s wife and children would give rise to speculation. No doubt many would believe her an opportunist, here only for what she could get from the family coffers. It shouldn’t matter what people she neither knew nor cared about thought, but it did.
They arrived back at the Plaza de España to find two of the coaches on the point of departure and few other tourists in immediate evidence.
‘Now, while it is quiet, would be the best time to take a walk across the bridge and back,’ suggested Rafael. ‘The only way to deal with vertigo is to accustom oneself gradually to heights instead of trying to avoid them altogether.’
Which was true enough, Lauren knew. The bridge itself had been there for more than two hundred years; it was hardly going to choose the very moment she set foot on it to collapse into the abyss.
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she said, trying to sound positive. ‘It’s high time I conquered it.’
All the same, the thought alone of all that empty space beneath caused her lower legs to tingle as they moved on to the bridge. Iron-railed embrasures set within the side-walls afforded dizzying glimpses of the gorge, drawing her eyes despite every effort not to look. Rafael put a steadying hand under her elbow, causing a tingle of a different nature, and brought her to a halt at the central viewpoint.
‘Stand here for a moment or two and look at the view beyond rather than below,’ he bid her.
Standing right behind her, he rested both hands on her waist, holding her firmly. She could feel his breath on her hair, his body heat at her back. Vertigo became secondary to other, more imperative responses. She had to forcibly stop herself from leaning into him.
‘I’m all right,’ she got out. ‘Really, I am!’
‘I can feel the tension in you,’ he said softly. ‘In a moment or two, as your senses adjust, it will begin to lessen.’
Not while he continued to hold her, it wouldn’t, Lauren knew. She doubted that he was unaware of her response to his touch. It probably amused him to know how he affected her.
‘Your waist is so small,’ he murmured. ‘I can almost span it between my hands. One would never guess that you had borne even one child, much less two!’
‘I suppose I’m just naturally thin,’ she countered, and sensed his smile.
‘The word suggests shapelessness, and you’re far from that.’
Her heart was thudding against her ribcage, her every sense alive to the sheer seductive quality of his tone. It meant nothing, she told herself with emphasis. She was his brother’s wife; his interest in her went no deeper than that. She just wasn’t used to compliments. These last two years, Francisco had treated her more like a piece of furniture than an attractive woman.
‘I’m all right now,’ she said abruptly. ‘You don’t need to hold me any longer. The railing is safeguard enough.’
She made herself move on as he dropped his hands, more afraid of being touched again than she was of falling. Feeling this way over a man she didn’t even like very much was not only wrong, it was disgusting! He was her brother-in-law, for heaven’s sake!
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