One Night: Latin Heat

My cousin drew herself up, all thin gorgeousness.

“Why?” She lit her cigarette with shaking hands. “Because you’re not my real family.” Taking a long draw on her cigarette, she said in a low, venomous hiss, “And you’re not good enough for Alejandro. Blood always tells. Sooner or later, he will be embarrassed by you, just as I was. He’ll take your child and toss you in the gutter, like you deserve.”

My mouth fell open as her poisoned dart hit me, square in the heart.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” I choked out, and I turned and fled, still holding my photo albums against my chest, like a shield.

Outside, a sliver of sun had split through the dark clouds, through the rain. Stopping on the sidewalk, I turned back and looked up at the Carlisle mansion for one last time.

“Goodbye,” I whispered.

Then I climbed into the limo, where the driver waited with my door open, and he closed it behind me.

“Enjoy a tender farewell?” Alejandro was already in the backseat, on the other side of Miguel, who had woken and was starting to whimper.

“Something like that,” I muttered, trying to surreptitiously wipe my tears.

“I was surprised. It’s not like you to let me walk off with—” His voice cut off as he saw my face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said. Turning to my baby, I pressed his favorite blanket against his cheek and tried to comfort him. Tried to comfort myself. My baby’s tears quieted and so did his quivering little body, as he felt the hum and vibration of the car’s engine beneath him. His eyelids started to grow heavy again.

“What did she say?” Alejandro said. Frowning, he looked closer at my face. “Did she...”

There was a sudden hard knock on his window. Miguel’s little body jerked back awake, and his whimpers turned to full-on crying. Alejandro turned with a growl.

Claudie stood by the limo, her eyes like fire. “Open this window!” she yelled through the glass.

Alejandro’s expression was like ice as he rolled it down a grudging two inches. She leaned forward, her face raw with emotion.

“We could have ruled the world together, Alejandro, and you’re throwing it all away—for that little whore and her brat!”

Alejandro said softly, his face dangerous, “If you ever insult either my son or his mother again, you will regret it.”

Claudie looked bewildered. To be fair, she’d insulted me for so long she’d probably forgotten it wasn’t nice.

“But Alejandro...” Her voice had a strange begging sound I’d never heard from her. “You’ll never find someone with my breeding, my beauty, my billions. I love you....”

“You love my title.”

Her cheeks flushed red. “All right. But you can’t choose her over me. She’s...nothing. No one.”

I swallowed, blinking fast.

“Blood always tells,” she said. “She’s not good enough for you.”

Alejandro looked quickly at my miserable face. Then he turned back to Claudie with a deliberate smile.

“Thank you for your fascinating opinion. Now move, won’t you? I need to take Lena shopping for an engagement ring.”

“You’re—what?” Claudie staggered back. I gasped. Miguel was crying.

The only one who looked absolutely calm was Alejandro. Turning away from her, he sat back in the plush leather seat, and said to Dowell, “Drive on.”

Claudie stared after us, looking stupefied on the sidewalk, and almost forlorn in her tight club dress and bedraggled mascara. Looking back at her through the car window, I felt a strange wave of sympathy.

Because I, too, knew what it felt like to be left by Alejandro Navaro y Albra.

“You didn’t have to be so cruel,” I whispered.

“Cruel?” he said incredulously. “You defend her, after the way she treated you?”

“She’s still my cousin. I feel sorry for her....”

“Then you’re a fool,” he said harshly.

I stroked my crying baby’s cheek. My lips creased sadly. “Love makes us all fools.”

“She doesn’t love me. She doesn’t even know me.”

“That’s what you said to me, too,” I said softly. I met his gaze. “I wonder if any woman will ever truly know you.”

For an instant, I thought I saw hunger, even yearning in his dark eyes as he stared down at me. Then the expression shuttered, leaving me to decide I’d imagined it. But even then, he continued to look at me, as if he couldn’t look away.

“What are you staring at?” I put my hand to my messy ponytail, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I must look a mess.”

“You look...” His eyes slowly traced over my hand, up my arm, to my neck, to my lips. “You look like a woman who cares more about her baby than a fortune. Like a woman who works so hard and so well—for free—that she’s beloved by the entire household staff. You look,” he said softly, “like a woman who feels sympathy, even for the coldhearted creature who tried to destroy her.”

“Are you—complimenting me?”

He gave a low laugh. “If you’re not sure, I must be losing my touch.”

I flushed. Turning away, I took a deep breath. And changed the subject. “Thank you for bringing me back to London. For these.” I motioned toward the photo albums. “And for giving me the chance to finally ask Claudie something I’ve wanted to know all my life. I always wondered why nothing I did was good enough to make her love me.” I looked out the window at the passing shops of Kensington High Street. “Now I know.”

Silence fell.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I nodded over the lump in my throat.

“I know how it feels,” he said in a low voice, “to be alone.”

“You?” I looked at him sharply, then gave a disbelieving snort. “No, you don’t.”

His dark eyes were veiled. “When I was young, I was good friends with...our housekeeper’s son. We were only six months apart in age, and we studied under the same governess. Friend? He was more like a brother to me,” he said softly. “People said we looked so much alike, acted so much alike, we could have been twins.”

“Are you still friends?”

He blinked, focusing on me, and his jaw tightened. “He died in the same crash that took the duke, the duchess. The housekeeper. Twenty-three years ago.”

“They all died in the same crash?” I said, horrified.

He looked down. “I was the only one to survive.”

I thought of a young boy being the only survivor of a car accident that took his parents, his best friend. That made him a duke at the tender age of twelve. I couldn’t even imagine the loneliness. The pain. Reaching out, I took his hand and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Alejandro drew away. “It was a long time ago.” I saw tension in his jaw, heard it in his voice. “But I do know how it feels.”

I swallowed, feeling guilty, and embarrassed, too, for all my complaining when he’d suffered worse, and in silence. “What was his name? Your friend?”

He stared at me, then his lips lifted slightly. “Miguel.”

“Oh.” I gave a shy smile. “So that’s why you don’t mind that I named our baby Miguel—”

“No.” He seemed to hide his own private smile. “I don’t mind at all.”

I frowned, looking at him more closely.

His expression shuttered, and his dark eyebrows came down into a scowl. “His surname, however...”

I sighed. “I thought you might want to change that. But don’t worry.” I gave an awkward smile. “I won’t hold you to your marriage proposal.”

His eyes were dark and intense. “What if I want you to hold me to it?”

My lips parted in shock.

“What?” I said faintly.

His dark eyes challenged mine. “What if I want you to marry me?”

“You don’t want to get married. You went on and on about all the women who tried to drag you to the altar. I’m not one of them!”

“I know that now.” Leaning his arm across the baby seat, he cupped my cheek. “But for our son’s sake, I’m starting to think you and I should be...together.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” He gave a sensual smile. “As you said, I already broke one rule. Why not break the other?”

“But what has changed?”

“I’m starting to think...perhaps I can trust you.” His eyes met mine. “And I can’t forget how it felt to have you in my bed.”

Something changed in the air between us. Something primal, dangerous. I felt the warmth of his palm against my skin and held my breath. As the limo drove through the streets of London, memories crackled through me like fire.

I remembered the night we’d conceived Miguel, and all the other hot days of summer, when I’d surrendered to him, body and soul. I trembled, feeling him so close in the backseat of the limo, on the other side of our baby. Every inch of my skin suddenly remembered the hot stroke of Alejandro’s fingertips. My mouth was tingling, aching....

“That’s not a good reason to marry someone. Especially for you. If I said yes, you’d regret it. You’d blame me. Claim that I’d only done it to be a rich duchess.”

He slowly shook his head. “I think,” he said quietly, “you might be the one woman who truly doesn’t care about that. And it would be best for our son. So what is your answer?”

My answer?

I remembered the darkness I’d fallen into the last time Alejandro wanted me—then stopped wanting me. I’d never let myself be vulnerable to him ever again. I couldn’t. He’d almost destroyed me once. I could never live through that again.

Sooner or later...he’ll take your child and toss you in the gutter, like you deserve.

I couldn’t give him control over me, ever again. I couldn’t be tempted. My only hope was to get away. My only hope was...

Oh, heaven...what time was it?

“I need to...” As I saw the time on the dashboard of the limo, my heart nearly burst in panic. “Stop the car!” I leaned forward desperately toward the driver. “Let me out!”

Looking confused, Dowell pulled over on the side of the busy road.

“What are you doing?” Alejandro demanded, looking at me as if I was crazy. I felt crazy.

I unbuckled our baby, who’d just stopped crying and was looking drowsy. “Miguel needs a walk to help him sleep....”

“Is that a joke?”

I didn’t answer. Cradling our baby, I stepped out on the sidewalk in front of Kensington Palace, and started running into the park, toward the playground. Toward Edward.

CHAPTER THREE

THE PRINCESS DIANA PLAYGROUND was in the corner of Kensington Gardens, just north of the palace. It was still early, and the playground had just opened, but in the midst of August holidays it was already starting to fill with children of every age, laughing and whooping as they raced toward the teepees and leaped on the ropes of the life-size pirate ship. It was a magical place, as you might expect of a children’s playground, near a palace, based around a Peter Pan theme and named after a lost princess.

But I was here desperate for a different kind of magic.

Protection.

Edward St. Cyr had protected me more than once. We’d first properly met three years earlier, when I’d been walking up from the Tube late at night and I’d passed a group of rowdy teenagers on Kensington High Street. I’d been weighed down with groceries, and tried to keep my head down as they passed. But some of the boys had followed me up the dark street, taunting me crudely. As one started to knock the grocery bags out of my hand, there’d been a flash of headlights on the street and the slam of a car door, and suddenly a tall man in a dark coat was there, his face a threatening scowl, and the young men who’d scared me fled like rabbits into the snow. Then he’d turned to me.

“Are you all right, miss...?” Then his expression had changed. “But wait. I know you. You’re Claudie Carlisle’s cousin.”

“Yes, I...”

“You’re all right now.” He’d gently taken my trembling hand. “I’m Edward St. Cyr. I live a few streets from here. May I give you a ride home?”

“No, I couldn’t possibly. I...”

“I wouldn’t mind a walk myself,” he said briskly, and with a nod to the driver of his Rolls-Royce, he’d insisted on walking me home, though it took ten minutes.

“Thank you,” I’d said at the door. “I never meant to impose....”

“You didn’t.” He’d paused. “I remember what it’s like to feel alone and afraid. Will you let me check on you in the morning?”

I’d shaken my head. “It’s truly not necessary.”

“But you must.” He’d lifted a dark eyebrow. “If for no other reason than it will annoy your cousin, whom I’ve despised for years. I insist.”

Now, as I looked out at Kensington Gardens in the distance, I saw the paths where we’d once walked together, he and I. He’d been kind to me. We’d been—friends.

Or had we? Had he always wanted more?

I’m tired of waiting for you to forget that Spanish bastard. It’s time for you to belong to me.

I shivered. When we left Mexico yesterday, I had been prepared to make any sacrifice to save my baby from Alejandro. Even if the price would have been going to bed with a man I did not love.

But now I was starting to wonder if that was truly necessary. Perhaps Alejandro was not entirely the heartless monster I’d once feared him to be....

“You shouldn’t have run.”

Hearing Alejandro’s dark voice behind me, I whirled around. “How did you catch up so fast?”

He was scowling. “Did you think I’d let you disappear with Miguel?”

“I didn’t disappear. I...”

“Had some kind of baby emergency?” He folded his arms. “You ran for a reason. And we both know what it is.”

Could he have somehow found out about Edward St. Cyr? The two men were slightly acquainted. And far from being friends. I didn’t think he would take it well. I bit my lip, breathing, “I...”

“You panicked because I asked you to marry me,” he accused.

Oh. I exhaled. “We both know you weren’t serious.”

“We both know I was.”

“You won’t be, once you have a chance to think about it. You don’t want to get married. You said so a million times.”

“I never intended to have a child, either,” he pointed out, “so there was no reason to marry. But now... You heard what Claudie said. Marrying you will make clear to the whole world that he’s my son. That he’s my heir. Right or wrong,” he said tightly.

Right or wrong? Meaning I wasn’t good enough? That Miguel wasn’t? My eyes narrowed. “I don’t love you.”

“I can live with that,” he said sardonically. “We both love our son. That is the only love that matters.”

“You’re wrong,” I said stubbornly. “My parents loved me, but they also loved each other, till the day they died. I remember how they looked at each other....”

“Most people are not so fortunate,” he said harshly. “I’ve spent a year pursuing you, Lena. I don’t want to fight over custody now. I don’t want to worry, anytime you take him for a walk, that you might try to run away with him. I want this matter settled between us, once and for all.”

Ah. Now we were getting down to it. “You mean I should give you total control over me, body and soul, so you can avoid the inconvenience of a custody battle?” I said incredulously, then shook my head. “This idea of marriage is just a momentary madness with you—it will pass....”

My voice trailed off as I saw Hildy on the edge of the playground, frantically signaling.

Alejandro frowned. “What is it?” He started to turn his head. “What are you...”

“On second thought, let me think it over,” I said quickly. Touching his arm, I gave him a weak smile. “So much has happened since yesterday. Maybe I’m too exhausted to think straight.” I pointed toward the outdoor café at the front of the playground. “Could you...please...get me some coffee?”

Alejandro’s dark gaze flickered over my bedraggled dress, the dark circles under my eyes. “Of course, querida,” he murmured courteously. Turning away, he started toward the outdoor café.

The instant he was gone, I rushed to meet Hildy.

“Where’s Edward?” I said desperately.

She was already shaking her head. “Mr. St. Cyr wasn’t home. They said he’s in Tokyo.”

Of all the bad luck! “Can I borrow your phone?”

“Yes....” She reached into her pocket, then looked up, her mouth a round O. “I didn’t bring it! It’s still at home!”

Alejandro was already handing over money at the café. I saw him pick up two coffees from the counter. No time.

My shoulders fell. “Thanks anyway. You’d better go.”

“Good luck, miss....”

Defeated, I looked out across the green park, deep emerald beneath the lowering gray London sky. I suddenly wondered what the weather was like in Spain. Warm. Sunny. Blue skies. With the chance of a hot, seductive Spaniard demanding that I share his bed.

No! I couldn’t let myself think about it! Just sharing custody of Miguel would be bad enough. I would never, ever be Alejandro’s lover! And certainly not his wife!

“Here.” Alejandro handed me a white paper cup that warmed my hands. The coffee smelled like heaven. I took a sip, then sighed with appreciation as I felt the heat melt me from the inside. It was sweet, and creamy.

“You remembered how I liked it,” I said in surprise.

He took a sip of his own black coffee, and gave a wicked grin. “That’s how all women like it.”

“That’s not true!”

He shrugged. “It’s mostly true. Cream and sugar will calm a woman down every time.”

I glared at him. “You are such a—”

“A heartless bastard?” He paused, then tilted his head. “Do you still think I’ll be such a disaster as a father?”

He sounded wistful, even—hurt? No. Impossible. A man like Alejandro had no heart to injure. But still, guilt rose in me, making my cheeks burn. “Maybe you’re not completely evil.” I looked down at the cup. “You did get my coffee right. Even though you’re completely wrong with your stereotype about women liking cream and sugar.”

“Obviously,” he agreed. He tilted his head. “Your arms must be getting tired from holding Miguel all this time.”

“A bit,” I admitted sheepishly. “He’s starting to get too heavy to carry like this for long.”

Finishing off his coffee, he threw the empty cup in the trash and reached out. “Give him to me.”

I hesitated, then handed him over. I watched anxiously, but Alejandro was careful, holding him, even turning Miguel around so he could see the world around him. Alejandro caught my look. “How am I doing?”

“Not bad,” I said grudgingly.

“Would you care to walk?” He lifted a dark eyebrow. “Since he needed a walk so badly that you almost jumped out of a moving car. This taking babies on walks must be a serious business. Or else you had some other reason for coming here that you don’t want me to know about.”

I looked at him sharply. Did he know something? Or was he just fishing?

He gave me a bland smile.

I shrugged. “It was what you said. Pure panic at your marriage proposal.” I took a sip of coffee. “Kind of like how you reacted last year when I told you I loved you. Instant disappearance.” For a moment, we stared at each other. Then I turned away. “Yes. Let’s walk.”

The rain had eased up, and though gray skies were hovering, eager children of all ages, speaking many different languages, were now playing everywhere as we strolled past the pirate ship.

“So what is your answer?” he said casually, as if he’d been asking me out for a movie.

“About what?”

He looked at me.

“Oh.” I licked my lips. “That.”

“That.”

“Be serious.”

“I’m trying to be. But I’ve never asked any woman to marry me before. I’m starting to think I must be doing it wrong. Do I need to get down on one knee?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Then what is it?”

I’m afraid you’d make me love you again. The cold knot near my heart, which had started to warm on the edges, returned to ice. “Come on,” I mumbled, looking at the ground. “We both know that I’m not exactly duchess material.”

“Are you trying to let me down gently?” he demanded. He stopped, leaning our baby against his hip as he looked at me. “Is there someone else? Perhaps the person who helped you flee London last year, and travel around the world?”

“It’s not like that.”

“When a man protects a woman,” he said grimly, “it is exactly like that.”

“How do you know it’s a man?”

“By looking at your face,” he said softly. “Right now.”

I looked away. My throat hurt as I took another sip of the rich, sweet coffee, watching all the mothers and fathers and smiling nannies hovering on the edge of their children’s delighted play. Some of them looked back at me. They probably imagined we were a family, too.

But we weren’t.

I would have given anything if Alejandro could have been a man I could trust with my heart. A regular guy, a hardworking, loving man, who could have been my real partner. Instead of a selfish playboy duke who didn’t know the meaning of love, and if married would plainly expect me to remain a dutiful wife imprisoned in his castle, raising our child, while he enjoyed himself elsewhere. Why shouldn’t he? If love didn’t exist, I could only imagine what he thought of fidelity.

“Why did you seduce me, Alejandro?” I blurted out.

He blinked. “What?”

My voice trembled as I looked up at him. “If you weren’t trying to get me pregnant to provide an heir for you and Claudie, why did you seduce me? Why did you even notice me?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Are you really going to make me spell it out? Fine. You’re—you—” I waved my half-full coffee toward him “—and I’m...” I indicated my white dress I’d worn for thirty-six hours now, wrinkled and possibly stained with baby sick I didn’t know about, and I shivered in the cool morning air. “I believed Claudie’s story last year because, for the first time, everything made sense. There was no other reason for you to... I mean, why else would a man like you, who could have any woman in the world, choose a woman like...”

Reaching out his hand, he cupped my cheek. “Because I wanted you, Lena. Pure and simple. I wanted you.” Looking down at me, he said in a low voice, “I’ve never stopped wanting you.”

My lips parted. I trembled, fighting the desire to lean into his touch. The paper cup fell from my hand, splashing coffee across the grass. But I barely noticed. Craning back my head, I blinked back tears as I whispered, “Then why did you break up with me like that, so coldly and completely? Just for telling you I loved you?”

Alejandro stared at me, then dropped his hand. “Because I didn’t want to lead you on. I’d promised myself I’d never have either wife or child....”

“But why?” I said, bewildered. “Why wouldn’t you want those things? You’re the last of your line, aren’t you? If you died without an heir...you would be the last Duke of Alzacar.”

“That was my intention,” he said grimly.

“But why?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” He looked down at Miguel in his arms. “Fate chose differently. I have a son.” His dark eyes blazed at me, filled with heat and anger and something else...something I couldn’t understand. “And I will protect his future. Right or wrong.”

“You keep saying right or wrong. What is wrong about it?” I narrowed my eyes. “If you’re trying to imply that he’s not good enough—”

“Of course not,” he bit out.

“Then it’s me—”

He shook his head impatiently, his jaw tight. “I’m talking about me.”

The great Duque de Alzacar, admitting some kind of fault? I blinked. I breathed, “I don’t understand....”

“What is there to understand?” he said evasively. “Now that I am a parent, my priorities have changed. Wasn’t it the same for you, when Miguel was born?”

I hesitated. It was true what he said, but I still had the sense he was hiding something from me. “Yes-s....”

“We have a child. So we will do what is best for him. We will marry.”

“You didn’t want to marry me in Mexico.”

“That was when I thought you were a liar, a thief and probably a gold digger. Now my opinion of you has improved.”

“Thanks,” I said wryly.

“Why are you fighting me? Unless—” He gave me a sharp, searching gaze. “Are you in love with someone else?”

The image of Edward flashed in front of my eyes. I wondered if Alejandro would still keep his improved opinion of me if he knew I’d been living in another man’s house. It would look sordid, even if the truth had been so innocent. At least—innocent on my side. Swallowing, I looked away.

“I’m not in love with anyone.” My voice was barely audible over the noisy children at play.

His shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. “Then why not marry me?” His tone turned almost playful. “You really should consider it for the jewels alone....”

I gave a rueful laugh, then looked at him. “I’d never fit into your world, Alejandro. If I took you at your word and became your wife, we’d both be miserable.”

“I wouldn’t be.”

I shook my head. “Your expectations of marriage are lower than mine. It would never work. I want—” I looked down as my cheeks turned hot “—to be loved. I want what my parents had.”

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—”

“I did give you a chance. You never called me back.” I took a deep breath. “I know now you weren’t the monster I thought you were. But I’ll never be able to trust you like I did. It’s lost. Along with the way I loved you.”

Silence fell, the only sound the children playing on the other side of the trees. I heard their shrieks of joy.

When Alejandro spoke, his voice was low, even grim. “Love me or not, trust me or not, but you will marry me. Miguel will have a stable family. A real home.”

I shook my head. He moved closer.

“You promised to come to Spain, Lena,” he said. “You gave your word.”

I threw him a panicked glance. “That was when—”

“Ah. You hoped you could break your promise, didn’t you? Perhaps with St. Cyr’s help?”

My silence spoke volumes. His dark eyes hardened. “You gave me your word that if I brought you to London, you would come with me to Spain.”

He was right. I had. Now, I felt so alone and forlorn. Alejandro was starting to wear me down. To break my will. To remind me of a promise I’d never wanted to keep.

“It will only lead to misery,” I whispered.

“Wherever it leads,” he said softly, “whatever we’d once planned for our lives...you are part of my family now.”

“Your family. You mean your grandmother?” I shivered, imagining a coldly imperious grande dame in pearls and head-to-toe vintage Chanel. A little like my own grandmother, in fact. “She will hate me. She’ll never think I’m good enough.”