Their Convenient Marriage

“Are you all right?” Antonio queried, gazing at her in some concern. “You’re looking a bit pale. I hope nothing you ate at lunch has upset you.”

Gina shook her head. “No, I’m fine. It’s just…well, I’ve had two rather upsetting conversations this afternoon. And to tell you the truth, I don’t quite understand what’s going on.”

“Which is—what?” he asked. But when she didn’t immediately reply, he added, “If you have a problem, Gina, then I think you’d better tell me about it.”

“It seems our marriage is the problem,” she declared, looking him straight in the eye.

MARY LYONS was born in Toronto, Canada, moving to live permanently in England when she was six, although she still proudly maintains her Canadian citizenship. Having married and raised four children, her life nowadays is relatively peaceful—unlike her earlier years when she worked as a radio announcer, reviewed books and, for a time, lived in a turbulent area of the Middle East. She still enjoys a bit of excitement, combining romance with action, humor and suspense in her books whenever possible.

Their Convenient Marriage
Mary Lyons

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

PROLOGUE

IT WAS always the same dream…

The plaza in Seville is ringing with the loud shouts and whistles of the bystanders. She is almost deafened by the noisy, blaring trumpets and drums of the brass bands as the cavalcade of many horses and their riders, all in traditional Spanish costume, make their way slowly through the crowded throng of spectators.

She is struggling to control a high-spirited, nervous horse, perspiration running down her frightened cheeks as she clings tightly to the thin leather reins, helplessly unable to prevent her mount from either rearing up or lashing out with its hind hooves. The scowling faces and muttered oaths of the other riders are causing her face to burn with shame and humiliation. She knows it will only be minutes…seconds…before disaster strikes.

And then…he is there! His tall and handsome figure, clothed in a black matador’s costume, is racing through the milling crowd towards her. Firmly grasping hold of her horse’s reins, he turns to smile up at her as she slips out of the saddle and down into his arms, weeping with relief while clinging tightly to the strength of his hard, firm body.

Suddenly, the scene changes and they are dancing…spinning…whirling to the throbbing music of guitars. She is aware of nothing but the hypnotic beat of clapping hands and the rapid ‘click-clack’ of their heels on the floor as he swirls her about his tall, dominant figure.

Totally mesmerised by the glinting warmth in his eyes, she finds herself being dragged from the dance floor, her hand firmly clasped in his as they run laughing through the empty, deserted streets, before he hails a horse-drawn carriage. And then, within the confined darkness of the vehicle, with shafts of moonlight illuminating his high cheekbones and dark gleaming eyes, he slowly takes her into his arms and she ardently raises her lips to meet his.

She is shivering and trembling with delight at his deepening kiss, quivering at the sensual touch of his hands sweeping over the soft curves of her body. Her emotions are spiralling completely out of control as she whispers, ‘I love you, Antonio. I love you with all my heart!’

But then…with shocking suddenness…she finds herself on the other side of the carriage.

‘At your age? What can you know of love?’ he grinds out savagely, his voice sounding harsh and strained as the vehicle comes to a halt. Swearing under his breath, he pushes her out of the carriage in front of him.

‘Go home to England! Go home. Grow up. And let us both forget that this incident ever happened!’ he adds grimly, before stalking ahead of her into the house and quickly disappearing from sight.

Totally shattered, and weeping as if her heart will break in two, she stands gazing after him, her eyes blind with tears as she realises that she will never, ever see him again.

It was always the same dream…the same nightmare…

CHAPTER ONE

‘I REALLY can’t understand why you are being so stubborn, Antonio. Surely you can see that it’s the perfect solution to all your problems?’

‘Absolutamente, no!’

Gazing across the room at the elderly, frail man sitting in the wheelchair, Antonio Ramirez did his best to control his feelings of annoyance and irritation.

Not only was he very fond of his uncle Emilio, but he realised that he really must have patience with the old man who, since his last heart attack, had been forced to hand over the reins of the family business.

‘Yes, I would agree that I face a difficult situation,’ Antonio admitted, roughly brushing a hand through his thick, black curly hair. ‘Particularly the urgent need to completely update our wine-making process. And, yes,’ he added with a shrug of his broad shoulders, ‘I would also agree that finding the millions to do so will not be easy. Although I believe I have solved that particular problem. But, nevertheless, your suggestion as to how I can best arrange my affairs is something which I find totally unacceptable!’

His uncle gave a heavy sigh. He really didn’t understand young men nowadays, he told himself fretfully. None of them seemed in any hurry to get married, and Antonio—a handsome and extremely wealthy man, who’d left a whole host of glamorous girlfriends behind him in Madrid—was clearly no exception. But his nephew was now thirty-four, and it was clearly time he found himself a nice, sensible, financially well-endowed young girl and settled down.

‘The engagement between myself and your late aunt was arranged by my parents. Although it may have been a marriage of convenience—bringing together two old families in the wine trade—it proved to be a very happy one. Even though, most unfortunately, we didn’t have any children,’ he pointed out querulously.

‘Yes, I know, Uncle. And I do understand that you have my best interests at heart.’

‘Well, I hope you’ve got enough sense not to get involved with Carlotta,’ the older man muttered. ‘That cousin of yours might be a good-looking girl but she’s likely to cause you nothing but trouble!’ he added, before realising from the blank, shuttered expression on his nephew’s face that he’d gone too far.

‘Thank you for your kind advice,’ Antonio drawled icily. ‘However, I must tell you that, strange as it may seem, I’m perfectly capable of running my private life without your assistance.’

‘Yes, well…’ His uncle shrugged. ‘I may have been a bit out of order…’

Antonio gave a snort of grim laughter. ‘You most certainly were! Especially since the idea of finding myself a rich wife is definitely not on my list of priorities just at the moment.’

‘But, all the same, I do wish that…’

‘Quite frankly, I’m far more interested in obtaining new contracts,’ Antonio said, firmly changing the subject. ‘Particularly in supplying our own brand of sherry to supermarkets in France, Germany and Italy. I also have high hopes of attracting some new business in North America,’ he added, before quickly glancing down at his watch. ‘Which is why I really must get back to work. I’m leaving tomorrow for a quick business trip around Europe,’ he said, rising to his feet and walking towards the door.

‘Unfortunately I can only afford to be away from the office for a week. But if I can manage to clinch those deals it will at least give us a breathing space. And also enable me to do some serious financial planning for the future.’

‘You’ve mentioned America. What about the supermarkets in Britain?’

With his hand on the doorknob, Antonio paused, before turning slowly around, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

‘I hadn’t intended visiting London on this trip. But it now looks as if I may have to. I’m becoming increasingly worried about a large shipment of some of our very best wines which was dispatched to Brandon’s of Pall Mall, in England, well over a month ago.’

‘What’s the problem?’

‘I’m still not sure,’ the younger man admitted with a slight shrug. ‘For some reason, it appears to have gone missing. Needless to say I’ve been on the phone for the last two days, trying to track it down. But with absolutely no success so far.’

‘Surely a consignment that large shouldn’t be too hard to find?’

‘Which is precisely what I have been telling those English wine merchants!’ Antonio gave a short bark of sardonic laughter. ‘I know Sir Robert Brandon is an old friend of yours, Uncle, but I have to say that it looks as though his methods of doing business are still firmly rooted in the nineteenth century!’

‘You may regard Sir Robert and myself as ancient dinosaurs,’ his uncle retorted, ‘but if you do go to England it might be worth talking over your problems with him. He is, after all, one of the cleverest businessmen in the wine trade.’

‘Hmm…I’ll think about it,’ Antonio said as he turned to open the door, not overly impressed with the idea of picking the brains of his uncle’s old friend.

‘In the meantime—take care of yourself, Uncle. I should be back in my office by next Monday,’ he added with a smile, before leaving the room.

Striding swiftly down the corridor towards the front door of his uncle’s house, Antonio could only feel sorry for the elderly and infirm man, now confined to a wheelchair.

However, the brutal facts of life were that if only his uncle had resigned his position as head of the company immediately after becoming aware of his bad heart condition the family business would not now be in such a mess. Unfortunately the old man had refused to listen to his doctor’s advice, continuing to run the business his own way and only finally relinquishing control when forced to do so, after his last heart attack.

Which had meant that, instead of being able to make long-term plans for taking over the family business, Antonio had been forced to immediately abandon his highly lucrative career as an international tax lawyer in Madrid. And on his return home to Jerez he’d been faced with some fairly major problems.

The most important of which was the urgent need to bring modern organisation and technique into every corner of the business, Antonio told himself grimly as he left the house, running down the steps and across to where his sports car was parked, beneath the shade of some olive trees.

The extensive Ramirez family vineyards might produce some of the finest and most sought-after wines in the Spanish sherry trade, but his uncle had clearly never even heard of computers or the Internet. And there was virtually nothing in the way of records since his uncle had believed in handling as little paperwork as possible.

In fact, Antonio mused, drumming his fingers on the driving wheel of his car for a moment before switching on the engine, the meeting with his bankers this afternoon should, with any luck, help to solve most of his problems. Because the sooner he could start completely overhauling the family business the better!

Turning around his wheelchair, and gazing out through the open window as his nephew’s black Porsche disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust, Emilio sat buried in thought for some time.

He was well aware of just how difficult it must have been for Antonio to give up his highly successful career. Not that the younger man had ever complained, of course. But it must have been a wrench to be forced to suddenly abandon his friends, colleagues and that glamorous apartment in Madrid simply because he was the only one in the family capable of running the business.

He clearly had no way of lightening Antonio’s heavy burden, of course. But maybe…maybe there was something he could do about the financial problems facing his nephew…

While he might be stuck in this damned wheelchair there was still life in the old dog yet, Emilio told himself with a chuckle, before spinning around to pick up the phone on his desk.

‘Sí…’ he said as his call was answered at the other end of the line. ‘Señor Don Roberto…por favor…’

At approximately the same time, although many hundreds of miles away, Georgina Brandon was muttering furiously under her breath as she slammed down the phone.

She’d never got on with the manager of the company’s headquarters at Pall Mall in London. And it was just like the slimy two-faced man to try and blame Gina and her staff for his own shortcomings.

Besides, exactly why he seemed to think such a very large, valuable consignment of top-class sherry would have been sent to the Ipswich branch office, here in Suffolk, she had absolutely no idea. Surely it was far more likely to be found at their other warehouse, in Bristol? Or most probably tucked away in the vast dusty cellars in Pall Mall.

But the loss of such a valuable shipment seemed the very least of her worries at the moment. Because—while she might enjoy hearing that the head of the world-famous Bodega Ramirez had well and truly chewed the ear off that creep in London—she’d been utterly devastated to learn exactly who was now the new Chairman and Managing Director of the Ramirez company.

‘Antonio? Antonio Ramirez?’ she’d gasped down the phone, just a few moments ago.

‘Yeah. Surely you must have heard that he’d taken over the business from his old uncle Emilio?’

‘No…no, I didn’t know…’ she’d muttered, her trembling hands almost dropping the phone as she’d tried to get her head around this startling and highly alarming piece of information.

‘Well, well! Fancy clever Miss Georgina Brandon not being up with the latest news in the wine trade! I expect that’s what comes of being stuck out in the boondocks of Suffolk,’ the London manager had added with a slight laugh.

Feeling far too shattered to even try and cut the awful man down to size, she’d remained silent as he’d admitted that her grandfather was not at all happy about the situation.

‘With Antonio Ramirez well and truly on the war-path, Sir Robert says that we’ve got to find that shipment, as fast as possible. Apparently the guy is a lawyer. And you know what they’re like—never happier than when suing the socks off rich companies like your grandpa’s! So, you’d better go through all the bills of lading with a fine-tooth comb. Or it could be you for the high jump,’ he’d added with relish, before putting down the phone.

Still feeling stunned by the news of Antonio’s direct involvement in his family’s huge wine-making business, Gina took a deep breath.

It was no good sitting here at her desk in a complete daze, feeling as if she’d been suddenly hit very hard by a blow to the solar plexus, she told herself, brushing a shaky hand through her long, pale blond hair. She was really going to have to pull herself together—and try to get a firm grip on the situation.

After all…it was eight years since she’d seen hide or hair of the man with whom she’d fallen so desperately in love. But she’d been only eighteen at the time, for heaven’s sake. And young girls were always falling in and out of love, with the most unsuitable men. It happened all the time. Besides, she’d had lots of boyfriends since then. And if none of them had ever caused the slightest dent in her heart? Well, she had plenty of time in hand before she needed to start worrying about finding Mr Right!

As branch manager of a large wine merchant’s business she was used to dealing with the various fine sherries bearing the Bodega Ramirez label. So why get in such a panic just because this was the first time she’d heard any mention of Antonio’s name?

What was more…if she’d ever stopped to think about it she ought to have known that sooner or later he was bound to succeed his uncle in the business. Just as she was due, eventually, to take over her grandfather’s large, prestigious business.

Founded in 1791 by her ancestor, Captain James Brandon—who, after retiring from the navy and marrying a rich Spanish widow, had begun importing and blending high-quality sherry and wine from her family’s vineyards near Cadiz—Brandon’s of Pall Mall was now one of the oldest and most successful wine merchants in the country. Moreover, the ever-increasing value of the property owned by the family, particularly the large buildings situated in such an expensive area of London, was now enormous.

Handed down over the generations from father to son, the chain had been cruelly broken with the tragically early death of her parents in a car accident, when Gina had been only a little girl. Since her father had been an only child, she’d been raised by her grandparents, always knowing that she was the sole heiress to the family business.

Unfortunately, her increasingly desperate prayers each night—that her dear grandfather would remain at the helm for many years to come—were looking increasingly unlikely to be answered. He’d never really recovered from the death of her beloved grandmother, five years ago, and appeared to be growing more frail in body, if not in spirit, with each passing day. And she dreaded the prospect of having to take over the running of the business in the near future.

On the other hand, her grandfather had certainly done all he could to give her a good grounding in the wine trade. He’d been pleased when she had developed a good ‘nose’ and palate, and delighted when she’d passed the necessary exams to become a Master of Wine. And now, with her recent appointment as manager of the firm’s Ipswich shop and warehouse, she was in the process of gaining valuable business experience.

But there was no getting away from the fact that she was only twenty-six. And there was a world of difference between running a small branch and managing a large international corporation.

However, all that lay in the future. In the meantime she had to do her best to try and forget her past, very brief relationship with Antonio Ramirez—and start looking for his missing wine shipment!

But as it turned out that was easier said than done.

Four days later, and despite an exhaustive search of the shop, warehouse and old cellars, Gina still hadn’t found any trace of the Spanish consignment. Moreover, having checked and double-checked the current bills of lading, she’d drawn a complete blank there, as well. So, wherever the missing shipment had got to, it definitely wasn’t in Suffolk!

Unfortunately, it seemed that the news about Antonio Ramirez had prompted the return of that utterly hideous dream…the dreadful nightmare which had repeatedly plagued her late teens and made her life a misery for such a long time. For the past few days she’d found herself waking up after a disturbed, restless sleep, drenched in perspiration and trembling with deep shame and embarrassment.

Goodness knows, she’d done her best to bury those unhappy memories of when she’d obviously been far too young and innocent to understand the harsh realities of life. Which made it all the more maddening now to discover that Antonio’s dark, highly dangerous figure had only been lurking just out of sight—hidden for the past eight years, somewhere within her subconscious, so that merely the mention of his name had brought him—and total recollection of that time in her life—sharply back to the surface of her mind once again.

Which was utterly daft! She’d got over him years ago. To let herself get into such a state was totally pathetic, Gina railed at herself angrily. But, although talking sternly to herself hadn’t yet solved the problem, she knew that sooner or later the dreams would stop, and she could get back to her usual, mentally well-adjusted way of life.

All of which was sensible advice, Gina was telling herself firmly, late on Thursday morning, when the phone on her desk gave a sharp ring.

‘Hi, Grandpa… Yes, yes, everything’s fine,’ she quickly assured the old man. ‘No, I’m sorry. There’s no trace of that shipment. I’ve been through every scrap of paperwork here in the office, and I can’t find anything at all.’

‘I’m afraid that’s irrelevant now, since a representative of the Spanish firm is insisting on checking the stock in the warehouse,’ Sir Robert Brandon’s thin, reedy voice informed her.

‘Well—that’s a total waste of time,’ she retorted. ‘I know we haven’t got it. I mean, we could hardly miss a shipment of that size, could we?’

‘Nevertheless, I have Antonio Ramirez sitting in my outer office, here in London…’

‘What?’

‘…and I expect him to be with you either late in the afternoon or early this evening.’

‘But…but…the office will be closed by then!’ she retorted breathlessly, her knuckles whitening as she tightly gripped the phone. ‘I mean, what’s the point of him coming all the way up here and…and not being able to look for his beastly wine?’

‘Really, Gina!’ her grandfather protested. ‘What on earth has come over you? I sincerely hope that I can rely on you to treat Don Antonio with every courtesy?’

‘Yes…yes, of course. I’m sorry,’ she mumbled helplessly, feeling totally stunned and somehow unable to stop herself trembling, as if in the grip of a raging fever.

‘Oh, Lord! I’ve just realised…’ she added hurriedly. ‘If he’s going to be arriving that late I’d better book him into one of the local country house hotels. Maybe Hintlesham Hall? The food is really excellent, and…’

‘My dear girl—what is wrong with you?’ Sir Robert Brandon retorted tetchily. ‘For generations we’ve had a long-standing trading partnership with his company. And his uncle is, of course, an old friend of mine. Which is why I’ve already told Don Antonio that we wouldn’t dream of him staying anywhere other than in our own home.’

‘Our own home…?’ she echoed vacantly, her numbed brain clearly not functioning on all cylinders.

‘And I’m quite sure that I can rely on you to see that he is well looked after,’ her grandfather told her firmly, before terminating the call.

‘Oh, my God…oh, my God… What in the hell am I going to do?’ Gina found herself muttering, before jumping to her feet and striding rapidly up and down her office as she realised that matters were rapidly going from bad to far, far worse!

How could she have forgotten that she’d agreed to give the housekeeper and her husband a long weekend off, to visit their daughter in Wales? And, glancing down at her watch, she realised that they would have already left the house and be well on their way by now.

‘For heaven’s sake—calm down,’ she said, forcing herself to stand still and take some deep breaths to steady her nerves.

It was a large old house, with many guest rooms, and she was perfectly capable of coping with Antonio on her own. After all, she was no longer a silly young girl, and was quite used to entertaining business guests. Besides, it was years since she’d set eyes on the man. Why, he could be married, with a whole host of children by now. Anyway, hadn’t Grandpa said that Antonio wouldn’t be arriving until this evening?

So…if she booked a table for dinner in a good local restaurant—making absolutely certain that all conversation was kept firmly to business matters—she shouldn’t have too much of a problem. Then, when Antonio discovered that his missing shipment of wine definitely wasn’t here, he’d obviously be off, back to wherever he’d come from, by midday tomorrow at the latest.

All the same…there was no point in sitting here in the office, feeling as though she was going to be sick any moment. In fact, the sooner she went home and checked that the beds were made up in the guest bedrooms the better.

While still feeling coiled up tight like an over-wound clock spring, Gina could almost physically feel herself beginning to relax slightly as she drove her small Mazda sports car down the long drive, lined with ancient oak trees, to Bradgate Manor.

She’d always loved the large old Tudor mansion, which had been the country home of the Brandon family since the days of Queen Victoria—when it had been acquired by her great-great-grandfather for his young wife, who had been born and raised in Suffolk. And it was, of the course, one of the reasons why Gina had jumped at the opportunity of working in the local Ipswich office.

Who wouldn’t prefer living deep in the country when compared to life in the crowded, dusty streets of London? Gina asked herself as she parked her car in the garage next to the stable block and walked slowly back towards the house. And especially on a lovely sunny day in early June, with no sound to disturb the peace other than the faint cooing of wood pigeons from a nearby clump of trees and the distant hum of a tractor in one of the fields.

Having checked that everything was in order, and deciding to place Antonio in a guest suite as far away from her own bedroom as possible, Gina found herself wandering restlessly through the empty house. In fact, she was feeling so tense and strained that she couldn’t seem to keep still for more than a few seconds.

Firmly reminding herself that there was no reason why Antonio should recall the time when a young, gauche teenager had made such an utter fool of herself wasn’t much use, either. Because, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to banish from her mind’s eye a vision of the dangerously exciting figure of Antonio Ramirez.

With his head of curly hair the colour of raven’s wings—either worn loose, curling over his collar at the back of his neck, or wet-combed tightly to his head, after a shower—and the deeply disturbing, wicked glint in those large, gleaming dark eyes, heavily fringed with long black eyelashes, he’d been devastatingly attractive!

So it was no wonder, she told herself, that an impressionable young girl, fresh out of school, had immediately fallen head over heels in love with the most strikingly handsome man she’d ever seen. Who also happened to be the brother of her best friend, with whom she’d been staying during that Easter holiday all those years ago.

And Gina clearly hadn’t been the only one to be so affected by the twenty-six-year-old man’s aura of strong masculinity and rampant sex appeal. Just about every female in the large, extended Spanish family between the ages of nine and ninety had seemed to regard Antonio in exactly the same light.

‘Just look at them!’ Roxana had laughed. ‘They’re all over my brother, like a rash. Estúpidas…no?’

And she’d been the most stupid of all! Gina recalled grimly. Then she became furious with herself for getting in such a state about an episode—however shameful and embarrassing—which had happened so very long ago. Then she brought herself up with a start. This simply would not do! It was utterly ridiculous to keep on pacing up and down, getting more and more nervous with every passing minute, while waiting for the damned man to turn up. In fact, what she needed was some fresh air and exercise. So, the most sensible decision would be to get changed and take her horse out for a good hard gallop.

That would definitely blow the dusty cobwebs of memory from her mind, she told herself firmly, spinning around on her heels and running up the wide, old oak staircase towards her bedroom.

Antonio’s lips tightened with annoyance as, for what seemed the hundredth time, he quickly stamped on the brake.

Having to drive a strange car on the wrong side of the road was bad enough. But the amount of traffic on this heavily congested route leading out of London was proving enough to try the patience of a saint.

However, taking into account the possible loss of his wine, and that quite extraordinary meeting with old Sir Robert Brandon, he told himself grimly, it now looked as if he’d made a very bad mistake by including this quick trip to Britain in his tight schedule.

‘I’m so sorry, my boy,’ Sir Robert Brandon had told him earlier today. ‘It looks as if that shipment of yours has been misdirected to our branch at Ipswich, in Suffolk. I’ll put my staff on to tracking it down straight away.’

Unfortunately, Sir Robert’s idea of ‘straight away’ seemed to mean that it would take at least two weeks to sort out the problem.

‘Two weeks!’ Antonio had exclaimed in horror. ‘But I hadn’t planned to spend more than a day or two in England.’

However, after some discussion, he’d reluctantly agreed that his best and possibly only option was to visit Brandon’s office and large warehouse at Ipswich, in Suffolk.

‘It isn’t a long drive,’ Sir Robert had assured him. ‘So why not allow me to show you around the cellars here, in Pall Mall, hmm? We have some very old cases of vintage wines which I think you might find interesting.’

Since the two families had been trading closely together for well over a hundred and fifty years, it had seemed discourteous to refuse the invitation. And that, as he now acknowledged grimly, had proved to be a major error on his part. Because after the tour of the wine cellars he’d found himself being pressured into joining Sir Robert for lunch.

‘No…no, I can’t possibly let you go without giving you something to eat,’ the old man had insisted. ‘And I’ve been looking forward to hearing all about my old friend Emilio. I was really so very sorry to hear about your uncle’s illness.’