Page 11 of Spanish Marriage Solution

Then he’d met Alice and what he’d felt for her, he’d never been able to pin down. He’d never wanted to. It had felt too obsessive, too painful, and so he’d put it aside. Now all that was left was physical desire—somehow that hadn’t faded the way the other emotions had. That and the only love he’d ever permitted himself, for a little baby who wasn’t even his.

She should have known you’d love him. She should.

No, she shouldn’t. Why would she? She’d only wanted what any wife wanted from their husband, and he’d failed her. This letter and the pain that came with it were his punishment.

You should give Diego to Alice and be done with it.

Except every cell in his body rebelled against that thought. He wasn’t giving up his son. Diego was his. He’d claimed him and a Castellano duke never gave up what was his.

Alice had gone still, watching him from across the table. What she saw he didn’t know, until she said, ‘I’m sorry. She only wanted what was best for her son and she thought him being in New Zealand was best for him.’

So, he hadn’t hidden his grief and pain as well as he thought. He didn’t like that she could read him and far more easily than Emily ever had.

She thinks Emily was right, that it’s better for Diego to go back to New Zealand with her.

His heart twisted again as if in protest, though, really, why should it matter what Alice thought of him? He wanted her, it was true, and he always had, but all the other powerful feelings she’d managed to evoke had gone. He’d starved them completely. So it shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter at all.

The urge to explain himself was still strong, but he shoved it aside, reaching for the cold, hard manner that had served him so well in the past. The manner his father had insisted on since that was the manner of a duke, not a common stable hand.

Sebastián leaned back in his chair and met her level gaze. There was a softness in her dark eyes that hadn’t been there before. Dios. Did she feel sorry for him? Well, there was no need. He wasn’t giving up his son—yes, his son. Not for anything.

‘Why do you want him?’ he asked instead. ‘What is he to you?’

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. ‘I would have thought that was obvious. He’s my nephew, Sebastián.’

Her calm was infuriating. ‘So?’

‘So?’ Finally, as he’d seen out by the corral and on the stairs, fire flickered in her gaze. ‘Like I told you, he’s all I have left of Emily.’

‘Blood is the only reason, then?’ he demanded. ‘Because your sister was his mother and your husband his father? What do you know of him though? Do you know that he takes a little time to settle and that he loves a Spanish lullaby? That he also likes the sound of horses’ hooves during the day and will only nap if he can hear them? Do you know that his first smile was three weeks ago and for me? And that when he cries, sometimes only I can settle him?’

Something crossed her face then and it wasn’t that cool, calm expression she’d been giving him. It was sharper, flickers of pain and grief.

Do you really think she’s untouched by this? That she doesn’t care? You know she does.

Before he’d met Alice and shut down all conversation about her with Emily, his wife had told him about her tall, practical older sister. It hadn’t been entirely complimentary and he’d envisaged a stodgy, humourless, dull sort of woman. Except that hadn’t been the case. The two sisters had had a fractious relationship, it seemed, and yet it was clear that the pair of them had loved each other dearly despite it.

Of course this would affect Alice and he couldn’t ignore that, no matter how much he wanted to.

She is passionate too, remember?

A memory surfaced, making his heartbeat suddenly fast. Of the last Christmas that Alice and Edward had come to the hacienda. It had been Christmas Eve and they’d all been in the living room sipping eggnog. It had been late, but he’d gone out to deal with an urgent matter in the stables, and when he’d come back, everyone else had gone to bed leaving only Alice standing by the fire, staring down at it.

What she’d been wearing, he couldn’t remember, but he remembered every contour of her face and how the fire lit her as though she’d been painted with gold. The curve of her cheek. The lush dark fan of her lashes. The fullness of her bottom lip. And the sadness in her expression that had reached inside him and twisted hard.

He’d wanted to know what had made her so sad. He’d wanted to know everything, and then he’d wanted to fix it. And only after that had he wanted to take her in his arms and make her forget whatever it was that had caused her so much grief, wake the passion that he knew was inside her.

Except she hadn’t been his and he hadn’t been hers and he hadn’t been able to do any of those things.

She’d looked up in that moment and their eyes had met. And whatever that thing was between them, the instant connection, the passionate energy, had suddenly sung in the room.

For one long minute they’d stared at one another and he’d seen the look in her eyes catch fire, and he’d known that if they’d both been free to choose, nothing could have kept them apart.

But they hadn’t been free, and he was as wedded to his honour as much as he had been to Emily, and so choice hadn’t been an option for him.

So he’d turned and walked away.

He wanted to walk away now but... He couldn’t. Regardless of how sorry he felt for her, he wasn’t going to let Diego go and the sooner she understood that, the better.

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