Nina Milne - Rafael's Contract Bride

‘Unfortunately the Duque is...’ A stubborn old man and my paternal grandfather—although he doesn’t know it. Yet. ‘Unwilling to sell it to the likes of me.’

Rafael kept his voice even, though it was hard. Each word stuck in his craw. But he didn’t want Cora to garner even a glimmer of the truth. Though really there was no risk of that. Who would believe that Rafael Martinez was the illegitimate grandson of the Duque de Aiza? He’d had difficulty believing it himself. But there had been no disputing the facts in the letter his mother had left with a solicitor, to be given to him on his thirtieth birthday. The phrases were etched on his brain as if his mother had been alive to read them to him herself.

Cora frowned, confusion evident in the crease on her brow and the expression in her bright blue eyes. ‘I don’t understand...’

Careful, Martinez. Stick to facts and keep emotions off the table.

‘Don Carlos doesn’t approve of my background or my lifestyle, so I need to change his mind.’

And he was pretty sure his marriage into the crème de la crème of British aristocracy would do exactly that.

He sipped his wine, savoured its silkiness. ‘That’s where you come in.’

‘Me? I don’t see how I can help.’

There was a faint hint of trepidation in her voice and he saw her hand tighten round the stem of the glass.

‘I’m an administrator.’

‘You’re more than that, Cora.’ Rafael kept his voice even, gentle—he didn’t know why Cora was hiding her identity, and he didn’t want to spook her, but... ‘You’re Lady Cora Derwent.’

Her turquoise eyes widened and the sudden vulnerability in them smote him. For a second he thought she’d push her chair back and run, but instead she sat immobile.

‘How long have you known?’ she asked eventually.

‘You looked vaguely familiar—I’ve got a good memory for faces.’

Probably because he had spent so many years studying them—always wondering if that person was his father, or related to him in some way. He’d constructed so many fantasies as a child, each more farfetched than the last, and yet none had been as out there as the truth.

‘Then, when I was trying to figure out a way to persuade Don Carlos to reconsider my credentials, something clicked in my brain and I remembered that I had seen you years ago at some party. I knew exactly who you were. After that it was easy to make sure.’

Cora inhaled a deep breath. Her face was still leeched of colour but she managed a shrug. ‘OK. Fine. I’m Lady Cora Derwent.’

Her voice was tight, but he could hear the supressed hurt mixed with a tangible anger.

‘I still don’t see how that helps you. I’m a lady, not a magician. I can’t convince Don Carlos that your lifestyle is moral and upright. It wouldn’t wash—the Duque de Aiza won’t listen to me. I don’t even get why you would want him to. Why not tell him to shove his stupid hidebound ideas? I wouldn’t have the nerve, but I’m pretty sure that you do.’

‘An enticing option, but that wouldn’t get me the vineyard.’

‘Surely there are other vineyards?’

‘True. But not that many are for sale—plus, the Duque de Aiza made it more than clear that he would consider selling to the right sort of person.’ With the right sort of blood. The supreme irony had nearly made him laugh out loud. ‘Let’s say this is the optimum vineyard, and therefore I am prepared to go the extra mile to get it.’

‘Well, I’m not.’ The scrape of her chair on the terracotta mosaic indicated that as far as she was concerned this lunch was over.

‘Wait. You haven’t even heard what I want you to do. Or what the salary is.’

Her blue eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not for sale, Rafael, and neither is my title.’

‘Do you agree with Don Carlos?’

For a second he thought she would fling the wine at him.

‘Of course I don’t. In fact I can’t stand the man.’

‘So you know him?’

‘My family knows him. I went to his grandson’s wedding a year or two back. Alvaro.’

Rafael froze—it took every ounce of his iron control to keep his face neutral, to keep the questions from spewing forth. Cora had met Alvaro—his half-brother—and Juanita his half-sister. She might have spoken with Ramon. His father. No—the heir to a Spanish dukedom wasn’t his father in any way that counted. The man had abandoned him without mercy.

He blinked, suddenly aware of Cora’s eyes on him, a look of assessment in their turquoise depths.

Cool it, Rafael. Focus on Cora.

‘So if you can’t stand him why won’t you help me? Help the Martinez-Caversham venture? This vineyard is important.’

‘I really don’t see what I could do even if I wanted to help. Truly, he won’t listen to me.’

Rafael inhaled deeply and said the words he had never in his wildest dreams thought he would utter. ‘I want you to marry me.’

CHAPTER FOUR

MARRY RAFAEL? THE IDEA was so ludicrous, so incongruous, so impossible that Cora could only stare at him, her brain unable to co-ordinate with her vocal cords or inform her feet to get her the heck out of there. Forget the Spanish mafia—Rafael Martinez was obviously nuts. Loop the loop. A few bricks, a bucket of cement and shedload of mortar short of a wall.

Then anger rushed in on a tide of outrage. ‘Is this your idea of a joke?’ Or some kind of mad reality TV show in which billionaires humiliated the aristocracy.

‘Of course it isn’t a joke. I’d be up the creek without a paddle if you agreed.’

There was near amusement in the rich treacle of his voice.

‘There is no danger of that because of course I’m not going to agree. I mean... I—’ Curiosity broke through and surfaced through the haze of anger. ‘Why? Why would you even suggest something so insane?’

‘Because I think marrying you will change Don Carlos’s mind.’

‘I told you that I am not for sale. Nor is my title. End of.’

Finally her body caught up with events and she pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. Tried to ignore the stew of hurt that bubbled under the broth of rage. There was no need for hurt. Why should she care that Rafael Martinez was only after her title? But somehow the idea he would marry her for it made her feel....icky.

‘Wait.’

The word was a command.

‘Please.’

The second word was a concession that didn’t so much as make her pause.

‘The answer is no.’

‘I will pay you a substantial salary.’

Without hesitation he named an amount of money that boggled her mind. Shame trickled through her veins as the words resonated in her brain and flooded her with temptation. The figure of her debt flashed in neon colours—and the yoke of guilt relaxed its hold on her for a heartbeat. The salary he proposed would nearly wipe out the amount she owed her parents. Could be put towards the flood repairs on Derwent Manor. Then pride stiffened her spine. There was no universe in any parallel existence where this marriage could take place.

‘Still no. The whole idea is ludicrous.’

To say nothing of stupid. And yet Rafael Martinez was many things...unscrupulous, arrogant...but he wasn’t stupid.

‘Wrong. This idea is an opportunity. For both of us.’ He leant back and looked up at her, seemingly at ease with their positions. ‘If I marry you Don Carlos will see that I have changed my lifestyle. He will also, I think, be happy to sell his vineyard to Lady Cora Derwent’s husband. After all, the Derwent blood is as noble as his.’

Cora frowned at the note of bitterness in the honey of his voice. ‘You want a vineyard so much that you are willing to get married? Doesn’t that strike you as a little over the top?’

‘No. And I am not proposing we stay married. Once the knot is tied I will move full speed ahead to secure the deal.’