Mary Lyons - Their Convenient Marriage

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.

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PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

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…

‘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.’