Passionate Protection Page 2

  'You mean to tell me you actually agreed to go. and see this impetuous Romeo on your cousin's behalf?' Colin expostulated three days later when she explained to him that she would like to add a couple of extra days' holiday to their trip to Spain. 'Can't she do her own dirty work?'

  'Not in this case,' Jessica assured him, quick outlining the facts. 'And of course, I do speak Spanish.'

  In actual fact she spoke several foreign languages. They were her hobby and she seemed to have a flair for them.

  'Well, I can see that nothing I can say is going to cure you of this protective attitude towards your family,' Colin admitted. 'All I can say is— thank God I don't have one!'

  'And my extra days' holiday?'

  'They're yours,' he agreed. 'Although I'd much rather see you spend them on yourself than squander them on young Isabel. She's a leech, Jess, and she'll suck you dry if you let her. You must see that, so why?'

  'She's family,' Jessica said simply. 'She and my aunt and uncle are all I have left.'

  Often she had wondered after her parents' shocking deaths if the accident had somehow not only robbed her of her mother and father, but her ability to love as well, because ever since then she had held the world at a distance, almost as though she was afraid of letting people get too close to her; afraid that she might come to depend on them and that she would ultimately lose them.

  Seville was a city that appealed strongly to the senses. Jessica fell in love with it almost from the moment she stepped off the plane into the benevolent spring sunshine. Madrid was more properly the home of Spanish commerce, and Jessica had been there on several previous occasions, but Seville was new territory to her. Initially she had been surprised when Isabel told her that Jorge lived in Seville; she had expected to find him somewhere on the Costa Brava, but Isabel had told her that Jorge had been holidaying like herself at the time they met. Colin, running true to form, had insisted on her staying at the hotel the extra few days at his expense, and although Jessica had demurred, he had insisted, and in the end she had given way. Knowing Colin, the hotel he would have chosen would be far more luxurious than anything she could have afforded, and this supposition was proved correct when her taxi drew up outside an impressive Baroque building. Her fluent Spanish brought a swift smile to the face of the girl behind the reception desk, and in no time at all she was stepping out of the lift behind the porter carrying her case and waiting while he unlocked the door to her room.

  The hotel had obviously once been a huge private house, and had been converted tastefully and carefully. Jessica's room had views over the city; the furniture, although reproduction, was beautifully made and totally in keeping with the age and character of the room. There was a bathroom off it, rather more opulent than she would have expected in the hotel's British equivalent, a swift reminder that this part of the world had once been ruled by the Moors, who had left behind them a love of luxury and a sensuality that had been passed down through the generations.

  Once she had unpacked Jessica went down to the foyer, where she had seen some guide books and maps on sale. The evening meal, as she was already aware, was the all-important meal in the Spanish home, and she wanted to make sure that her visit to Jorge did not clash with this.

  As she had suspected, the receptionist was able to confirm that in Seville it was the general rule to eat later in the evening—normally about ten o'clock—which gave her the remainder of the afternoon and the early evening to make her visit, Jessica decided.

  She had already formulated a plan of action. First she intended to discover if Jorge's family were listed in the telephone directory. If they were she would telephone and ask when she might call, if not she would simply have to call unannounced.

  She lunched lightly in the hotel's restaurant— soup, followed by prawn salad, and then went up to her room to study the telephone directory. There were several Calvadores listed in the book, but none under Jorge's address, and Jessica was forced to the reluctant conclusion that she would simply have to call unannounced.

  A call to the reception desk organised a taxi to take her to her destination. She showered and changed into soft jade green silk separates, from Colin's new range; a pleated skirt that swirled softly round her legs and a blouson top with full sleeves caught up in tight cuffs. The colour suited her, Jessica knew, and to complement it she brushed toning jade eye-shadow over her lids, thickening and darkening her lashes discreetly with mascara.

  Soft kid sandals of jade, blue and cerise completed her outfit. It was warm enough for her to be able to dispense with a jacket, and she was just flicking a comb through the silken length of her hair when her phone buzzed and the receptionist announced that her taxi had arrived. Because she spoke Spanish so well, Jessica had no qualms about giving the driver instructions herself, but she began to wonder if, after all, she had made some mistake, when they drove into what was obviously a very luxurious and exclusive part of the city. Imposing buildings lined the streets, here and there an iron grille giving a tantalising view of the gardens beyond. Fretworked balconies and shutters lured the eye, but Jessica was left with an overall impression of solitude and privacy strictly guarded, so that it was almost as though the buildings themselves seemed to resent her intrusion.

  At last the taxi stopped, and rather hesitantly she asked him if he could return for her in half an hour. That surely would give her sufficient time to explain the situation to Jorge? She only prayed that he was in!

  Quickly checking the address Isabel had written down on the scrap of paper she had given her, she climbed unsteadily out of the car and glanced hesitantly at the imposing frontage of the building. There was no need for her to feel nervous, she reassured herself; the building, impressive though its outward appearance was, probably housed dozens of small apartments. However, when she reached the top of the small flight of stone steps there was simply one bell. She pressed it and heard the faint ringing somewhere deep in the recesses of the building. An aeon seemed to pass before she heard sounds of movement behind the large studded door.

  Honestly, it was almost like something out of a horror movie! she reflected as the door swung back, creaking on its hinges.

  The man who stood there had 'upper class servant' stamped all over his impassive countenance. He looked disapprovingly at Jessica for several seconds and appeared to be on the point of closing the door in her face when she babbled quickly, 'My name is Jessica James and I've come to see Senor Calvadores. Is he at home?'

  The man seemed to consider her for an age before grudgingly opening the door wide enough for her to step into a hallway large enough to hold her entire flat. The floor was tiled with the famous azulejo tiles, so beautiful that she almost caught her breath in pleasure. If only Colin could see these! The colours were fantastic, shading from softest blue to a rich deep azure.

  'If the senorita will please wait,' the manservant imurmured, opening another door and indicating that Jessica was to precede him into the room. Like the hall, it was enormous, furnished in what she felt sure must be priceless antiques.Whoever Jorge was, he quite obviously was not a poor man, she reflected, gazing in awe at her surroundings.

  'Senorita James?' he repeated slowly. 'I will see if el Senor Conde can see you.'

  'El Senor Conde!' Jessica stared after his departing back. Isabel had said nothing to her about a title. What was the matter with her? she asked herself sardonically several seconds later; surely she wasn't impressed by something as outmoded as an inherited title? She, who had always despised those who fawned on the county and titled set, because of who they were rather than what they were!

  She was lost in a deep study of a portrait above the fireplace—a Spanish don of the seventeenth century if she was any judge, formidable and with a magnetism that refused to be confined to the canvas—when she heard footsteps outside the door, firmer and far more decisive than the manservant's. She felt herself tense. Now that the moment was almost upon her she felt ridiculously nervous. What on earth was she going to say? H
ow could she simply say baldly that Isabel no longer wanted him; and that in fact he was an embarrassment to her, now that she was on the verge of becoming engaged to another man.

  The door opened and the man who stood there took her breath away. Her first impression was that he was impossibly arrogant, standing there staring down the length of his aristocratic nose at her, his lean jaw tensing, as though he was controlling a fierce anger. Ice-cold grey eyes flicked disparagingly over her, the aquiline profile inclining slightly in an acknowledgement of her presence, which was more of an insult than a courtesy.

  He was tall, far taller than she had expected, his hair dark, sleek as raven's feathers, and worn slightly long, curling over the pure silk collar of a shirt she was sure had been handmade especially for him.

  Everything about this man whispered discreetly of wealth and prestige, and never in a million years could Jessica imagine him holidaying on the Costa Brava and indulging in a holiday romance with her cousin.

  For one thing, he must be almost twice Isabel's age—certainly in his early thirties—and nothing about him suggested the type of man who needed the admiration of a very young girl to boost his ego. This man did not need any woman; his very stance suggested an arrogant pride which would never admit to any need of any kind. He was the result of centuries of wealth and breeding of a type found almost exclusively in the great Spanish families, and Jessica felt her blood run cold at the thought of telling him that her cousin had decided she preferred someone else.

  'Senorita James?'

  He spoke perfect accentless English, his voice clipped and cool, and yet despite his outward control, Jessica sensed that beneath the ice-cold surface raged a molten torrent of barely held in rage. But why? Or had he guessed her purpose in coming? This man was no fool, surely he must have realised from the recent tone of Isabel's letters how the land lay?

  'Senor Calvadores?'

  Her voice was no way as controlled as his, and she had the dismal conviction that he knew he had unnerved her and that he deliberately intended to.

  It was obvious that he didn't intend to make things easy for her. So much for Spanish hospitality! Jessica thought indignantly. He hadn't even offered her so much as a cup of coffee. Well, there was nothing for it but to plunge in; there was no easy way to say what had to be said, and all she wanted to do now was to say her piece and make her escape. His attitude and hauteur had killed all the sympathy she had initially felt towards him. Never in a thousand years could she imagine her flighty young cousin holding her own against this man whose very stance exuded an arrogant contempt that filled the air around them.

  'I've come to see you about…'

  'I know what you've come to see me about, Miss James,' he cut in brutally, not allowing her to finish, 'and no doubt you want me to make things easy for you. No doubt you hoped to sway me with your large, worried eyes, no doubt you've been led to believe that I can be persuaded to give way. Unfortunately—for you—that is not to be. To put it in its simplest form, Miss James, and having seen you for myself, having had confirmed every one of my very worst fears—that is to say, having seen for myself that you are a young woman who likes expensive clothes, and doubtless everything that goes with them; that you are at a guess somewhere in your mid-twenties; that you are bold enough to come here demanding to see me; there is simply no way I shall allow you to ruin my brother's life by trapping him into marriage simply because of an affair you had with him several months ago!'

  Jessica was totally lost for words. His brother, he had said. That meant he wasn't—couldn't be Jorge de Calvadores, but he obviously thought she was Isabel. She was on the verge of correcting him when she realised what else he had said. 'An affair'. Isabel had said nothing about an affair to her; indeed, Isabel had given her the distinct impression that Jorge was the one pressing her into an unwanted engagement, whereas his brother seemed to think the boot was very much on the other foot. Clearly there were some misunderstandings to be sorted out!

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWO

  She took a deep breath, wondering where to begin. Perhaps if she were to explain to him first that she wasn't Isabel. How contemptuous he had been about her cousin! He really was insufferably proud and arrogant; she didn't like him at all, she decided, eyeing him militantly.

  She opened her mouth to explain, but was stunned into silence by the cynical way he was looking at her; a way no man had ever looked at her before, she realised, feeling the heat rising through her body. His study was an openly sexual one, and not merely sexual but contemptuous. Dear God, it could have been Isabel exposed to that merciless scrutiny that made no allowance for feminine modesty or embarrassment! And she had thought Spaniards were supposed to be reticent, cultured and, above all, respectful to women!

  'You don't understand,' she began shakily when she had recovered her composure, anger fanned into tiny, darting flames by the look she had seen in his eyes.

  'On the contrary, I understand all too well,' came the crisp response.'Dios, do you not think I know what goes on at these holiday resorts?' His finely cut mouth curled sneeringly downwards. 'You must have thought yourself extremely fortunate to meet a young man as wealthy and unworldly as my young brother, but unfortunately for you, Jorge does not come into his inheritance for half a dozen more years, when he reaches his twenty-fifth birthday. Until then I stand guardian to him, and you may take it that I shall do everything in my power to free him from your clutches. I must say I am surprised at your coming here,' he added. 'I thought Jorge had already made it clear to you that the affair was over. You should have persuaded him to pay for his pleasure at the time, Miss James,' he told her contemptuously. 'Now it is too late; now he sees you for what you really are.' His lip curled, and Jessica went hot and cold to think of Isabel being forced to stand here and listen to these insults.

  'Your brother loved m-my… me,' she corrected herself hurriedly. 'He…'

  '—Desired your body,' she was told flatly, 'and in his innocence mistook such desire for a far different emotion—a fact which you used to your advantage, using his lust for you to force him…'

  'Just a moment!' she inserted, with a sudden resurgence of her normal coolness. 'If you are implying that Jorge was forced into…'

  'Oh, I am aware that there was no question of "force" as such,' the icy voice agreed. 'Bemused, dazzled, dragged out of his depth—these would perhaps be better descriptions. You are an attractive woman,' he told her, openly assessing the shape of her body beneath the thin silk, 'not perhaps in Jorge's usual style, but no matter… Of course I realise why you are here. I suppose you thought that a personal appearance might be just the goad he needed. Absence makes the heart grow fonder—of someone else, is that it?'

  Matters had gone far enough. There was a limit to the amount of time she intended to simply stand there and allow him to insult her.

  'Before we go any further, I ought to tell you that I have no desire at all to become engaged to your brother,' Jessica told him truthfully, 'In fact

  'Oh, come, you cannot expect me to believe that?' he said softly. 'Perhaps I should refresh your memory. I have here your last letter to Jorge. He brought it to me in a very troubled frame of mind. It seems that while he enjoyed your… company, the constant pressure you put on him to announce your engagement has panicked him into confiding in me.'

  'You having considerable experience of ridding yourself of unwanted women, I suppose?' Jessica supplied sweetly. 'One of the penalties of being wealthy!'

  The dark flush of colour beneath his skin brought her a fierce sense of satisfaction. He hadn't liked her implication that women would only find him attractive for his wealth, and she knew it wasn't true. He was too intensely male for that. She found herself wondering if he was married, and then squashed the thought as being of no concern to her.

  'You must accept that Jorge no longer wishes to have anything to do with you,' she was told implacably, 'and even if he did, I would do everything in my power to dissuade him from marr
ying a woman like you. What attracted you to him the most? Or can I guess?'

  'If you did you'd be wrong,' Jessica told him in a clipped voice. 'As I've already said, I have no desire to marry your brother.'

  'No?' With a swift movement he reached inside his jacket and removed a folded piece of paper. 'Read this—perhaps it will help you remember,' he said contemptuously.

  Unwillingly Jessica took the letter, her fingertips brushing his as she did, strange quivers of sensation running up her arm as she recoiled from the brief contact.

  Matters had gone far enough. She would have to tell him the truth. She opened the letter, and her heart dropped. She had barely done more than read the first couple of lines, skimming quickly over them, but it was enough to bring a burning colour to her face. Isabel and Jorge had been lovers—that much was obvious; as was Isabel's impassioned plea for Jorge to marry her. What on earth had possessed her cousin to write a letter like this? Jessica felt sick at the thought of her aunt and uncle reading it; and what about John? Why on earth hadn't Isabel warned her? And why had she been so convinced that Jorge intended to come to England? To judge from his brother, the young Spaniard wanted to escape from the relationship just as much as Isabel herself.

  'Edifying, is it not?' her persecutor drawled insultingly. 'And I understand from Jorge— although he was reluctant to admit it—that he was far from being your first lover.'

  Jessica's eyes widened, mirroring her shock. Was it true?

  'So, obviously realising that your letter had failed, you decided to come in person. Why, I wonder? It must surely be obvious to you by now that Jorge does not wish to marry you.'

  What on earth had Isabel got her into?

  For a moment she contemplated telling the truth, but to do so meant betraying her cousin. She had protected Isabel for too long to stop now.

  'Perhaps, failing marriage, you had something else in mind?' The soft suggestion held a trace of bitter contempt. 'I know Jorge has told you of the marriage his family had hoped might take place between him and the daughter of a close friend of ours—a marriage, I might add, which would stand a far greater chance of success than the one you proposed. Perhaps you hoped to turn this fact to your advantage. Barbara's family are very old-fashioned. They would be intolerant of any folly on Jorge's part.'