His response was to shake his head, smiling in a way that made her both embarrassed and uncertain. ‘Aye, that’s what he’d like the world to believe, for it is not the done thing, is it, for a man to admit he’s in thrall to his wife? You are not the only one in this household to lead a double life.’

Was he right? Certainly, Consuela had said that she loved Xavier, but Isabella had assumed she meant in a—a wifely way. A dutiful way. She had assumed that Consuela was as bloodless as—well, as bloodless as Isabella assumed a dutiful Spanish wife would be. She had assumed that there was nothing more to Consuela than the blank, cold, demure facade she presented, until Finlay suggested she look again.

‘You must think me very arrogant,’ she said, turning away from him, feeling very small. ‘It is no wonder that Consuela wishes to replace me with one of her own sisters. I have made no attempt to get to know her. Worse, I have assumed there was nothing worth knowing.’

‘Now you’re being daft.’ Finlay caught her shoulder, turning her back around to face him. ‘Look at all this,’ he said, waving at the stack of drying pamphlets. ‘You’ve been carrying the burden of El Fantasma for two years all alone, fighting for more years than that for your country. You’d be more than entitled to boast about what you’ve achieved, instead of which, what you’re concerned about is not having done enough.’

‘That is no excuse. Consuela is family.’

‘That’s true. She’s your brother’s wife, which makes her, in the way of things, above you in the hierarchy. Has she made any attempt to understand you? Has she confided in you?’

‘No, but...’

‘You were here first. That’s not Consuela’s fault, but your brother must have known you had the running of the place while he was off at the war. Has he tried to understand your feelings?’

‘He has tried to marry me off to his best friend. In Xavier’s eyes, that is taking care of me, I suppose, though I doubt very much if Gabriel would be so eager to offer for me if he knew his new bride was El Fantasma.’

She meant it as a poor attempt at a joke, but Finlay did not smile. ‘Is that what you’re thinking? To give it up and marry Torres?’

‘No.’ Her denial took her aback, for her tone was quite decisive. Was it only a few days ago, she had been contemplating quite the opposite?

‘Why not?’ Finlay spoke sharply.

Isabella shook her head in confusion. ‘I can’t,’ she said, again with absolute certainly. ‘If I told him the truth he would not wish to marry me, and if I married him I could not tell him the truth.’

It was a perfectly logical, perfectly reasonable, perfectly honourable response. Finlay looked unconvinced. ‘If you loved him...’

‘That has nothing to do with it. Consuela assures me that I would, after we were married but—you know this is none of your business, Finlay.’

‘Far be it for me to contradict your sister-in-law,’ he continued, ignoring her. ‘It may be true that love follows the wedding vows, but I reckon there has to be something there first of all.’

‘What something?’

‘A wee spark. Do you think of kissing him? Do you imagine making love to him?’

‘No!’ A lie. More accurately, she had tried and failed. She prayed that her flush of embarrassment could be attributed to the heat from the press. ‘It is not possible to imagine what one has not experienced. As you have pointed out on several occasions, I am a virgin,’ she said baldly.

‘It didn’t stop your imagination a wee minute ago.’

‘What...?’

‘When I said you were not a dinner, but a banquet.’ Finlay’s eyes were alight with devilment once more. ‘What was it that you imagined?’

‘Nothing. I have no idea what you meant by it.’

‘One of the problems I have with you is that I look at you and I have far too many ideas.’

Her skin was tingling. The tingling was spreading. ‘What kind of ideas?’

‘Indecent ones. Ideas I couldn’t possibly put into words.’

Finlay’s upper lip was beaded with sweat. It took Isabella’s every ounce of self-restraint not to lick it. His cheeks were high with colour. She could see his chest moving under his sweat-damped shirt. Was his heart beating as fast as hers? Did he ache, as she did, for the touch of his skin on hers? She would not make the first move. She could not bear it if he did not. ‘If not words, what about actions?’ Isabella asked. ‘An appetiser, perhaps?’

‘This sort of thing, do you mean?’ He kissed her. A fleeting, soft and utterly delicious kiss, his tongue licking into the corner of her mouth, his hand resting lightly on her breast, and then she was free.

‘I believe it is customary to serve more than one appetiser at a banquet.’ Surrendering to temptation, Isabella licked the sweat from his upper lip, allowing her breasts to brush fleetingly against his chest.

Finlay moaned and kissed her ardently. ‘That’s the problem with an appetiser,’ he said, gently easing her away.

Isabella looked at him blankly.

‘It leaves one wanting more. A great deal more.’ He checked his pocket watch and picked up his waistcoat. ‘Talking of appetites, I think it would be prudent if we both cleaned off all this rather incriminating ink before joining Consuela for dinner.’

‘Yes, of course. Dinner,’ Isabella said. But her thoughts were not of food.



Chapter Seven

‘I thought I might show you a little more of our beautiful countryside today,’ Isabella said, ‘since I think it would be unwise for me to take you to visit Estebe as Xavier requested. Your knowledge of wine is so sparse, he would be suspicious of you within a few minutes. If Xavier asks, we will need to concoct a story to explain why we—’

‘Is your brother due back today?’ Finlay interrupted.

‘No, but when he does return, we need to have a plausible explanation for not visiting Estebe. Xavier will be most displeased that I have disobeyed his direct instructions.’

‘I am not planning to be here when your brother returns.’ Finlay was not planning to be here beyond tomorrow, and he was not planning to leave alone, either, though it was clear that his plans and Isabella’s did not currently coincide.

Her face had fallen momentarily at his terse tone, but she recovered with a determined smile. ‘I did not think you would go so far as to place an order for Xavier’s precious Rioja that would not be fulfilled, but as he is not likely to be home for a few days yet, you do not have to rush off on his account.’

‘Isabella, it’s not your brother I’m worried about.’

‘No, but—you did not expect to find El Fantasma so quickly, did you? I mean, if you had not found me, or if I could not lead you to him, or if it turned out that I could, but it took some time to arrange—’ She broke off, looking flustered. ‘What I mean is, you must have anticipated having to spend a considerable amount of time in Spain searching for El Fantasma. Having achieved your objective with relative ease, why not reward yourself with a tiny hiatus from your duties as a soldier while the opportunity presents itself? You must admit, the Hermoso Romero estate is a beguiling place.’

She was blushing. She looked so enchanting, it was all Finlay could do to stop himself from leaning across the breakfast table to kiss her. Of course, he knew she was not indifferent to him, and he was certainly not indifferent to her, but he suspected that their mutual attraction was more to do with the heightened tension of the situation they found themselves in than anything else.

Still, he wished she hadn’t dangled further temptation in front of him. He took a sip of coffee and took another, unwanted, slice of cured ham. Señora Romero had not joined them this morning, leaving them to breakfast alone. There was something very appealing in looking at Isabella across the breakfast cups. She would be even more appealing if they were taking breakfast together in their bedchamber, her hair down, wearing a lacy gown and nothing else. He had always been a man who preferred to contemplate the forthcoming day in solitude, but...

What the devil was he thinking of? ‘It is indeed a beguiling place, but not as beguiling as one of its inhabitants. However,’ Finlay added quickly, ‘I’m here on a mission, not on holiday, and my objective is far from achieved.’ Ach! Now Isabella looked as if he’d slapped her. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he added, softening his tone, ‘why don’t we ride out, like you suggest? We need to talk, but there’s no necessity for us to do it here. A good gallop and some fresh air would be most welcome.’

‘I would like that. I know some lovely spots hereabouts. But as for needing to talk, I’m afraid there is nothing to discuss, Finlay. We must agree to differ.’ She crossed her arms, looking mulish. ‘I am not in need of rescue. I told you...’

‘And I listened. Now it’s your turn to listen to me. No,’ he said, when she opened her mouth to protest again, ‘you’re not being fair. You’ve had your say, now it’s only right that you let me have mine.’

‘The world is not a fair place.’

‘Doesn’t El Fantasma advocate free speech for all and a fair hearing?’

She laughed, holding up her hands in surrender. ‘You use my own rhetoric against me! I call that very unfair, indeed. But all is fair in love and war, that is what you will say, no? I shall go and change. Meet me at the stables in half an hour.’

He caught her arm as she made for the door. ‘We’re not at war, Isabella.’

‘No.’

Their eyes met and held. Her mouth softened into a sensual curve. The urge to touch her, to kiss her, simply to hold her tightly against him was so strong, it almost overpowered him. ‘No,’ Finlay said, letting her go, ‘we are not at war.’

As to the other, he thought, as the door closed behind her, he would be a fool to contemplate it. And Major Finlay Urquhart had never been guilty of being a fool.