That brazen claim hit home and outrage powered through Antonio. ‘You did…what?’ he raked at her in raw disbelief.
The atmosphere could have been cut with a knife and Sophie was so nervous she was trembling. Forced to defend her story, she paled. ‘You’ve been around,’ she muttered in haste. ‘So I reckoned you’d make the experience reasonably pleasant…and you did. Can we drop the subject now?’
Antonio might have dismissed that fantastic claim had he not remembered her walking in to join him clad only in a towel and then virtually luring him down into the cushions. Scorching golden eyes lit on her like lightning bolts. ‘You selected me like some kind of stud to have sex with you?’
‘Look, least said, soonest mended,’ Sophie mumbled, hot-cheeked, while wishing that she had come up with a less inflammatory story.
In a towering rage, Antonio sprang out of bed and began to get dressed at speed.
The intense claustrophobic silence intimidated and frightened Sophie.
‘Antonio—?’
‘Silencio!’ His tone of derisive distaste sliced back at her, his lean, darkly handsome face grim. ‘I had begun to think of you as my wife. Qué risa…what a laugh! I won’t make that mistake again. I may have misjudged you the night after your sister’s wedding, but you think like a slut and behave like one. It will be a cold day in hell before I share a bed with you again!’
All the colour bled from Sophie’s heart-shaped face. ‘Don’t be like that. Stop being so angry with me—’
‘What else did you expect? Approval?’ Antonio dealt her a chilling appraisal. ‘Your standards are not mine. From now on, we stick to the deal we agreed.’
Her hands were shaking. She had really offended him. She spun away so that he could no longer see her shaken face. Her eyes were hot and scratchy with tears and she was stiff with shock. It was better this way, she told herself wretchedly. They should not have gone to bed together. She should have had more self-control. Almost three years back she had listened to Pablo talking enviously at his own wedding about his older brother’s phenomenal success with women. Naturally the act of sex would be a minor event to a guy like Antonio. Women were too easily available to him and who valued what was not in short supply? But what she could not bear was that Antonio should be so angry with her that he thought badly of her and condemned her for thinking like a slut.
She locked herself in the bathroom and studied herself with tear-filled eyes of pain and regret. If only the dream could have lasted a little longer, if only she had not settled on that stupid, shameless story of having slept with him purely to get rid of her virginity. Why had he believed that? Didn’t he know how irresistible she found him? But when and how had she forgotten that he had only married her in the first place so that she could take care of Lydia? She had promised to leave him free to live exactly as he pleased. That recollection suddenly became the source of deep distress.
After a very poor night’s sleep, Sophie got up soon after seven the next morning: Lydia would be awake and looking for her. She was really disconcerted to find Antonio in the nursery. He had Lydia in his arms and he was talking to her in soft Spanish.
Sophie hovered, determined to take the opportunity to clear the air between them. ‘I wasn’t expecting to find you in here.’
His keen dark-as-midnight eyes were level, his lean bronzed features unreadable. ‘I thought I ought to say goodbye to Lydia—’
‘Goodbye…you’re going somewhere?’ Sophie interrupted in dismay. ‘Thanks for not waking me!’
The instant she made that crack she regretted it, for even to her own ears it sounded juvenile.
‘I saw no reason to disturb you this early. I intended to phone later,’ Antonio imparted with unassailable assurance. ‘I have business to take care of. I had hoped to take a couple of days off and remain here, but it is not to be.’
Sophie had become very pale and tense. ‘When will you be back?’
‘I’m not quite sure,’ he admitted calmly. ‘I’m flying to Japan and then on to New York. After that, I must attend to matters in Madrid.’
‘Antonio…’ Hurt and disappointment and frustration were roaring through Sophie’s slight frame. ‘Don’t you think we should talk?’
‘I think that all that needed to be said was said last night,’ Antonio countered with chillingly courteous finality.
Pride and intense insecurity silenced the apologetic tale of woe and explanation on Sophie’s lips. She had met with rejection and disillusionment too often in life to deliberately court them. Why had she assumed that he would even be interested in what she had to say? After all, she was not an important element in Antonio’s exclusive world. Why risk exposing herself to more of his contempt? If he was still angry with her, she reasoned unhappily, maybe it was better to let the dust settle for a couple of weeks before tackling him again.
‘Buenos días, Sophie.’ Doña Ernesta walked out onto the shaded upstairs loggia where Sophie was sewing while Lydia played on a rug at her feet. ‘You must be the most industrious bride ever to enter this family. You are always at work.’
‘But this isn’t work…it’s enjoyment.’ As she placed a stitch in the fabric stretched over her embroidery frame Sophie glanced up. ‘I’m not used to being lazy.’
‘May I see your embroidery?’
Sophie obliged.
The old lady sighed in admiration over the intricate stitches and the fluid pattern of leaves and birds. ‘You must know that this is work of an exceptional standard. You are extremely talented. Who taught you? Was it your mother?’
‘I never knew my mother. It was a neighbour I used to visit as a child.’ Sophie’s eyes clouded with sadness as she remembered the elderly woman who had given her a much needed creative outlet. The chance to escape the noisy chaos of her father’s home and visit, however briefly, a peaceful, organised household had been equally welcome. ‘She taught me to sew when I was four years old and I was still learning from her ten years later when she died.’
‘You must have been a rewarding pupil. Perhaps some day you will consider taking a textile conservation course.’ Doña Ernesta lifted Lydia up onto her lap, smiling down at her great granddaughter with unconcealed pleasure. ‘There are many very old pieces of needlework here which would benefit from your attention.’
‘Even if I did a course, I don’t think Antonio would want me touching family heirlooms,’ Sophie muttered awkwardly.
Her companion regarded her in surprise. ‘But you are a part of this family now.’
A maid arrived with a tray. ‘I asked for English tea,’ Doña Ernesta confided. ‘And scones.’
At the old lady’s request, Sophie poured the tea into fine china cups. Over the past week an increasing number of Antonio’s relations and neighbours had made formal visits to meet Sophie and Doña Ernesta had been very supportive. Indeed the older woman was clearly intent on getting to know her grandson’s wife. Sophie felt guilty that her own unhappiness was making it hard for her to respond with greater cheer to Doña Ernesta’s more forthcoming manner.
‘Have you heard from Antonio?’ Doña Ernesta enquired gently.
Feeling very vulnerable, Sophie reddened. ‘No…not for a couple of days.’
‘He must be exceptionally busy,’ Doña Ernesta immediately assured her in a soothing manner.
But with whom was Antonio busy? Sophie wondered wretchedly before she could suppress that unproductive thought. What was the point of tormenting herself? She had no control over what Antonio did. The sick sense of misery that she had been