‘You’d be insane to turn me down,’ Antonio asserted, examining the arrangement from every angle and more and more impressed by his own creative ingenuity.
He believed that it was as close to perfect as a solution could be. Even so it would only be a temporary solution and he would have to have a watertight pre-nuptial contract drawn up. Sophie, however, would have no illusions as to the nature of their agreement. She would make her home on his country estate and take full charge of their niece and his conscience could be easy. As soon as he had learned that Sophie was infertile, he had known that it would be indescribably cruel to deprive her of Lydia. But only by marrying Sophie would he be able to watch over the child’s interests without being unduly troubled by further responsibility.
His grandmother, however, might well be aghast when Sophie, with her poor background and education, became his bride, but Doña Ernesta was a strong woman and she would get over her disappointment. The rest of the family and his friends would be shocked as well. Always an individual, he decided he could live with that. In any case he was finally willing to recall just how many people had been charmed by Sophie’s vivacity when they had met her in Spain. Doña Ernesta would very probably take charge of her and teach her anything she needed to know. His grandparent would also benefit from having full access to Pablo’s daughter without the burden of having to worry about the quality of the child’s care.
Sophie stared up at Antonio in unconcealed wonderment. He was asking her to marry him so that he could offer her a home with Lydia in Spain. It certainly would be a marriage of convenience, she thought breathlessly, for she could not imagine two people with less in common. Yet it was also a very practical answer to the problem of Lydia’s future welfare. Even so, she was still amazed that he should be willing to marry her for Lydia’s sake and that he should have come up with that idea quite so quickly.
‘Dios mio! Say yes and let’s get off the beach,’ Antonio urged with masculine impatience.
Sophie blinked. ‘You can’t just throw something like that at me and expect—?’
Antonio dealt her a bold look of challenge. ‘Why shouldn’t I expect an immediate positive response? You’re cleaning floors to put food on the table. You live in a home with wheels under it and it’s so shabby you won’t let me see it. I have offered you a ticket out of hell.’
Sophie reddened and shifted worriedly off one foot onto the other. ‘It’s not that simple…this isn’t hell—’
In the cool breeze, Antonio suppressed a shiver: he was freezing. He looked out at the grey sea under the grey sky and then down at the even duller shingle below his feet. ‘It is by my standards.’
‘But you’re rich and spoilt—’
‘Wouldn’t you like to be rich and spoilt too?’ Antonio murmured smooth as silk, planting a lean brown hand to her narrow back to gently press her back towards the path.
‘I can’t imagine being rich…but I think I’d like being spoilt,’ Sophie confided tightly. ‘Is this a joke? Or are you serious?’
‘If you can accept a marriage that has a finish date in sight and a husband who is a free agent, I’m serious.’
A husband who was a free agent was a contradiction in terms, Sophie reflected abstractedly. Her head was buzzing with too many thoughts at once. She was astonished, fearful, excited, distrustful and confused all at one and the same time. But she had not been exaggerating when she had said that there was nothing she would not do to be with Lydia.
Marry Antonio? Learn how to be a demure wife? Overlook his infidelity? Her gut reactions warned her that that was wrong and absolutely against her own principles. But then she reminded herself that Antonio was not suggesting a normal marriage. She could scarcely apply the usual moral standards to an arrangement that he had referred to as a ‘deal.’ A wholly self-centred deal calculated to cause the least possible interference with his enjoyment of his life, she conceded ruefully. But how could she blame him for that? His lack of interest in being a proper parent to Lydia was the only reason he was willing to make it possible for Sophie to continue filling that role for their niece’s benefit.
‘You have until tonight to decide your answer. I’ll send the limo to pick you up and bring you back to my hotel for dinner.’ Having reached the top of the path, Antonio was already signalling his chauffeur to indicate his readiness to depart.
Sophie could not help recalling the heady few minutes on the beach when Antonio had awarded her his full attention. That kiss had rocked her world. Now his spectacular dark golden eyes were cool and distant again. His indifference was a slap in the face, a rejection as much as an acknowledgement that their kiss had not been equally special on his terms. In comparison, Sophie was all too well aware that for her the kiss had been seriously addictive stuff. Just thinking about that wicked blaze of excitement made her feel incredibly hot and quivery and very unwilling to look at him.
‘What time?’ she asked, striving to match his cool with her own.
‘Eight.’
‘I don’t have anything fancy to wear,’ she warned him.
‘It’s not a problem. We’ll dine in my suite.’
Sophie got the message. Unless she could present what he deemed to be an acceptable image, she would not be seen in public. Or was she being over-sensitive? Even a little unfair? After all, she would have Lydia with her, and if the baby became sleepy Antonio’s suite would be quieter than a public restaurant. She watched him smile, spring into his opulent limousine and depart. It was the sort of throwaway smile he might have given anybody. She was conscious of a deep-seated need to see him smile and know it was just for her.
That evening, and only half an hour late—which was really good going for Sophie in terms of promptness—she travelled up in the lift to Antonio’s suite. She had Lydia cradled by one arm on her hip. ‘Now remember…lots of smiles. You’ve got to make the running with Antonio and sell yourself,’ she instructed the baby gazing up at her with trusting brown eyes. ‘He’s sensitive to screams, so you have to take the fear out of fathering for him. If you cry again, he’s going to avoid you like the plague…okay?’
A middle-aged guy dressed like a waiter ushered her into the suite.
‘Is Antonio in?’ Sophie asked nervously and the man responded in what might have been Spanish with an apologetic shake of his head.
She hovered in the centre of the fabulous reception room, shook her head when a sofa was indicated and did so again when the drinks cabinet was spread invitingly wide. A communicating door opened and Antonio appeared. Relief and tension struggled inside her. ‘I thought maybe you were out.’
In one skimming glance Antonio took in the unexpected presence of the baby and settled his attention on Sophie. In a shabby cord jacket with a fur-trimmed hood and black trousers ornamented with an embarrassment of zips, she looked painfully young. Her sudden vivacious smile lit up her heart-shaped face and for a split second he forgot what he was about to say and simply stared.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t available when you arrived,’ Antonio responded, his recovery almost immediate while on another level he sought to solve the riddle of her appeal. ‘I was taking a call. Did Maureo offer you a drink?’
‘Is that his name? I didn’t want anything. It’s nice of you not to say anything about me being late.’
‘I have a great respect for punctuality,’ Antonio sliced back softly.
‘We’re going to have a problem,’ Sophie forecast with unblemished good humour. ‘I try really hard to be on time, but things tend to hold me up. Everywhere I go I’m always running against the clock—’
‘Better organisation will improve that.’
Sophie wondered if he had any idea how hard it was to organise a baby.
‘Maureo would like to take your coat,’ Antonio explained as the older man hovered nearby.