The Arrogant Duke. Anne Mather

and relax for a while before meeting the Duque.’

      Consuelo gave a vigorous nod. ‘Everything is ready. Muito abrigado, Miguel. I can manage now. José is waiting for you in the orchard.’

      Miguel smiled once more at Juliet. ‘I will probably see you later, senhorita,’ and then he turned and went out through the wide doors.

      Juliet sighed after he had gone. His friendliness had been a kind of balm, and now she felt tense and nervous again. Not that Consuelo was an alarming person. With her round, ample girth and beaming face, she seemed amiable enough, and when she picked up two of Juliet’s cases and made for the stairs, indicating that Juliet should follow her, Juliet picked up her hand luggage and did so.

      The shallow staircase was lined with portraits, and Juliet stared at them, entranced. There were dark, swarthy men and camellia-skinned women, single portraits and family groups, with children dressed in heavy velvets and satins, totally unsuited to the hot Venterra climate. Juliet wondered how long there had been Duques de Castro on the island. Probably for hundreds of years, since the first Spaniards discovered the West Indies. It was a period of history that had always interested her, and her thoughts occupied her to the exclusion of everything else.

      Consuelo surged ahead, but Juliet had barely reached the curve of the stairs when footsteps sounded across the tiled courtyard and entered the hall below. She looked down curiously, when a man appeared, wondering who he might be. Tall, dark-haired and deeply tanned, a midnight blue silk shirt open at the throat to reveal the smooth column of his neck rising from the rippling muscles of his chest, he was easily the most attractive male Juliet had ever seen, and she couldn’t help but stare until he turned icy grey eyes in her direction.

      ‘Por dues!’ he swore angrily. ‘Miguel was right! Come down here, senhorita!’

      There was no please or thank you, no apparent sign of anything remotely resembling politeness, and Juliet froze with indignation. The man tapped a slender riding whip against the highly polished leather of his boot.

      ‘Did you hear what I senhorita?’ he asked coldly. ‘I am not used to being kept waiting!’

      Consuelo had turned now and was coming back down the stairs. ‘This is Senhorita Summers, senhor,’ she said, by way of an introduction.

      Juliet stiffened. This then must be her employer, the Duque de Castro. Oh lord, she thought dismally, isn’t he charming!

      ‘I am aware of the young woman’s name!’ the man snapped. ‘Senhorita! Are you paralysed, or merely petrified!’

      Juliet felt something flare up inside her at his arrogant words. Just who did he think he was? Just who did he think he was talking to? For a moment she was tempted to reveal her real identity. After all, Robert Lindsay’s was a name to be reckoned with in financial circles. And then the temptation died. She doubted whether anything she might say in that direction would achieve more than her instant dismissal. This man lived many miles away from the mercenary capitals of the world, and obviously considered himself a law unto himself.

      But she did not intend that he should see that he had either annoyed or disturbed her. With the control of years of training she slowly descended the staircase, until she made contact with the marble floor of the hall. At this level, he was even more overpowering. Tall herself, he was still much taller, with a width of shoulder and a litheness of movement not out of place in an athlete.

      ‘I am neither paralysed nor petrified, senhor,’ she said, with more confidence than she was feeling. ‘I gather you are my employer.’

      The man looked down at her with narrowed eyes. ‘I am the Duque Felipe Ricardo de Castro, senhorita. I do not recall employing you!’

      For a moment Juliet was nonplussed. Then, gathering her scattered wits, she said: ‘I do not understand, senhor. I was employed by a firm of solicitors in London, as companion to your niece, a Senhorita Teresa de Castro.’

      The man studied her insolently for a moment, then turned to Consuelo. ‘You knew about this, Consuelo?’

       ‘Sim, senhor!’

      ‘Since when?’ he thundered angrily.

      ‘Since two hours ago, Felipe,’ remarked a cool voice from the direction of the door which led to the outer patio.

      Juliet glanced round and saw a small, slim, attractive woman standing there, dark, like the Duque, with smooth dark hair that clung to the curve of her head like a cap. She was dressed in a delicate shade of cyclamen, and looked cool and sophisticated. She smiled warmly at Juliet, and wrinkled her nose at the Duque.

      ‘Darling, don’t be cross,’ she continued. ‘You know Teresa needs somebody.’

      The Duque snapped his fingers furiously. ‘I know that you wait until I go riding before telling my staff to expect a visitor about whom I know absolutely nothing!’ He moved restlessly. ‘It is not six months since you employed that American girl, Laura Weston, and after that fiasco I refused to consider anyone else. You knew this, Estelle!’

      ‘Querido, you are embarrassing Senhorita Summers. At least let us have this conversation in private. Consuelo, take Senhorita Summers to her room, and I will speak to the Duque.’

      ‘Sim, senhora!’ Consuelo turned, but Juliet felt frozen to the spot. This was something neither she nor Rosemary had envisaged. Was her carefully planned ruse to fail because the advertisement had been placed without the Duque’s knowledge or condolence? She felt almost numb with incredulity.

      Now the Duque turned his dark eyes on her again. He studied her for a moment longer, and then without a word turned and strode across the hall and entered a room at the far side, slamming the door after him.

      The woman he had called Estelle continued to look unperturbed. ‘Go with Consuelo, senhorita. Do not concern yourself with these matters. I can assure you, your job is not in jeopardy.’

      Juliet moved at last, and followed Consuelo stiffly up the staircase. She wished she felt as certain. All she could remember was the blatant fury in the man’s grey eyes, and the force of his attraction which had hit her like magnetism.