The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride by Chantelle Shaw

Author:Chantelle Shaw [Shaw, Chantelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2007-09-21T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘SIR, it’s time to go.’

The voice from the doorway disturbed Javier’s silent contemplation of the view from the high tower. He stiffened. ‘Gracias, Torres,’ he murmured as he stepped away from the window and awarded his butler a brief nod. ‘I trust everything is ready?’

‘Si; the guests are assembled in the chapel.’

‘And Señorita Beresford?’

‘She is waiting in the salon. I will escort her to the chapel, as arranged.’

‘Bueno.’ Javier lifted the tumbler he was holding to his lips and drained the neat malt whisky in one gulp. The betraying gesture hinted at nerves—but that was laughable, Torres decided. The new Duque de Herrera was a man of steel, just like his grandfather had been. He did not suffer from such mortal weaknesses as nerves. ‘Tell me, Torres.’ Javier stared at the butler and cleared his throat. ‘How does Señorita Beresford seem?’

‘How does she seem, sir?’ Torres could not hide his puzzlement.

‘Yes, does she seem…happy?’ Javier glared at the other man impatiently, a tide of dull colour running along his sharp cheekbones.

Torres’s face cleared. ‘But of course—she is soon to be the new Duquesa; naturally she is ecstatic. And, may I add, she looks very beautiful.’ The butler’s usually impassive features broke into a smile of genuine warmth, which did nothing to appease Javier’s mood. He sincerely doubted that Grace was feeling ecstatic at the prospect of becoming his bride—far from it.

No doubt she looked exquisite in her wedding gown, but Javier didn’t appreciate his butler showing his admiration quite so enthusiastically. Until Grace’s arrival at El Castillo de Leon, he hadn’t even known that Torres could smile. The castle had always been a subdued and rather grim place, and the staff likewise. But somehow over the past three weeks all that had changed, thanks to the influence of a gentle English rose whose soft smile seemed to pervade the austerity of the Moorish fortress.

Not that she’d smiled at him, Javier acknowledged grimly. With his staff she was warm and friendly, and her quiet manner had won their instant approval. But with him she was cool and aloof, and her wariness of him had seemed to increase daily. Dinner each evening had become an ordeal, although he would not admit to anyone that he longed to break down her reserve and receive one of her shy smiles that she gave so willingly to every other damn soul at the castle.

‘Sir, is there anything I can get you?’

Torres was far too well trained to reveal impatience, but Javier knew he was concerned that the guests waiting in the chapel would be growing restive. What would the butler think if he revealed that Grace was only marrying him because he had forced her into it? he brooded. Hell, even now, with less than an hour to go before the ceremony, he wasn’t absolutely certain that she would go through with it.

He was startled by the realisation that he hadn’t even thought about the Herrera bank for days. Surely the only reason he

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