Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

The Arrogant Duke
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

ESCAPE! Juliet savoured the word even as she felt a faint pang of self-recrimination. She ought not to be feeling so happy just because she had managed, for the first time in her life, to get the better of her father. Even now, at the thought of his anger when he discovered what she had done, she shivered, and hoped with urgent intensity that he would have time to cool down before he discovered her whereabouts. There was little doubt in her mind that he would find her; in his thorough, painstaking way he would explore every avenue until some small clue gave him the necessary lead. But at least for a time, a few months perhaps, she would have the chance to do what she wanted to do for a change.

She looked through the window of the island-hopping hydroplane, finding relief from her thoughts in the unbelievably beautiful panorama spread out below her. Since they left Bridgetown that morning the whole tapestry of islands and deep, deep blue sea had enchanted her, more now than ever before, and she thought for the umpteenth time that the advertisement in The Times which she had answered had been made for her. She knew they were nearing Venterra, the dark-skinned steward had already warned her to fasten her safety belt, and she tried to pick out which island it might be. Surely in so many islands her father would never find her without her assistance.

For Juliet, everything now was a novelty. She had never travelled alone before, there had always been the accompaniment of her father’s train of assistants, secretaries and servants, luggage and sporting equipment to attend to. It had been exciting to carry her own bag, to hire her own porter, to stay at a small hotel instead of a luxury club, and to choose her own meal.

Mandy, of course, would have been horrified to think of her ewe-lamb staying alone in even so British an island as Barbados, and it was as well that she believed, as indeed did her father, that she was staying with friends for a couple of days. Mandy, or Miss Jane Manders, to give her her correct name, was the nearest person to a mother that Juliet had ever known. Her own mother had died when she was born, much to her father’s anguish, and Juliet supposed that maybe that was why he treated her so possessively, placing her in her mother’s shoes. Mandy had been thirty then, just recovering from the grief of her own mother’s death, and she had taken care of Juliet at once, lavishing all the love she had on the child. Sometimes, Juliet had wondered why Mandy had never got married, and then again she had speculated as to whether her nurse and companion cherished some vain feelings towards her father. But Robert Lindsay certainly gave her no encouragement, and the arrangement which had begun as a temporary thing had lengthened into more than twenty years, and now Mandy could only be regarded as one of the family. It was Mandy who Juliet disliked deceiving most, but as Miss Manders had, over the years, taken over the reins as housekeeper in the large rambling house in Hampstead which had been the home of the Lindsay family for many many years, Juliet knew that her position in the household would not be in jeopardy because she had left.

Thrusting back these thoughts, she allowed her mind to dwell on the immediate future and recalled with some amusement her interview with a firm of solicitors in London. The advertisement had called for a young woman, of good family, to act as companion to a girl of sixteen, recently orphaned, with some degree of disability, who was at present living with her uncle in Venterra, an island not many miles distant from St. Lucia in the West Indies.

Juliet had thought the advertisement suited her lack of capabilities perfectly. ‘Oh, she had many attributes, she supposed; she was well read, could arrange flowers decoratively, spoke several languages, was used to acting as her father’s hostess on occasions of importance, and was well able to deal with the sometimes amorous advances of young men her father had chosen as escorts for her.

But basically, she had had no training to follow a career. Her father had never wanted her to become an intellectual, and so her eager mind had had to content itself with learning from books, and the core of dissatisfaction with her empty way of life had been born.

She might never have been courageous enough to do something about it, however, had not her father decided that it was high time she was thinking of getting married. In his usual overbearing way he had produced three young men for her to choose from, but none of them were the kind of man Juliet wanted to marry. She was looking for no knight in shining armour, no gallant paramour to live in a rosy world of romance for the rest of her days. But she did want a man, not some weak-chinned facsimile, who was quite content to allow her father to provide him with every material need in return for marrying his daughter.

She felt an angry sense of injustice, at the remembrance of it all, and then calmed down as she realized she had done the only thing she could, in the circumstances.

The interview had been amusing, though. She had had to remember that her name was now Rosemary Summers and not Juliet Lindsay, and it had been difficult assuming her new identity for the first time. She felt grateful to Rosemary too. She and Rosemary Summers had attended the same boarding school, although Rosemary’s parents were both doctors, and Rosemary had followed in their footsteps and was at present a medical student. She and Juliet had always been close friends, even though Juliet’s father had attempted to discourage that friendship. He had not considered the Summers suitable associates for his daughter, but in this Juliet had been adamant and so her friendship with Rosemary had continued. They met often, and shared their experiences, Juliet envying the other girl’s freedom and her chance to carve a career for herself.

When Robert Lindsay’s campaign turned to the subject of Juliet’s marriage, Juliet poured out all her troubles to Rosemary. Rosemary was sympathetic, listening with her calm, intelligent mind, weighing up the situation, as she would weigh up a patient’s complaints. Then she had said:

‘If I were you, I would get a job, anything, just so long as I had some independence.’

Juliet sighed. ‘That’s all very well for you to say, Rosemary, but he wouldn’t let me do that! Heavens, he’d very likely buy up whoever was employing me, and then give me the sack!’

Rosemary smiled. ‘Oh, Juliet,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘there must be something you can do. Somewhere you could go, where he has no influence!’

‘Not in this country,’ remarked Juliet gloomily.

‘Then out of it,’ said Rosemary reasonably.

‘But how?’

‘I don’t know.’ Rosemary had lit a cigarette before replying, studying its tip with concentration. ‘There are always heaps of jobs available for governesses and nannies which entail travel.’

‘But I couldn’t be either of them,’ exclaimed Juliet. ‘I’ve had no training for a job like that!’

Rosemary had had to agree, so the problem had remained unsolved until Juliet read the advertisement for this job which had appeared in The Times. She had rung Rosemary and told her, and over a prolonged lunch break they had discussed the pros and cons.

‘You must realize that there’ll be heaps of applicants for a position like this,’ said Rosemary, dousing some of Juliet’s enthusiasm.

‘Even so, it is a long way away,’ Juliet had answered. ‘Lots of girls won’t want to work so far away from home.’

‘Maybe,’ said Rosemary doubtfully. ‘But what about your father?’

‘He wouldn’t know anything about it until I’d gone,’ said Juliet, with decision. ‘If I told him he’d only try to stop me.’

‘And don’t you think he will anyway?’ exclaimed Rosemary. ‘It will be the easiest thing in the world for him to trace you there.’

‘Oh, yes, I suppose you’re right. My passport and booking and everything!’ Juliet heaved a sigh.

‘Of course.’ Rosemary studied her sympathetically. ‘Oh, Juliet, I don’t know what to say.’

Juliet lifted her shoulders, lighting herself a cigarette. ‘What is there to say?’ she said moodily. Then, as though mesmerized, an idea caused her to allow the match to burn her fingers. ‘Ouch!’ she gasped, rubbing the injured finger. ‘Rosemary, I have had an idea! The perfect solution, in fact. If you’re agreeable!’

Rosemary lay back in her seat. ‘Go on. What is it?’

‘Well,’ Juliet ran her tongue over her lips excitedly, ‘how about my using your passport?’

Rosemary sat up in astonishment. ‘My passport!’ she echoed.

Juliet nodded vigorously. ‘Yes. Oh yes, Rosemary. It’s the perfect solution! You know how alike people have always said we are, same hair, same height, same colouring! Those passport photographs are notoriously terrible. No one studies them in detail.’

‘They do,’ exclaimed Rosemary indignantly. ‘But maybe so far as the photo is concerned you might get away with it. It isn’t a very good likeness of me.’

‘You see!’ Juliet’s eyes were alight. ‘Your hair is the same colour as mine, and all I’d have to do is wind mine up in that pleat you wear. We’re both quite tall and slim, and our colouring is practically the same.

‘Your tan is deeper,’ returned Rosemary dryly, ‘but then I haven’t just spent three weeks in the South of France.’

Juliet sighed, and gave a wry smile. ‘You may not believe this, Rosemary, but I’d rather be you than me any day of the week!’

Rosemary looked contrite. ‘I know, I know,’ she said, feeling sorry for what she had hinted. It was true, Juliet did not consider herself lucky. Compared to Rosemary, Juliet’s life was empty. ‘It would mean you adopting my identity,’ she continued thoughtfully.

Juliet’s young face darkened. ‘Oh, yes, it would,’ she said slowly. ‘Damn!’

‘Well, that’s not insuperable,’ replied Rosemary consideringly. ‘After all, no one knows your name there, or mine either, for that matter. You could be Rosemary Summers; it’s not such an uncommon name.’

Juliet looked at her with wide eyes. ‘I really believe you’re considering it,’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, Rosemary, would you? Would you really?’

Rosemary gave a grimace. ‘Well, I don’t see how I can refuse,’ she replied dryly. ‘I’m very fond of you, Juliet, and although we’re the same age, I always feel years older than you. I don’t want to see you forced mentally, if not exactly physically, into an unhappy marriage. There are too many of them around already, and I know that men like Roger Latimer and Stephen Longdon and that awful Jeremy McVane would bore you stiff!’

Juliet clasped her hands together. ‘Do you really think I might get away with it?’ she exclaimed.

Rosemary shrugged. ‘Well, you’ve got to get the job first,’ she replied practically. ‘And quite honestly, with your appearance I doubt whether you’d even be considered!’

Juliet frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Well, you don’t look as though you need a job, for a start, and secondly they’re bound to want somebody plain, and ordinary, and not too decorative. After all, the West Indies is quite a place. They won’t want their suitable applicant finding herself a husband during the first few weeks she’s there.’

Juliet looked thoughtful now. ‘Yes, you’re right, as usual,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll just have to make myself look very plain, and very ordinary, and if I put my hair up as you wear yours that should add a few years!’

‘Gee, thanks!’ exclaimed Rosemary dryly, and they both collapsed in giggles.

Remembering all this now, Juliet felt a smile curve her lips. Rosemary had been wonderful, particularly as she was aware, just as acutely as Juliet, that she would be the first person Robert Lindsay would contact when he discovered Juliet had disappeared. She would have to be very astute not to be caught out by a man as determined as Robert Lindsay.

The interview had been rather different from Juliet’s imaginings. When she arrived at the offices of Benyon, Forster, Benyon and Benyon, she found only one other applicant waiting for interview. She was a girl of around her own age, who confided to Juliet that the job did not appear to be the sinecure it had first appeared to be.

‘This girl we’re supposed to be companion to – did you know she was confined to a wheelchair?’

Juliet smoothed the skirt of her dark grey suit over her knees. It seemed far too long after the short styles she was used to wearing, but at least it gave her an added sense of confidence.

‘Well,’ she replied carefully, ‘the advertisement did say that she had some degree of disability.’

‘Some degree!’ the other girl sniffed. ‘I don’t call an invalid in a wheelchair only partially disabled! Heavens, I thought maybe she had only one arm or something like that!’

Juliet felt a sense of distaste at the girl’s words. ‘I don’t see that it matters,’ she said quietly. ‘Surely a girl so young, confined as she is, deserves companionship.’

‘It’s a nurse they want, not a companion,’ retorted the girl shortly. Then she stood up. ‘Oh, anyway, I don’t think I’ll stay. I don’t want that kind of a job. It was the locality that appealed to me. Tell them I changed my mind, will you?’

Juliet’s eyes widened. ‘All right. But are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure. G’bye. Hope you get it, if you want it!’

After the girl had gone Juliet felt uncomfortable. What would the interviewers think when she had to tell them that one of their applicants had changed her mind? She hoped they wouldn’t think she had said anything to deter her.

But when a man who she later discovered to be Mr. Forster came to ask Miss Laurence, as the girl had been called, to come in, and Juliet explained what had happened, he merely shook his head sadly, and said:

‘I’m afraid we worded the advertisement wrongly, Miss Summers – it is Miss Summers, isn’t it?’ and at Juliet’s nod: ‘All the applicants appear to have believed Miss de Castro had some mild disablement that would not inconvenience themselves too greatly. I gather Miss Laurence advised you of the facts of the matter.’

Juliet rose to her feet. ‘Yes, she did.’

He nodded. ‘I see. It was very kind of you to wait and see me.’ He sighed. ‘We must advertise again.’

Juliet drew her brows together. ‘Do I take it then that I’m unsuitable?’

Mr. Forster stared at her. ‘You mean — you’re prepared to take the job?’

Juliet bit her lip. ‘Well, yes, if you’re prepared to interview me.’

Mr. Forster rubbed his hands together. ‘Oh, indeed, yes, indeed, Miss Summers. Come in – come in! I’m sure we can work something out.’

And so they did.

Juliet felt the plane bank slightly, and looked down, feeling the bubble of excitement rising inside her again. What had Mr. Forster said? That the girl, Teresa, had been injured in the same car crash which had killed both her parents; that she was paralysed from the waist down; that the accident had happened six months ago, and since she came out of hospital she had been living on Venterra with her uncle, Felipe de Castro.

They were losing height rapidly now, flying low over the island, giving Juliet a marvellous view of a thickly wooded central area, high peaks emerging above the tops of the trees; a coastline of bays and coves, with the inevitable line of a reef some distance out from the shore; villages nestling at the foot of the hills, fishing boats nudging stone jetties; pastel-painted houses, and the tiles of more sophisticated dwellings, standing in their own grounds. The brilliance of the sun accentuated the greenness of the foliage and the exotic colour of the flowers and trees. She breathed a faint sigh, half relief, half apprehension, for now she had to face her future employer, and her future charge.

She was the only passenger on the hydroplane, apart from Louis, the steward, who had welcomed her aboard. She had gathered from his comments that the plane belonged to Senhor de Castro, her future employer, and was used because there was nowhere smooth and flat enough to support an airstrip. Mr. Forster had told her that Senhor de Castro was a Portuguese gentleman, who had sugar estates on the island, and that apart from herself his household accommodated several servants, including an American nurse for Teresa. Altogether it sounded quite delightful, and Juliet, enchanted with her own freedom, was revelling in it all.

The hydroplane came down on the smooth surface of a bay, which was edged by a small community of cottages, the boats by the jetty rocking as the plane caused the water to swell considerably. Juliet loosened her seat belt, looked back at Louis, and said:

‘We’ve arrived?’

Louis nodded his head. ‘Sim, senhorita,’ he said. ‘This is Venterra. You like?’

Juliet smiled. ‘Yes, I like. What do we do now?’

Louis stood up and came to her side. ‘See, Pedro has already started for the plane with his boat, eh!’

Juliet looked through the window as he pointed, and saw the small rowing boat approaching them. ‘Oh, yes. Thank you, Louis.’ Then: ‘How will I get to the de Castro home?’

Louis unstrapped her suitcases from their position in the rear, and then said: ‘Do not worry, senhorita. A car will have been sent for you.’

‘I see.’ Juliet wished she could dispel the apprehension which was rapidly overtaking all other emotions. ‘Is it far to the house?’

‘The quinta, senhorita! No, it is not far. Miguel will take you.’

Juliet decided she had asked enough questions. It would not do to sound too curious about her employers. She wondered if Senhor de Castro was married. It seemed likely, and yet Mr. Forster had not mentioned it. He must be quite old. Mr. Forster had said that Teresa was the daughter of his younger brother, and as Teresa was sixteen it did not take a great deal of mathematical skill to work out that this man must be in his forties at the very least. She hoped, feeling a twinge of nervousness assail her, that he was not the kind of man to make passes at his employees. Such an idea had not occurred to her before, and yet now it loomed large and rather disturbing.

The small craft touched the hydroplane, and the pilot threw open the door so that Juliet could emerge and climb into the boat. She had decided to wear a slack suit for the journey, and now she was glad she had. Getting in and out of small rowing boats was not the easiest thing to do while endeavouring to hold down a skirt.

The heat here was tempered by a faint breeze, and the boat rocked gently. The scents of the island, a tang of salt and sea and the perfumes of the flowers, mingled with the sweet smell of the cane, and Juliet took a deep breath, shedding a little of her apprehension.

Pedro, the boatman, was dark-skinned like Louis, but with more European features. He grinned cheerfully at the pilot and Louis, and gave Juliet a speculative glance before taking the cases and stowing them in the bottom of the small boat. After a brief conversation with his compatriots, he again took the oars and rowed rhythmically back to the stone jetty. Juliet was aware that their progress had attracted quite a deal of attention from women and children on the jetty, and she tried to interest herself in her surroundings to exclude her embarrassment. There was certainly plenty to see, the attractively painted cottages jostling each other, the fishing vessels with dark nets stretched out to dry, the palms that encroached almost to the water’s edge in places, and most incongruous of all a low-slung cream convertible which was parked on the road which wound between the narrow houses.

Pedro nodded to the automobile. ‘Miguel,’ he said, by way of an explanation. He pointed to himself. ‘Er – Pedro’s – brother.’

‘Oh yes,’ Juliet nodded politely, recalling that Mr. Forster had not said she needed a foreign language here. It would prove awkward if they all spoke mainly Portuguese. Although she knew Spanish, Portuguese was not one of her languages.

They reached the jetty, Pedro threw out the painter, and another man who was very much like Pedro caught it and tied the boat securely to the capstan.

He helped Juliet to climb on to the stone pier, and grinned down at his brother. His gaze turned back to Juliet, his eyes indicative of the appreciation he felt. ‘You are Senhorita Summers?’

‘Yes,’ Juliet nodded again. ‘Did Senhor de Castro send you to meet me?’

Miguel’s eyes narrowed. ‘Er – sim, senhorita. I suppose o Duque did send me!’

‘O Duque!’ Juliet translated rapidly. The Duke! What duke? ‘Who – who might the Duque be?’ she asked slowly.

‘O Duque Felipe Ricardo de Castro!’ replied Miguel calmly. ‘The man who is to be your employer!’

‘My employer – is – is a duke? I don’t believe it!’

Juliet was astounded.

‘But I understood from – from the solicitor in London—’ She halted again. She was asking too many questions once more. After all, there was a possibility that Mr. Forster had deliberately refrained from telling her that her employer was to be a duke. After the problems he had had hiring someone, maybe he had thought that such a revelation would jeopardize his chances of obtaining a satisfactory applicant.

Miguel was studying her with some amusement in his dark eyes, and Juliet gathered her scattered senses. After all, what of it? She had met dukes before, and they were only people like anyone else. What was there to alarm her?

She compressed her lips ‘Is this the car?’ she asked, amazed at her own composure.

Miguel inclined his head. ‘Sim, senhorita. Ah, Pedro, have you got all the luggage? Good. Come, senhorita.’

She followed Miguel across to the car, ignoring the speculative glances of the group of islanders who watched them with interested dark eyes. Really, thought Juliet, with something like annoyance at her own disturbed frame of mind, what was she getting so het up about? Just because she had discovered that her employer was a Portuguese duke. It was ridiculous!

But still she couldn’t banish the thought that a duke was slightly different from a mere senhor, and in her precarious position the fewer complications there were the better.

Miguel stowed the cases, had a good-natured chatter with Pedro, then slid into the front seat of the automobile, and set it in motion. They drove along the quayside, past the now waving children, whose mothers gave wide smiles, and up a curving track which led along the coastline. The steep gradient brought them to a higher road which wound round the heavily foliaged hillside. Here Juliet had a magnificent view of the whole coast, its bays and headlands giving it a wild and untamed beauty. The coves were white with coral sand, rocks rearing their ugly heads above the creaming surf. Inland was the exotic beauty of plant life, bushes of oleander and hibiscus providing brilliant splashes of colour, while some rarer varieties which Juliet could not name added their own pink and gold charm to the view. They were sweeping down again now, into a valley whose walls were networked by fast-flowing tumbling streams, at whose brink tiny blue flowers grew. A river ran through the valley floor and here were fields of waving sugar cane, and the sweet smell was intoxicating.

Unable to resist, she leaned forward, and said: ‘Does this plantation belong to – to the Duke?’

Miguel glanced round once, and then returned his attention to the road. ‘Senhorita, this whole island belongs to the Duque.’

‘Oh!’ Juliet sat back in her seat.

Miguel, encouraged by her question, remarked: ‘Do you think you will like it here, senhorita?’

Juliet bit on her bottom lip. ‘I – I’m sure I shall,’ she said awkwardly. ‘Is – is it far now?’

‘Not far,’ Miguel answered. And then: ‘You have come to be a friend for the young senhorita, is that right?’

Juliet hesitated. She had no wish to say too much, but his question seemed innocent enough. ‘That’s right,’ she said now, nodding.

‘Senhorita Teresa,’ murmured Miguel, almost as though he was speaking to himself. ‘Yes, it will not be easy.’ And with this cryptic comment he said no more.

They left the valley through a narrow pass in the hillside, towering bastions of rock on either side of the narrow road. They emerged on to a plateau, which fell away steeply at the far side to the shoreline at the other side of the island. The sun was growing higher and the heat seemed intense even in the open vehicle. Juliet fumbled in her bag, and slid dark glasses on to her nose, wishing the journey was over.

Now they were descending again, a winding road along terraces cultivated with coffee beans. Nearer sea-level, they branched on to a side road which brought them to tall gates, standing wide, and a drive which led up to the home of the Duque de Castro.

Juliet caught her breath in a gasp when she saw the quinta for the first time. Built of mellowed grey brick, it stood on three sides of a central courtyard, but Miguel brought the car round to the front of the building and halted on a gravelled forecourt. Surrounded by trees which provided a backcloth for its almost medieval beauty, with the sun turning its windows into golden tongues of flame, the quinta was imposing and impressive, and wholly unlike anything Juliet had even vaguely imagined. Without waiting for Miguel to assist her, she slid out of the car, and stood looking up at the arched portals of its entrance, emblazoned by the crest of the de Castro family. Through an arched hallway, the central courtyard could be seen where a fountain played in its centre, providing a constant and cooling sound of running water.

Miguel smiled at her expression, and said: ‘Come. Consuelo will show you to your room. You will have time to relax before meeting the Duque and his niece.’

Juliet looked down at her dark blue slack suit, and felt relieved. At least she was to have the opportunity of changing before meeting so autocratic a personage as the Duque de Castro.

They entered through heavy doors which stood wide to the morning air, into a hall, marble tiled and panelled with rosewood. A white-painted wrought iron rail supported a wide, shallow staircase, which curved gently up to a long gallery. There were flowers everywhere, on pedestal stands, or simply in huge urns, artistically arranged. There was the smell of beeswax mingled with the perfumes of the flowers, and Juliet thought she would never remember Venterra without recalling the fragrance.

She was looking about her with interest, as Miguel brought in her suitcases, when a dark-skinned woman, with tightly curled hair, approached from along a passage to the left of the hall. Dressed all in black, apart from a white apron, she looked warm and friendly, and Juliet responded to her smile. Was this Consuelo whom Miguel had spoken of?

As though in answer to her unspoken question, Miguel returned at that moment, and standing down the cases he was carrying said: ‘Ah, there you are, Consuelo. As you can see, Senhorita Summers has arrived.’

Consuelo eyed the young man with twinkling eyes. ‘You are late, Miguel!’

Miguel raised his shoulders indignantly. ‘The plane has just landed – is this not right, senhorita?’ he appealed to Juliet.

Juliet nodded, fingering the strap of her handbag, and Miguel seemed to realize her position, for he said: ‘Senhorita Summers, this is Consuelo Rodrigues, housekeeper to the Duque, and my mother’s cousin.’

Juliet smiled, and made a perfunctory greeting, and Consuelo folded her arms. ‘Welcome to the Quinta de Castro, senhorita. I hope you will be very happy here.’

‘Why – thank you.’ Juliet moved uncomfortably This was her first taste of being an employee and she was not aware of what was expected of her.

‘The Senhorita’s room is ready?’ questioned Miguel. ‘I think she would like to wash 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.

CHAPTER TWO

HER room overlooked the sea, with a balcony on which was a long, low lounger where it would be heaven to sit on hot days. The room, decorated in shades of blue and green and grey, with a bathroom to match, was luxurious and comfortable.

Consuelo stood down her cases, and looked at her with her smiling eyes. ‘This is all right, senhorita?’

‘Oh, yes, thank you, Consuelo. It’s wonderful. But–’ She halted, and Consuelo looked at her sympathetically.

‘The senhora means what she says,’ she said understandingly. ‘The Duque will not dismiss you without reason.’

Juliet sighed and sank down on to the bed. ‘But – well, the Duque apparently didn’t even know I was coming!’

‘No, senhorita.’

Juliet frowned. ‘That woman – who is she? Is that his wife?’

Consuelo laughed, folding her arms across her heavy breasts. ‘No, senhorita. The Duque is not married. The Senhora Vinceiro is the widow of his cousin, Pépé. She lives here on Venterra, not far from the quinta.’

‘I see.’ Juliet shook her head, still feeling rather bewildered. ‘When – when will I see the Senhorita Teresa?’

‘Whenever you are ready, senhorita. Senhorita Teresa is with Senhorita Madison at the moment. She has been acting as both nurse and companion since Senhorita Weston was dismissed.’

Juliet had so many questions she wanted to ask. She wanted to know about this fiasco the Duque had spoken about, she wanted to know why Laura Weston had been dismissed, she wanted to know exactly what influence this Estelle Vinceiro had in the quinta. She felt almost amused as she recalled her thoughts on the journey here. They had been wholly to do with the problems she had left behind. She had not known she was coming to face far more.

Consuelo moved to the door. ‘It is now a little after twelve, senhorita. I suggest I bring your lunch to your room, to enable you to unpack and relax for a while. After siesta, which the Senhorita Teresa always takes in her room, I will come and take you to have afternoon tea with her, sim?’

Juliet rose to her feet again. ‘That sounds delightful, Consuelo, thank you.’ She twisted her fingers nervously. ‘Do you – do you think the Duque will want to see me again?’

Consuelo spread wide her hands in a typical continental gesture. ‘Who can say, senhorita? But if you are resting he will not ask me to disturb you. So – I go. If you need anything, ring the bell.’

After Consuelo had gone, Juliet lifted her cases and threw them on the bed. Then she removed the jacket of her suit, and walked lazily on to the balcony. Although she had not been travelling very long this morning, she suddenly felt drained of energy, and she sat down on the lounger and lit a cigarette before attempting to do anything.

In a while, the events of the last few minutes assumed rather less serious proportions, as she saw the amusing side of it all. What a situation! She wished Rosemary were here to share it with her.

A tap at the door heralded the arrival of a young maidservant with a tray containing her lunch. There was a fresh fruit cocktail, pork fried with rice, and a kind of ice cream gateau, followed by coffee and more fruit. It was a very delicious meal, and after she had finished, Juliet felt a little more like work. She opened her cases, hung away her clothes in a capacious fitted wardrobe, and then went into the bathroom to shower before resting on her bed for a while. She had closed her window shutters, and the light slatted through the blinds cast dancing shadows on the ceiling. She watched them for a while, and then her eyelids drooped and she slept.

She awoke refreshed, but startled, with a firm tapping going on at her door. Sliding off the bed, she wrapped herself in a nylon wrapper and opened the door about six inches. Consuelo was outside.

‘It is after four, senhorita. I have told the Senhorita Teresa you are to have tea with her.’

‘Lord!’ Juliet gasped. ‘I’m sorry, Consuelo, I’m not ready. Will you wait five minutes?’

‘Very well, senhorita,’ Consuelo agreed, but she sounded less than pleased.

Juliet fumbled her way into a white crimplene dress, sleeveless, with a high cuffed neckline, and not too short a skirt. Her hair, immaculately pleated earlier, now hung in wisps and with careless fingers she wrenched out the hairgrips and brushed it savagely. It fell, thick and straight to her shoulders, sherry-coloured and very attractive. Cursing to herself for sleeping so long, she began to wind it back into its pleat, when Consuelo tapped again.

‘Senhorita,’ she said persistently, ‘please hurry.’

Juliet lost control of the hair, and it fell loose again. ‘Oh, blast, blast, blast!’ she exclaimed angrily, and then with decision, she combed it smooth and looked at her reflection disconsolately. It was no good. She needed plenty of time and patience to dress it in the pleat, and anyway, she might be going to get the sack, so what did it matter?

She emerged from the bedroom and Consuelo looked at her in surprise. ‘Such pretty hair, senhorita,’ she exclaimed delightedly.

Juliet looked rueful. ‘But rather impractical,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Consuelo. I fell asleep, I’m afraid.’

Consuelo seemed unperturbed now. ‘It is the climate,’ she said, firmly. ‘Most have the siesta! It is a good idea, sim?’

‘Hmm,’ agreed Juliet enthusiastically, feeling more ready to face any challenge which might come her way.

They descended the main staircase to the wide hall, and then out on to the patio that surrounded the central courtyard. The patio was tiled with mosaic in a variety of colours, while tubs of flamboyants and the ever-present climbing bougainvillea added their own tropical beauty to the scene. A glass-topped table supported a jug, some ice cubes and several glasses, and beside this table a girl was sitting in a wheelchair, glancing carelessly through a magazine. As though aware of another presence, she turned and looked at Juliet, and Consuelo murmured something about getting the tea and left them.

The girl was dark, like her uncle, with long hair worn in a single braid over one shoulder. But her expression was remote and perhaps a little sulky, and Juliet advanced towards her with sòme trepidation.

‘Hello,’ she said, in a friendly fashion. ‘You must be Teresa. My name is – Rosemary.’ She almost slipped up altogether and said Juliet.

The girl viewed her critically, putting aside her magazine. ‘Who else would I be?’ she asked pointedly, glancing down at the wheelchair.

Juliet drew a little closer. ‘Yes, perhaps it was a stupid remark. However, I couldn’t think of any other way of introducing myself.’

Teresa’s eyes flickered for a moment, and then she resumed her sullen expression. ‘Where have you come from? London?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Estelle never gives up, does she?’ Teresa gave a short laugh.

Juliet deemed it better not to answer this. She had no desire to take sides without first knowing all the circumstances of the case. So she seated herself in a basketwork chair, also placed near the table, and sighed. ‘What a beautiful place this is. You must love it here.’

Teresa shrugged her thin shoulders, and Juliet noticed how painfully thin she really was. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. She spoke with little accent, and Juliet could only assume she had attended a British school. ‘It’s better than hospital, anyway.’

Juliet bit her lip. ‘Yes. Were you in hospital long?’

‘Long enough.’ Teresa was scrutinizing her intently. ‘What did you used to do, before you came here?’

Juliet felt the colour seeping into her cheeks. ‘Well, I – er – this and that!’

Teresa sniffed. ‘Why did you come here? Did you think it would make a nice holiday.’

‘No.’ Juliet was swift to deny this. ‘No. I came because there was an advertisement in a British newspaper and I thought the job sounded interesting.’ This at least was true.

Teresa wrinkled her nose. ‘I hear my uncle did not exactly welcome you with open arms.’

Juliet had to smile at this. ‘That’s true,’ she answered.

‘I expect he was good and mad,’ said Teresa, a little enthusiasm entering her voice now. ‘After the last time!’

Juliet did not ask the question that trembled on her tongue, but Teresa went on: ‘Estelle keeps trying to get me off her neck, you know! I think she’s jealous!’ This was said with some satisfaction.

Juliet frowned. ‘Jealous? Senhora Vinceiro? Why should she be jealous?’ This was one question she could not help but ask. She was only human after all.

Teresa fingered the pleat of the blue skirt she was wearing. ‘Estelle wants Felipe – it’s as simple as that! She wanted him ten years ago when she married his cousin because he lived on Venterra also, and my uncle was obviously not prepared to marry her then. And Pépé – her husband – died two years ago, he was years older than Estelle, of course, and she was granted her wish. To live on Venterra – and to have a second chance with my uncle.’

Juliet swallowed hard. This – from a sixteen-year-old!

‘I think you’re dramatizing the situation, Teresa,’ she said, glancing round with relief as the young maid appeared with the tray of tea.

‘I am not!’ Teresa sounded angry. ‘Estelle hated it when Felipe brought me here, installing me in his house, making her plans doubly difficult.’

‘Oh really,’ exclaimed Juliet disbelievingly. ‘You’re his niece!’

‘Only by marriage,’ retorted Teresa, at once. ‘My father was not Felipe’s brother. My mother had been married before. My father died ten years ago. He suffered from heart disease.’

‘I see.’ Juliet thanked the maid, and stood up. ‘Shall – shall I handle this?’

Teresa nodded with some dignity. ‘Of course now I am an orphan. And family ties are strong among Portuguese families. I am just as much Felipe’s responsibility whether my relationship to him is distant or otherwise.’

‘I see,’ said Juliet again. Heavens, she thought to herself, what a situation!

The tea was weak, but hot, and the wafer-thin biscuits rather delicious. Teresa drank one cup of tea, but ate nothing, and Juliet felt greedy because she ate three biscuits. Conversation lapsed, and Juliet wondered what was going through the girl’s head. She was obviously obsessed with intrigue, seeing herself as a kind of innocent charmer, who couldn’t help but annoy a woman like Estelle Vinceiro. She seemed to imagine – what? That the Duque was perhaps attracted to her – or merely just sympathetic towards her. Did she imagine Estelle Vinceiro’s jealousy, if indeed it was jealousy, was based on truth? It was incredible! Juliet knew little, and had seen less, of the Duque as yet, but she could swear he was a man in his late thirties, and not some impressionable boy. Oh, it was ridiculous!

Teresa replaced her cup in its saucer, and placing it on the table said: ‘Is my uncle going to allow you to stay?’

Juliet hesitated. ‘I – er – I’m not quite sure. Why shouldn’t he allow me to stay, after all? You do require companionship, don’t you?’

‘No.’ Teresa was vehement. ‘Felipe is all the companionship I need.’

‘But at some time, someone did think you needed companionship,’ exclaimed Juliet patiently. ‘Or the advertisement would never have been devised.’

‘Estelle did it – it’s all her doing!’ said Teresa hotly. ‘She wants to provide me with a companion, so that Felipe will have more time for her. Odio Estelle!’

‘Teresa!’ Juliet started at the sound of that voice. ‘Que faz voce?’

‘Oh, Tio Felipe,’ Teresa held out her hands to him, and lapsed into her own language, speaking appealingly, her dark eyes wide and innocent, so that Juliet began to wonder just what she was telling him.

The Duque had changed now into a cream silk lounge suit, that enhanced the swarthy cast of his complexion. The close-fitting trousers suited the muscular length of his legs, while Juliet was surprised to see that the jacket was quite modern in design with a long centre back vent. She supposed she had expected Venterra to be quite out of touch with civilization, but a man like Duque Felipe Ricardo de Castro was hardly likely to allow anyone but a Savile Row tailor to dress him. Trying to view him emotionlessly was difficult; his personality was such that she was intensely aware of him as a force to be reckoned with.

Teresa had paused now, and he straightened from the lounging position he had adopted near Teresa’s chair, and looked straight at Juliet.

‘So, senhorita,’ he murmured, taking out a case of cheroots and placing one between his firm lips, ‘you have perhaps discovered that not everything you read in the newspapers is true.’ His tone was cool, but mocking.

Juliet frowned, resisting the impulse to jump to her feet. ‘Do you mean the advertisement, senhor?’ she questioned, at last.

The Duque inclined his head, lighting his cheroot from a slim gold lighter. ‘Of course. You have been – how shall I put it? – misled! I regret the circumstance, of course, but …’ He shrugged his broad shoulders.

Juliet digested this, and then deemed she would feel at less of a disadvantage if she did stand up. Getting to her feet, she said, rather unsteadily: ‘You – you regret the circumstance, senhor! Are you trying to tell me my services are not required?’

‘How perceptive of you, Senhorita Summers,’ he murmured lazily. ‘That is exactly what I mean.’

Juliet took a deep breath. So much for Estelle Vinceiro’s influence, she thought gloomily.

‘Might – might I ask why?’ she said, rather tremulously.

The Duque frowned now. He was obviously not used to having anyone question his commands. He glanced down at Teresa thoughtfully, and then said:

‘I think, senhorita, we might discuss this in my study. I realize you feel annoyed and inconvenienced, but I trust I can compensate you financially for any inconvenience caused. Come!’ His tone was peremptory now, and Juliet obeyed, even while she felt furious that he should imagine he could buy her off.

He led the way through the marble-floored hall, along a corridor whose windows faced a rose garden, into a room furnished austerely in dark wood and leather, and whose walls were lined with leather-tooled books. He walked round to the far side of the desk which commanded a central position after he had closed the door and indicated that Juliet should sit in the chair opposite. She did so with some trepidation, which increased when he himself did not sit down but stood regarding her with dark, sombre eyes. If he found anything attractive in Juliet’s smooth, lightly tanned features, in the widely spaced depths of her eyes, or in the sun-kissed lustre of her hair, he did not show it, and merely seemed to be absorbed with some inner thoughts.

‘Now,’ he said, at last, when the tension Juliet was • feeling had become almost a tangible thing, ‘it is too late today for you to consider making the journey back to Barbados, and from there home to England. However, tomorrow I will have the hydroplane ready and waiting for you at ten o’clock.’

Something inside Juliet snapped at his words. She had been accustomed all her life to fighting for anything she wanted, and she saw no reason to stop now. This chance would never come her way again. Once her father discovered what she had done he would never trust her completely again. She would never be sure, wherever she went, that he had not got someone tailing her, monitoring her every movement. It was already too late to get back without his finding out what she had done. Rosemary had a letter to post two days after her departure which explained a little of her actions, without actually giving her whereabouts away. It would put both Mandy and her father’s minds at rest, and prevent Robert Lindsay from calling the police.

But this man, this arrogant Duque, was attempting, with casual apologies, to ruin everything she had struggled to achieve, as well as turning a blind eye to the situation that was developing under his very nose. Couldn’t he see what was happening to Teresa? Didn’t he feel the emotion she was harbouring for him? Or did he indeed know what was going on, and found it satisfying to his ego?

Juliet wasn’t sure, all she was sure of was that in this, at least, Estelle Vinceiro was right. She linked her fingers, bent her head, and exploded her bombshell.

‘Are you aware that your niece is in love with you?’

The Duque had been waiting for her reply, flicking through the correspondence on his desk idly, but at her words, his head jerked up, and he stared at her with incensed dark eyes. Juliet shivered, and returned her own gaze to her fingers, wondering however she had dared suggest such a thing.

‘Senhorita, your remarks may be a product of your indignation at your dismissal, but they are in extremely bad taste!’

Juliet bit her lip hard. What the hell, he was firing her anyway, what had she got to lose?

‘Bad taste or not, they’re true,’ she retorted, allowing her eyes to meet his momentarily. ‘Why do you suppose she objects to a companion? Because it limits the time you might spend with her!’

‘Enough! Deus! No one has ever spoken to me like this! How do you know these things? You have been here less than twelve hours! Have you, in that time, assimilated our positions so perfectly?’

The Duque walked round the desk restlessly, making Juliet acutely aware of him as a man, with a man’s powers, and she was treading on dangerous ground, even if she was leaving in the morning. Here, the Duque Felipe Ricardo de Castro was all powerful. Who would help her, if he chose to punish her for her outspokenness? She shivered, and wished she had a cigarette.

He returned to his position behind the desk at last, relieving a little of her tension, and again studied her intently.

‘Senhorita, I have considered what you have said, and I find I simply cannot believe you. Por Deus, Teresa is but sixteen years of age; I am nearing my fortieth birthday. Such a liaison can never have occurred to a child like that. I have never, at any time, given her any reason—’ He halted, and stiffened. ‘Wait! I will not explain myself to you. You will leave tomorrow, as I have said.’

Juliet sighed, and rose to her feet. ‘Very well, senhor,’ she said, not without some annoyance. ‘Maybe the next – companion – you employ will not be treated so carelessly.’

‘There will be no more companions,’ replied the Duque coldly.

‘There may have to be,’ retorted Juliet, her cheeks flushed. ‘In another year, regardless of her disablement, Teresa will be ready for marriage, and you may find your position less tenable!’ She marched to the door, but despite his greater weight he was there before her, leaning against the door, preventing her escape.

‘Wait!’ he muttered sombrely. ‘Wait! Maybe I have been too hasty. Maybe you are right. Maybe Teresa does need a companion after all. You are not the first person to tell me so. Does not my own cousin-in-law advocate your arguments also?’ He straightened, looking down at her with enigmatic eyes. ‘Very well, senhorita, you may stay. At least for a month. We will discover at the end of that time whether your presence has created any special improvement. Sim?’

Juliet’s legs felt weak. She didn’t know whether it was the relief at knowing she was staying, or the Duque’s proximity, but she suddenly seemed breathless and completely enervated.

‘Ver – very well, senhor,’ she murmured, and then, as though common sense asserted itself, she said: ‘What – what are you going to tell Teresa?’ She moved slightly away from him, pressing her hands together, as a demon of disobedience urged her to continue: ‘This is always supposing I agree.’

The Duque caught his breath in an angry gasp. ‘Are you even daring to suggest you might not stay?’ he ground out.

Juliet shrugged, maintaining her calm attitude with the utmost difficulty. ‘Well, after all, you seem to imagine you can dismiss me and then re-employ me without even considering my feelings. ‘Oh, I agree, I did suggest that Teresa did require a companion, and I was angry that you should think you could return me to London like some unwanted parcel, senhor, but even I have feelings, and as a woman I deserve a little more consideration!’

‘O que hei-de eu fazer? You are the most exasperating creature I have ever met!’ he muttered angrily. ‘As for you being a woman, you are little more than a child yourself!’

‘I am twenty-one, senhor, and no more a child than your — your cousin’s widow, Senhora Vinceiro!’ Juliet disliked his assumption intensely.

The Duque pressed out his cheroot violently in a copper ashtray, and then stared at her coldly. ‘So, senhorita! May I have your decision? Or do you require time to think about it? I warn you, I may yet change my own opinion!’

Juliet felt her cheeks burning. ‘I’ll stay—’ then, as he would have spoken, she went on, ‘providing you tell me a little more about Teresa, and her condition, and the reasons for your antipathy towards a companion for her!’

She was amazed at her own temerity, and so apparently was the Duque. He lit another cheroot, and then crossed to a tray of drinks on a nearby table. He poured himself a large whisky, but drank it at one gulp before turning to Juliet and asking her whether she would care for a drink herself. Juliet shook her head, and he raised his eyebrows mockingly.

‘Surely English women are completely emancipated, are they not?’

‘I’ve just drank two cups of tea, senhor,’ replied Juliet coolly, marvelling at her own composure.

‘Touché!’ He half-smiled, revealing even white teeth, and Juliet felt a strange sensation disturb the pit of her stomach. It was not an unpleasant sensation, and yet it frightened her a little, and she was glad when he seated himself behind the desk, and resumed his lazy scrutiny of the papers on his desk.

Juliet hovered uncertainly by the door, and he nodded to the chair opposite him. ‘Do sit down, senhorita, or I shall have to stand myself, and this may take a few minutes.’

Juliet subsided into the chair again, and linked her hands in her lap, the demure attitude belying the strength of her convictions.

‘So, senhorita,’ he began, ‘I will tell you about Teresa. As you know she is sixteen years of age, and reasonably intelligent. Prior to the accident she attended an academy in Lisbon, my brother lived near there, you understand, but on her parents’ death, and her own subsequent disability, she was brought here — by me.’ He drew on his cheroot. ‘Teresa was not my brother’s child, but the child of his wife, and her first husband.’

‘Yes, Teresa told me,’ replied Juliet, and he frowned.

‘I see. She must have been singularly confiding this afternoon. Still – as I have said, after the accident, I brought her here. There was no one else. Her mother’s family – parents, at least, were dead, she had no brothers or sisters. The child was quite alone. Naturally, as she had taken my brother’s name, she was as much his child as any blood relation could be.’

‘I see.’

‘The accident – it was tragic. The usual motorway pile-up, with Teresa trapped in the wreckage for hours. Hours when she was conscious, and suffered much mental torture.’ He sighed. ‘The hospital could find little wrong with her; there is no injury to her legs, no spinal damage, she simply refuses to walk! It is as simple – or maybe, as difficult – as that!’ He leant forward. ‘And that is why I do not wish her to become emotionally disturbed, in any direction! She already is disturbed, and only time, and affection, and patience can cure her. She has a nurse, Miss Madison is a very capable woman. But she is old, in her fifties, and consequently can provide little companionship to a girl of Teresa’s age.’

Juliet sighed. ‘Then why create so much difficulty about employing a companion for her?’ she exclaimed.

The Duque frowned. ‘You are a very curious young woman, Miss Summers. I do not know that I care for your attitude!’

Juliet’s colour deepened. ‘Why? Don’t you like plain speaking?’

‘Plain speaking? What is this? The right to be impertinent if one so desires?’

‘No. It’s just being truthful, and calling black black.’

‘Hmm! Well, I will reserve judgment, senhorita.’

‘And are you going to tell me why you refused to employ me?’ Juliet determined to have it all out with him.

He shrugged. ‘Estelle did it all, senhorita. As she did before. Only then the girl was an American, Laura Weston. It was a disaster. Teresa disliked her, and there were continual bouts of disharmony in the household. In addition – oh, well, that at least is of no interest to you. So, senhorita, what do you think now?’

Juliet sighed. ‘Of course I should like the job,’ she admitted. ‘Teresa presents a challenge. I never could resist a challenge.’

He smiled, this time without mockery. ‘You have courage, pequena.’

Juliet wished he had said nothing. There was that awful sensation in her stomach again. She got hastily to her feet.

‘Do you want me to tell Teresa?’ she asked.

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