Knight in Black Velvet. HELEN BROOKS

He thought her a fool, a complete and utter fool, and she was beginning to agree with him.

      An hour later, bathed, creamed and with her hair newly washed, she lay on the vast bed in the suite of rooms she had been shown to with her head spinning and her mind racing. After the two maids had helped her to bath and wash her hair they had half carried her to the bed where she had found a pair of trousers, a thigh-length blouse in raw silk and even a change of underwear laid out for her. The wildly expensive clothes so casually given, the unimaginable wealth all around her that spoke of power and authority on a scale she had never touched before and the cold, fierce personality of the man who seemed to be master of this empire was numbing her mind. What have you blundered into? she asked herself soberly as she glanced again round the fabulous room. The sooner she was out of here the better. She had never been a snob in even the mildest sense of the word but she had to admit that this particular situation had, temporarily, overwhelmed her.

      A light knock on the closed door brought her out of her reverie and, thinking it was one of the maids again, she called for them to enter. As the door opened and Francisco’s tall, broad shape stood framed in the doorway, her heart jumped painfully in her chest. He had changed since she last saw him and the black silk shirt and casual black jeans that he now wore seemed to project still further the innate cold austerity of the man while adding to the cruel, handsome face a piratical effect. For a moment she could have believed they had travelled back in time and she was facing one of the original conquistadors, fiercely proud, intrinsically cruel and without mercy.

      ‘Don’t look so frightened.’ It was the last thing she expected him to say and as her mouth opened in a small O of surprise she saw a fleeting smile touch the firm, hard mouth. ‘If all my patients would have reacted like you I think it is probably as well fate led me in another direction than that of a doctor, do you not agree?’

      ‘I’m sorry.’ She pulled herself together with a visible effort as he walked slowly across the room, carrying his bag.

      ‘Is it still as painful?’ After examining the swollen flesh that was already turning a faint blue he began to wind a tight bandage expertly round her foot.

      ‘No, no, it’s not,’ she said quickly, trying to concentrate on the ache in her ankle rather than the feel of his warm, competent fingers on her skin. The sight of this severe, forbidding man performing such a gentle task was such an antithesis that it was causing her heart to pound again. She didn’t know why he affected her so strongly but affect her he did, and she found it acutely disturbing.

      ‘The clothes are lovely,’ she said after a few seconds, more for something to say than anything else. The silence had begun to scream at her.

      ‘Good.’ He raised his head as he spoke after tying the bandage lightly in place. ‘I thought they would fit with a little adjustment.’ His eyes glanced at the trousers that she had rolled up a few inches.

      In spite of herself she couldn’t stop a pink flush from staining her cheeks at the thought of the tiny scraps of lacy underwear spread out on the bed. The female shape was clearly no mystery to him. Again, it was as though he could read her mind.

      “There is no need to be embarrassed.’ The cool voice was mocking but not unfriendly. ‘I have not reached the age of thirty-eight without having become... familiar with the items ladies wear under their clothing.’

      ‘I don’t doubt it,’ she said as lightly as the hectic flush in her cheeks would allow, ‘but I’m not used to men choosing my clothes for me.’

      He stiffened as he looked down at her, her long silver hair spread out in a shining pillow round her head and her slender shape defenceless in the middle of the huge bed.

      ‘I do not play with children, Miss Lorne Wilson, so you may let your anxiety lessen.’ His voice was expressionless and she couldn’t read anything beyond the black glitter in his eyes. ‘You have had one distressing experience today; let that suffice.’

      ‘What does that mean?’ she asked hotly. ‘That you consider me a child? You still don’t believe I am twenty-two, is that it?’

      ‘Your numerical age has nothing to do with it,’ he said calmly, ‘or even the fact that you look about five years younger than you are. I can read in your eyes, your body, your whole outlook on life that the world hasn’t touched you with its unpleasant, darker side yet. That is good; you must hold on to that for as long as you can and be with companions of like mind.’

      ‘And you aren’t?’ She didn’t know what made her ask such a pertinent question but it was out before she could hold it back. He froze for an infinitesimal moment and then breathed out slowly, his eyes hooded.

      ‘I’m not,’ he agreed grimly, his eyes softening a little as they took in her bewildered young face. ‘Stay in the sunshine for as long as you can, my little English infanta, the shadows will beckon soon enough.’

      ‘Infanta?’ She didn’t like this constant reference to the fact that he considered her incapable of behaving in an adult fashion. Admittedly she might have made a mistake in trying to travel round a foreign country by herself without knowing the language but she had survived rather well, all things considered! She was past the age of consent, she was no child, and she was sick of his superior, condemning attitude! ‘What does infanta mean?’ she asked testily. ‘Infant, baby, I suppose?’

      ‘Not at all.’ He had settled back against the pillar of the four-poster bed, his arms crossed and his face devoid of all expression. ‘It means princess. You see, I was not being insulting.’

      ‘Well, that makes a change.’ She found she suddenly couldn’t control her tongue at all. The need to prove that she wasn’t completely stupid, that she could manage her own affairs very well, was goading her on. ‘I’m not quite the little innocent you seem to be making me out to be, you know,’ she said crossly. ‘I’ve had four years at a university doing an English degree for which I got a 2-1; that’s pretty good incidentally.’ He raised dark eyebrows but said nothing. ‘And I supported myself the whole time, working in the holidays to supplement my grant. I arranged my lodgings when necessary, I dealt with any financial problems, I have taken care of my life for the last few years.’

      ‘Why?’ The one word stopped her flow and she stared at him. ‘Why has it been necessary for you to do all that? Where are your parents, your family?’

      ‘My parents died when I was ten,’ she said flatly, ‘and I lived with my older brother and his wife and family till I left for university at eighteen. They haven’t much money, they couldn’t afford to support me; besides, Tom has health problems and they’ve got enough difficulties of their own without worrying about me.’

      ‘There is no other family?’ he asked quietly, his eyes watching her every expression.

      ‘Not really.’ She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘Besides, I like looking after myself. In spite of what you may be thinking, I usually do it quite well, too.’

      ‘Do you indeed?’ She had no idea of the ethereal, delicate picture she made lying on the large bed, her hair a shining mass of silver and her small, heart-shaped face pale against the dark orange of the silk shirt. Finely boned and small, she had always disliked her slimness and lack of height, but to the dark, bronzed man watching her so intently she was breathtakingly lovely. ‘And men?’ His voice was still cool but with a husky note now that made her stomach tremble. ‘Where have men fitted into this independent life?’

      ‘I’ve had boyfriends,’ she said defiantly as she raised herself to a sitting position against the mass of soft, deep blue pillows. ‘Quite a few, as it happens; in fact it was my last boyfriend who brought me to Spain in the first place.’

      ‘I see.’ He moved to her side again and bent to pick up the bag lying on the floor. ‘Then maybe I was mistaken in my opinion about you. Maybe you are a woman of the world, used to dealing with life and love in the modern fashion? Uncaring, hard; are you like that, little infanta?’

      As he raised his head on a level with hers their eyes locked and as he slowly bent towards