Their Convenient Marriage. Mary Lyons

Anyway, hadn’t Grandpa said that Antonio wouldn’t be arriving until this evening?

      So…if she booked a table for dinner in a good local restaurant—making absolutely certain that all conversation was kept firmly to business matters—she shouldn’t have too much of a problem. Then, when Antonio discovered that his missing shipment of wine definitely wasn’t here, he’d obviously be off, back to wherever he’d come from, by midday tomorrow at the latest.

      All the same…there was no point in sitting here in the office, feeling as though she was going to be sick any moment. In fact, the sooner she went home and checked that the beds were made up in the guest bedrooms the better.

      While still feeling coiled up tight like an over-wound clock spring, Gina could almost physically feel herself beginning to relax slightly as she drove her small Mazda sports car down the long drive, lined with ancient oak trees, to Bradgate Manor.

      She’d always loved the large old Tudor mansion, which had been the country home of the Brandon family since the days of Queen Victoria—when it had been acquired by her great-great-grandfather for his young wife, who had been born and raised in Suffolk. And it was, of the course, one of the reasons why Gina had jumped at the opportunity of working in the local Ipswich office.

      Who wouldn’t prefer living deep in the country when compared to life in the crowded, dusty streets of London? Gina asked herself as she parked her car in the garage next to the stable block and walked slowly back towards the house. And especially on a lovely sunny day in early June, with no sound to disturb the peace other than the faint cooing of wood pigeons from a nearby clump of trees and the distant hum of a tractor in one of the fields.

      Having checked that everything was in order, and deciding to place Antonio in a guest suite as far away from her own bedroom as possible, Gina found herself wandering restlessly through the empty house. In fact, she was feeling so tense and strained that she couldn’t seem to keep still for more than a few seconds.

      Firmly reminding herself that there was no reason why Antonio should recall the time when a young, gauche teenager had made such an utter fool of herself wasn’t much use, either. Because, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to banish from her mind’s eye a vision of the dangerously exciting figure of Antonio Ramirez.

      With his head of curly hair the colour of raven’s wings—either worn loose, curling over his collar at the back of his neck, or wet-combed tightly to his head, after a shower—and the deeply disturbing, wicked glint in those large, gleaming dark eyes, heavily fringed with long black eyelashes, he’d been devastatingly attractive!

      So it was no wonder, she told herself, that an impressionable young girl, fresh out of school, had immediately fallen head over heels in love with the most strikingly handsome man she’d ever seen. Who also happened to be the brother of her best friend, with whom she’d been staying during that Easter holiday all those years ago.

      And Gina clearly hadn’t been the only one to be so affected by the twenty-six-year-old man’s aura of strong masculinity and rampant sex appeal. Just about every female in the large, extended Spanish family between the ages of nine and ninety had seemed to regard Antonio in exactly the same light.

      ‘Just look at them!’ Roxana had laughed. ‘They’re all over my brother, like a rash. Estúpidas…no?’

      And she’d been the most stupid of all! Gina recalled grimly. Then she became furious with herself for getting in such a state about an episode—however shameful and embarrassing—which had happened so very long ago. Then she brought herself up with a start. This simply would not do! It was utterly ridiculous to keep on pacing up and down, getting more and more nervous with every passing minute, while waiting for the damned man to turn up. In fact, what she needed was some fresh air and exercise. So, the most sensible decision would be to get changed and take her horse out for a good hard gallop.

      That would definitely blow the dusty cobwebs of memory from her mind, she told herself firmly, spinning around on her heels and running up the wide, old oak staircase towards her bedroom.

      Antonio’s lips tightened with annoyance as, for what seemed the hundredth time, he quickly stamped on the brake.

      Having to drive a strange car on the wrong side of the road was bad enough. But the amount of traffic on this heavily congested route leading out of London was proving enough to try the patience of a saint.

      However, taking into account the possible loss of his wine, and that quite extraordinary meeting with old Sir Robert Brandon, he told himself grimly, it now looked as if he’d made a very bad mistake by including this quick trip to Britain in his tight schedule.

      ‘I’m so sorry, my boy,’ Sir Robert Brandon had told him earlier today. ‘It looks as if that shipment of yours has been misdirected to our branch at Ipswich, in Suffolk. I’ll put my staff on to tracking it down straight away.’

      Unfortunately, Sir Robert’s idea of ‘straight away’ seemed to mean that it would take at least two weeks to sort out the problem.

      ‘Two weeks!’ Antonio had exclaimed in horror. ‘But I hadn’t planned to spend more than a day or two in England.’

      However, after some discussion, he’d reluctantly agreed that his best and possibly only option was to visit Brandon’s office and large warehouse at Ipswich, in Suffolk.

      ‘It isn’t a long drive,’ Sir Robert had assured him. ‘So why not allow me to show you around the cellars here, in Pall Mall, hmm? We have some very old cases of vintage wines which I think you might find interesting.’

      Since the two families had been trading closely together for well over a hundred and fifty years, it had seemed discourteous to refuse the invitation. And that, as he now acknowledged grimly, had proved to be a major error on his part. Because after the tour of the wine cellars he’d found himself being pressured into joining Sir Robert for lunch.

      ‘No…no, I can’t possibly let you go without giving you something to eat,’ the old man had insisted. ‘And I’ve been looking forward to hearing all about my old friend Emilio. I was really so very sorry to hear about your uncle’s illness.’

      Finding himself boxed into a corner, Antonio hadn’t seen that he’d had any choice but to accept the invitation. And with Sir Robert’s servants moving like snails around the huge dining room of the large, private house in Pall Mall—taking hours to serve a very long, ridiculously grand meal—it had gradually become clear that he hadn’t a hope of reaching Brandon’s office in Suffolk before it had closed for the day.

      If he’d had any sense, he should have written off that valuable consignment of sherry—high-tailing it back to Spain as quickly as possible. In fact, he had nearly called the whole thing off when Sir Robert had casually let fall the information that his granddaughter was currently managing the branch office in Ipswich.

      ‘Gina’s a clever girl,’ the old man had continued. ‘Only relation of mine still alive. So it seems a good way of giving her some experience of running things, before she takes over the business when I’m gone.’

      Which was the first intimation he’d had that this trip to England might definitely prove to be a major mistake, Antonio told himself edgily, not at all sure how he felt about finding himself suddenly pitch-forked into dealing with a girl whom he hadn’t seen for eight years.

      And the subsequent conversation about the elderly man’s frail health certainly hadn’t improved matters either.

      Swearing under his breath, Antonio drummed his fingers irritably on the driving wheel, trying to think what he was going to do about what appeared to be an increasingly tricky situation.

      Because, of course, he had no problem recalling Gina Brandon, or the events of that weekend all those years ago when his family and their guests had attended the spring fiesta in Seville.

      He hadn’t forgotten how they’d avoided the rest of the party, determined to spend the day together. Nor her desperate terror as she’d tried to control a frisky young horse, when she’d clearly had neither the skills