Wed For The Spaniard's Redemption. Chantelle Shaw

seemed to Juliet.

      For the first couple of weeks after she had agreed to Rafael’s marriage proposition she had been busy winding down her sandwich business. Mel had found a buyer for the bakery shop and it had been an emotional moment as they’d closed the door for the last time.

      ‘I’m intrigued to know more about your new business opportunity in Spain,’ Mel had said. ‘Why are you being so secretive?’

      ‘I’ll tell you more if it happens.’

      Juliet hadn’t revealed to her friend the true reason why she would be going to Spain. She was sure Mel would think she was mad if she explained that she had agreed to marry a man she did not know for money.

      As the date of the wedding had drawn closer her doubts had multiplied. But Rafael had promised that there was no catch to their business deal.

      Deciding what to tell Agata had been more difficult. Juliet was fond of the Polish woman who had helped her and Poppy so much, and after some soul-searching she’d told Agata the white lie that she was marrying Rafael after a whirlwind courtship.

      Today, packing her’s and Poppy’s belongings hadn’t taken long, and a member of Rafael’s staff had come and taken the few cardboard boxes down to an SUV.

      Juliet strapped Poppy into the child seat and as the car drove away from the estate on its way to Ferndown House she felt a mixture of relief, apprehension and excitement that refused to be quashed at the prospect of seeing Rafael again.

      She had spoken to him once on the phone, when he’d called her to check some details he needed in order to complete the paperwork for their wedding. His gravelly voice with its sexy accent had made her feel hot all over, and she’d closed her eyes and pictured his devastatingly handsome face.

      Remembering his disdainful expression when he’d seen her wearing her cleaning overalls, she had taken a bit of time over her appearance today. The pink jumper that Agata had given her at Christmas lent some colour to her washed-out complexion, and the old tube of mascara she’d found at the back of the bathroom cabinet had still had enough in it to darken her pale eyelashes.

      But when they arrived at Ferndown House Alice the housekeeper greeted Juliet and explained that Rafael had left the previous day for a business trip to America.

      ‘He is not sure when he will be back but he asked me to give you his PA’s phone number. Miss Foxton will answer any queries you might have.’ Alice smiled at Poppy. ‘I’ve made some cookies. Would you like one?’

      Juliet tried to shrug off her disappointment at Rafael’s absence. There was no reason for them to spend any time together. Their marriage would be a formality which would allow Rafael to become CEO of his family’s company and he was paying her an astounding amount of money to be his temporary wife, she reminded herself.

      And sitting alone in the elegant dining room at Ferndown House, enjoying one of the delicious meals that the housekeeper had prepared, was a lot nicer than sitting in her flat with a microwaveable meal after Poppy had gone to bed—although she felt just as lonely.

      Rafael finally phoned her the evening before they were due to marry the following day. ‘My plane has just touched down in London and I’m going straight to the office,’ he told her.

      His gravelly voice had its usual effect of bringing Juliet’s skin out in goosebumps.

      ‘I don’t know what time I’ll get back to the house. Make sure you’re ready to leave for the register office at ten-thirty tomorrow morning.’

      On her way up to bed she wondered if he really was going to the office so late, or if he planned to spend the night with a mistress. Perhaps he wanted to enjoy his last night as a bachelor before he was forced into a marriage that he patently didn’t want.

      It was none of her business what he did, Juliet reminded herself.

      There was no logical explanation for her dismal mood. In a few months’ time she would have five million pounds in the bank—more than enough to buy a cottage by the sea and for her to establish her own dance school.

      It was after midnight when she heard a car pull up outside the house, and when she hopped out of bed and ran across to the window her heart skipped a beat as she saw Rafael’s tall frame unfold from his Lamborghini. The moonlight danced across his face, highlighting his chiselled jaw and sharp cheekbones.

      Tomorrow he would be her husband.

      Butterflies leapt in her stomach—nerves, she supposed. But around dawn she woke feeling horribly sick. Frequent trips to the bathroom followed, and the severe bouts of vomiting left her feeling drained.

      She certainly did not look like a blushing bride, Juliet thought as she stared at her ashen face and lank hair in the mirror. It was ten o’clock and she needed to hurry up and get ready.

      Choosing what to wear did not take her long. She lived in jeans or a denim skirt, and the only vaguely smart item of clothing she owned was a mustard-coloured dress she’d bought in a sale years ago when she had first moved to Australia and needed something to wear to job interviews. The colour hadn’t looked so bad in the Australian sunshine, but on a grey spring day in England it made her pale skin look sallow.

      She would have liked to buy something pretty to wear on her wedding day, but since her sandwich business had closed down and she’d given up her cleaning job she hadn’t had an income. Living at Ferndown House meant that she hadn’t had to pay for food, but she’d spent the last of her money on new shoes for Poppy.

      Juliet had no time to worry about her appearance when another bout of sickness sent her rushing into the bathroom, and she emerged feeling shivery and hot at the same time. Then she spent ten minutes searching for Poppy’s favourite teddy, knowing that her daughter would not sleep at night without Mr Bear. Finally they were ready.

       Was she doing the right thing?

      It was too late for second thoughts now, she told herself. She had already given up her flat and her job. If she did not marry Rafael she would be homeless.

      As Juliet walked down the stairs a wave of dizziness swept over her. She clung to the banister rail with one hand and held on to Poppy with the other.

      Rafael strolled into the hall and an expression of horror flickered across his face as he studied her appearance, before he quickly schooled his features and gave her a cool smile. He looked utterly gorgeous in a grey three-piece suit that emphasised his broad shoulders and athletic build. His black hair was swept back from his brow and the designer stubble on his jaw gave him an edgy sex appeal that was irresistible.

      ‘I couldn’t afford to buy a new outfit for the wedding,’ Juliet told him stiffly.

      She wished the ground would open up beneath her feet when she caught sight of herself in the hall mirror. She hadn’t had the energy to do anything fancy with her hair and it hung in a heavy braid down her back.

      ‘You look fine,’ Rafael assured her smoothly.

      It was a blatant lie, she thought.

      She wished she wasn’t so agonisingly aware of him. Her breath snagged in her throat when he lifted his hand and lightly touched her face.

      ‘Although I’m guessing from the dark circles beneath your eyes that you did not sleep well last night, he murmured. ‘You will do very well,’ he added, in a satisfied tone that puzzled her.

      But then he hurried her out to the car and she was too busy strapping Poppy into the child seat to think about Rafael’s odd statement.