Proud Revenge, Passionate Wedlock. Janette Kenny

swim?”

      “Sí. The waters are calmer before the storm.” Like this reunion with her promised to be?

      She looked around the sala, the framed photo still clutched tight to her chest. Her brow was creased in confusion or irritation—he didn’t care which, for her feelings meant nothing to him.

      “You’ve come here often,” she said.

      “It is convenient to spend the night here when I’m detained in the city on business.” In truth, he came here to reflect on all he’d had in his grasp, and all he’d lost.

      “As I recall, you spent more time away from the casa than you did in residence.”

      He gave a lazy shrug when he felt anything but nonchalant, for the peevish tone that crept into her voice was a barb in his skin—it sounded as if she blamed him for what had happened.

      “Why did you come back?” he said.

      “Closure.”

      He waved a negligent hand as if bored. “Meaning?”

      She drew in a shaky breath that was at odds with her prim outward show. “I want to visit Cristobel’s grave.” She gave the room a longing glance. “I wish to sell this house.” Her eyes locked with his. “I want a divorce.”

      He’d expected this, yet the cool order in which she’d delivered her wants chafed him. “Did you go back to your doctor?”

      “Of course not.”

      He believed her. She’d moved past that man. Past him as well. “Our daughter is laid to rest amid her ancestors.”

      Her throat worked. “I expected she would be, but you can’t stop me from visiting my child’s grave.”

      He could if he wished. It would take no more than a simple request, and Allegra Vandohrn would find herself deported to England.

      “I will take you there,” he said.

      She tensed up at that. “I don’t require your company.”

      “You will have it, regardless.”

      He waited for her to argue the point. She simply heaved a sigh and gave a shaky nod, but his English rose soon proved she had thorns. “How often have you availed yourself of my house?”

      “Whenever I wished to,” he said, intrigued by her ire.

      “Your arrogance amazes me,” she said, the soprano pitch in her contralto voice stopping him. “You could have stayed at a hotel. You could have driven back to your hacienda.”

      “I chose not to.” He kept his expression blank when his insides rampaged with fury, but he welcomed the anger over the other emotions that threatened to blindside him. “I prefer to avoid the crowds at the hotels. As you know, the drive can be treacherous when one is weary or reckless.”

      That remark drained the color from her face. Her eyes clouded with profound grief. He waited for the satisfaction of besting her to wash over him, of hurting her as she’d hurt him, but all he felt was a vast emptiness that pulsed and throbbed and ached in his soul.

      “This is my house,” she said simply. “I bought it with my inheritance.”

      A fact he remembered well, but brushed away with a shrug now. “You have failed to keep up your obligations.”

      “Uncle Loring said he’d taken care of everything.”

      Ah, her very proper family to the rescue again. Except this time her uncle had failed her.

      “Your housekeeper called me a month after you fled Cancún, wondering what she should do,” he said. “Her funds had run out, so I assumed the responsibility.”

      Profound confusion pulled at her delicate features. “That can’t be.”

      He arched one arrogantly arched eyebrow. “Should I summon the housekeeper to explain?”

      “Of course not.”

      She hugged her tiny waist and he resisted the urge to draw her into his protective embrace. She was his weakness. His Achilles’ heel. ¡Dios mio! Would he always be plagued with concern for this woman?

      Her spine went stiff and her features tensed. “Do you bring your women here?”

      He just barely bridled his muscles from snapping taut. How dare she ask him that! He stared at the woman he’d vowed to honor until his dying day and swore under his breath.

      “Come now, there’s no reason to lie—”

      “On occasion,” he interrupted smoothly.

      She looked away, as if the sight of him sickened her, as if hurt by the thought of him bringing another woman here. Strange reaction for the wife who’d taken a lover behind her husband’s back. But then their marriage had grown strained the month before Cristobel’s birth.

      “What of you, querida? Did you bring your lover here?”

      “How dare you suggest such a thing!”

      Her eyes flashed fire even as she seemed to shrink in on herself. Rebellious yet withdrawn. Those two opposites she affected with ease. Those two qualities had lured him to her from the beginning a lifetime ago.

      “The only lover I entertained here was you.” Her chin came up, her lush lips trembling a fraction before thinning into a disagreeable line. “And do remember you lost the right to call me your darling six months ago.”

      ¡Dios mio! She dared speak to him of rights? She’d shut him out of her life to take up with her lover, then returned to Cancún to portray the affronted one?

      He moved in on her, forcing her against the pristine-white wall, bending close to bracket his hands on both sides of her narrow shoulders that quaked despite their rigid lines.

      Beads of unease pebbled over her skin, and he just barely caught himself from running a finger over her cool, smooth flesh. Damn, but this woman tied him in knots!

      “You should use care before you remind me of what I’ve lost,” he said.

      “I’ve lost, too, Miguel. Surely you realize that!”

      She looked away before he could come back with a stinging retort, and it was then that he realized she still clutched the photo of their niña. ¡Hostias! Was that a sob she made?

      He pushed away from her like she was poison and dragged his fingers through his damp hair, raking his scalp. He would not feel compassion for her. He would not wish to know she’d suffered a moment, for it would be nothing but lies. He would not care one bit for her. He would not!

      Miguel knew the truth. When he’d confronted Loring Vandohrn regarding the whereabouts of his wife, her uncle had informed him that she’d gone on holiday with her lover. He’d suggested Miguel seek a divorce.

      It would have been the simplest solution. But a divorce robbed him of vengeance. It did not punish his wife whose recklessness took their child’s life. It did not assuage the angst Miguel had lived with for months when he searched for his wife only to be thwarted at every turn.

      He looked down at the woman who’d turned his life upside down and wondered why she’d decided to seek a divorce now. Did she wish to marry her lover?

      The bead of moisture clinging to her full upper lip confirmed she didn’t like him this close to her. God knew it was a mistake for him to tempt fate as well.

      It would be so easy for him to dip his head and lap that salty bead of moisture off her mouth. So inviting to trace the lush, provocative bow of her upper lip with his tongue.

      Her enticing floral scent teased him with the memory of how much he’d enjoyed making love with this woman—and the countless times since she’d left when he’d reached for her in his sleep.

      He