Proud Revenge, Passionate Wedlock. Janette Kenny

Fine, he’d grant her one after he satisfied his revenge.

      “Please, Miguel, just leave me be,” she said and turned her face from his.

      That would be the sane thing to do. Walk away and not look back. Grant her a divorce and let her have her closure.

      But that wouldn’t satisfy his vengeance. She’d denied him the satisfaction of confronting her six months ago. Now she’d returned and he’d not be deprived of his just due.

      “If that was your wish,” he said as he trailed a finger down her pale cheek and felt a shiver of awareness rock her body, “then you should have stayed with your lover.”

      Her blue eyes snapped with a curious mix of anger and hurt. “Why do you persist in believing the worst of me?”

      “You ask that after what you did?”

      He pushed away from her then, because he’d never seen her look so miserable.

      It was the image he’d tried to envision of her, but seeing it twisted something deep inside him. He hated these feelings she wrought in him. Hated her for making him feel something besides animosity toward her.

      “I’ve had enough. If you won’t leave, then I will,” she said.

      “Running away already?” he asked. “What of this closure you’ve returned for?”

      “I’ll never have that as long as I’m subject to your ill temper.” She turned away from him and gave a frantic scan of the room, wavering slightly. “Where is the phone?”

      “In the bedroom.”

      She pushed past him without looking at him, seeming not to be looking at anything at all. Though her course was straight, he caught the slight warble in her legs.

      He was reminded again by how much weight she’d lost. “Who are you going to call?”

      “That’s none of your business,” she said.

      “It is if you’re using my phone.”

      “Very well. I intend to ring for a taxi.”

      “I will take you where you need to go.”

      Did she think she could shack up with her lover in Cancún? The paparazzi would have a field day with that gossip.

      “I prefer a taxi and a hotel that isn’t under your control,” she said.

      “Then you should have stayed in England.”

      That brought her facing him again, and this time there was no mistaking her shock. “You’ve acquired that much power?”

      “Sí, and I will not have you flaunt a lover under my nose!” He stalked her as a jaguar would a weakened prey, toying with her, knowing he had time to pounce.

      She laughed, the sound bitter. “I assure you I do not have a lover here or anywhere.”

      “You expect me to believe you?”

      She whirled on him, her blue eyes snapping with anger now. “I don’t care if you do or not.”

      “You should care, querida, for I hold your future in my hands.”

      Her chin came up, but he caught the slight tremor in it. “Is that a threat?”

      He hiked one shoulder in a careless shrug. “A promise. You want a divorce? I’ll grant you one.”

      The wariness was back in her eyes again. “Are you serious?”

      “Sí. I don’t wish to remain married to an unfaithful wife any longer.”

      “I never broke my vows,” she said, seeming angry that he’d insinuate she’d cheated on him.

      He smiled, no more than a show of teeth. “Sí, you did. I have proof of your infidelity.”

      “That’s impossible!”

      “No, querida,” he said. “I have pictures, and witnesses.”

      And now he had the satisfaction of seeing her face leach of color.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ALLEGRA stared at Miguel, scarcely believing they were having this insane conversation.

      “I have spent the past five months in a private sanitarium,” she said, remembering every facet of the bland room and the benign gardens visible out her window, painfully mindful of the hours ticking by without word from her husband.

      One day smoothly blended into the next, counting off weeks. Months. She knew the sparse staff by serene face and finally by name. Knew what times of the day to expect the doctor, and knew each session would be a struggle to remember the simplest things.

      She knew when Sunday rolled around because she’d have a brief visit from Uncle Loring.

      That had been the extent of her memory until one month ago. She certainly hadn’t had a lover there, or anywhere else for that matter.

      “It is called Bartholomew Fields,” she said, and meeting his hard gaze, she challenged, “Look it up.”

      His laugh was a whiplash to her nerves. “So now you are accusing your uncle of lying.”

      “Of course not. Just what are you insinuating?”

      “Your uncle told me you’d gone off on holiday with your lover, querida.”

      That couldn’t be. “Why would he say such a thing?”

      “Because it is the truth,” he said, the dangerous hiss in his voice raising gooseflesh.

      “No, it’s not.”

      After five months, she’d come out of her sleep and begged to see Miguel and her beautiful daughter. That’s when the doctor had told her about the tragedy.

      Cristobel had died in the auto accident. She’d barely survived herself, losing her memory and her ability to conceive again.

      Miguel prowled the room, and she knew he would spring at the slightest provocation. “He suggested I divorce you.”

      She shook her head, more confused than before. Uncle Loring had been painfully clear in telling her that Miguel held her totally to blame for their daughter’s death. He could not bear the sight of her. He wanted nothing more to do with her.

      Yet Miguel claimed he’d come after her. Who was she to believe?

      The slow, steady thud of her heart told her Miguel was telling the truth. True, her uncle had never liked Miguel, but that was no reason to lie to him about her health.

      He was her husband. Then more than ever, she’d needed him at her side.

      Instead Miguel had gone back to the Yucatán believing the worst of her. While she’d been locked away at Bartholomew Fields grieving for all she’d lost—her child, her marriage, her sanity.

      She’d actually had no desire to go on, until her uncle’s health broke and she had to rally her own wits to care for him. It was then that she realized she must heed the doctor’s advice and return here for closure.

      “I want to see this proof you claim to have,” she said, daring him to reveal his hand.

      “I will when we reach Hacienda Primaro.”

      A sliver of fear whispered over Allegra and she shivered. “I’ll pass on a visit to your family home.”

      One dark eyebrow arched high over an eye that glittered hard and unyielding. “It wasn’t an invitation, querida. You want to see the proof of your indiscretion? It is there in my office. You wish to visit our daughter’s grave? She rests in the cementerio adjacent to the hacienda.”

      She looked away and hugged her middle that pulsed with a hollow ache. The trepidation of returning