The Spanish Duke's Virgin Bride by Chantelle Shaw Page A

Thoughts that she judged would be better kept to herself, she decided after another glance at the smouldering impatience in his amber eyes. Their marriage pact was less than a day old, and already she had the sickening feeling that she had lost control of her life. ‘You might enjoy storming through life like a tornado but you can’t expect me to keep up with you.’
    â€˜I expect you to step out of the car and into the lift in the next five seconds—unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder and carry you?’ Javier ground out, his brows drawn into a frown as he stared at her mutinous expression.
    â€˜You can keep your damn hands off me!’ Riotous anger coursed through Grace’s veins—and that in itself was a shocking indication of how strongly the situation was affecting her, she thought dismally. She was renowned for her gentle nature and even temper, but Javier Herrera seemed to bring out the worst in her.
    Catching the glint of battle in her tormentor’s eyes, she flung open the car door and stalked across the underground car park towards the lift, muttering a curse beneath her breath. For the past few hours her feet had barely touched the floor. The banquet being held tonight at one of Madrid’s most exclusive hotels would be the ideal situation at which to announce their engagement, Javier had informed her. For once he would welcome the attention of the media, and had already prepared a statement giving details of their forthcoming marriage in three weeks’ time.
    Grace had baulked at the thought of marrying so soon—her heart lurched painfully at the thought—but Javier had overridden her concerns in his usual autocratic manner. He was plainly a man used to getting his own way, and he was utterly determined to claim control of El Banco de Herrera by making her his bride.
    The afternoon had been spent on a whirlwind tour of the city’s top boutiques as he’d personally selected a wardrobe of designer outfits and evening dresses that he deemed suitable for the soon-to-be Duquesa de Herrera. He had ignored Grace’s initial refusal to accept anything from him, and had scathingly pointed out that a few thousand pounds on clothes was a drop in the ocean compared to the million he had already paid for her.
    The words ‘paid for’ had rendered Grace speechless. She had indeed sold her soul to the devil, she acknowledged despairingly. Her father would be free from debt and fear of a jail sentence, but she would be Javier’s prisoner for a whole year.
    â€˜I can’t believe you bought me so many clothes,’ she muttered when he followed her into the lift, holding a multitude of bags and boxes. ‘I told you I don’t need them, I have my own clothes.’
    Javier pressed the control panel to take them to the top floor. ‘Let’s get one thing straight, querida ,’ he drawled, the inflexion in his tone making the endearment sound like an insult. ‘For the next year you will be my wife, God help me. When we are in public I expect you to act and dress like a duquesa rather than a badly dressed schoolgirl—understand? What you do in private is up to you—you can run around naked for all I care.’ His eyes settled on her furious face and he gave a sudden grin that did peculiar things to Grace’s insides. ‘Who knows? It might spice up our relationship,’ he murmured silkily.
    â€˜In your dreams!’ Grace told him witheringly, ignoring the way her heart rate accelerated. ‘And what do you mean, “badly dressed”? What’s wrong with the way I look?’ She caught sight of her reflection in the mirrored panels of the lift and grimaced. Her sundress was pretty but hardly elegant, she acknowledged. Compared to Javier’s sophisticated secretary and the fashionably dressed shop assistants who had aided her in trying on outfits, she was sadly lacking in style. She had managed to