The Spaniard's Untouched Bride. Maisey Yates

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      She shook her head. “I wasn’t. I mean, I was certainly in danger of becoming homeless once Cesar died.” Her heart clutched with grief. Because, after all, even though she was playing the part of a stable boy from her father’s rancho, she was not. It was her father, and she still couldn’t speak of him without feeling pain.

      “And before you came to work for Cesar Alvarez?” he asked.

      She bit her tongue. Because she was simply going to have to fabricate from here. They had a boy that had worked at the rancho for a while before her father had paid for him to go away to school. His parents had died, and he had fallen through the cracks of child welfare. It felt wrong to steal his story, but it was also the easiest thing to do under the circumstances.

      “I never knew my father,” she said, the line tasting like acid, particularly as she had just been thinking about the loss of her father. “My mother died when I was only nine. I was on my own for a while, but then I wandered onto Cesar Alvarez’s ranch. He gave me work. He gave me purpose. Education. But horses are what I love. They’re what I know. I followed the horses.”

      Matías nodded. “I love them, too. It is in my blood. My family has had this rancho for generations. It means a great deal to me.”

      “If this is your place, why don’t you redecorate?”

      Matías crossed to the armchair across from her, picking up a crystal decanter full of sherry. He poured some into a glass. He did not offer any to her. But then, that was because he thought she was fourteen.

      Well, probably also because he didn’t want her to fall asleep.

      “It is not mine,” he said, taking a sip of the liquid, then swirling it slightly. He set it down on the table with a decisive click. “It will be. But as it is now, my grandfather is very ill and he has laid out terms. Depending on what my brother and I do before he dies, that is how he will decide who gets what. If both of us comply, we will split it down the middle. If only one of us does, then to the victor goes the spoils.”

      “What are his terms?” she asked, blinking.

      “It’s good that I’m keeping you awake with my story, but it might be a little bit too much information. Suffice it to say, I have low expectations that my brother will be able to complete said terms. My brother is not a good man.”

      “They say...”

      He tilted his head to the side, his expression no longer passive. “What do they say?”

      Immediately, she regretted starting that line of conversation. “I know about your brother.”

      Everyone did.

      “Of course.”

      “They say he was responsible for the death of his wife.”

      “Yes, they do.”

      She tried to straighten. “Do you believe it?”

      “When it comes to Diego it is difficult for me to disbelieve much of anything. Except...” He frowned, hesitating for the space of a breath. “I don’t believe he murdered Karina. I will not say he didn’t have some level of responsibility for it. But he has also never tried to clear his name. Which is also just very like him. And difficult to apply a motive to.”

      “They talk about you, too,” she said, realizing that this perhaps was not the best line of conversation. But she blamed her head injury. Also, the fact that when he was near it was difficult to breathe. And it made her feel dizzy.

      “Do they?”

      “They say you don’t... That you don’t hire women to work for you.”

      It was a deadly game that she was playing. At least, it felt that way to her. But Matías never looked at her closely. He looked at her the way he did the rest of his staff. Dismissively, though, not unkindly. He was energetic, and always seemed to be looking around, his focus never bound to one place for too long.

      She had a feeling that if he was to ever truly look at her he would see much more than she wanted him to.

      “It’s true,” he said, inclining his head, his arrogant mouth curving upward.

      “Wh-why is that? You don’t think women are good with horses?”

      “Of course not,” he said, waving his hand. “The problem is, they always fall in love with me.”

      The words hit Camilla in an uncomfortable space. Because she wasn’t neutral to him. Of course, she wasn’t in love. That was ludicrous. But she certainly wasn’t immune to him, and she could see how it was possible that women might position themselves to get a job at the rancho simply to gain access to him.

      “Perhaps,” Matías said, “it is something you will understand when you’re older.”

      Irritation prickled her face. “I understand it well enough now.”

      Matías chuckled. “Of course.”

      “That’s very closed-minded of you, actually,” she said.

      Matías arched a brow. “Is it?”

      “Yes,” she insisted. “There are some men who might fall in love with you, as well.”

      He laughed at that. “I suppose that is a possibility, given that I am replete with charm. However, I have never gone up to my bedroom to find one of my male employees naked in residence.”

      Her mouth dropped open, her cheeks growing warm. “Oh.”

      “Indeed.”

      She was starting to feel dizzy, and she let her head fall back to the arm of the settee, staring up at the ornate ceiling. The room was beginning to swirl around her. A confection of gold, blue and white.

      “Cam,” Matías said. “Stay with me.”

      She jerked upward. “Stay with you?”

      She was feeling confused again. The differences between Cam and Camilla beginning to seem fuzzy. The reason for him asking her to stay becoming ambiguous in her mind.

      “Don’t fall asleep,” he said.

      She blinked. Of course. Of course that was what he was asking her to do. He wasn’t asking her to stay with him. As in...to stay in the house. As in, to be Camilla with him.

      He didn’t know who she was. And frankly, she didn’t know who he was.

      It had been much easier when he was nothing more than the faceless villain who had purchased her father’s horses. Who had taken advantage of the state of the rancho, and of her father’s debts.

      He did not seem like a villain now. He was kind. And he cared about the horses. Also, surprisingly, he seemed to care whether or not she died. Though he had made it pretty clear that it was an investigation he wanted to avoid. But perhaps, he also cared whether or not she was dead.

      It was strangely warming.

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