One Night in... Rio: The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child / Virgin Mistress, Scandalous Love-Child / The Surgeon's Runaway Bride. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ order. He smiled at Carlos as if to soften his words. ‘Ms—Isobella—is hot and thirsty. I will ask Consuela if she has something cold and sweet.’

      Isobel started to protest, but, after exchanging a few brief words with Alejandro in their own language, Carlos turned way.

      ‘Until later, Isobella,’ he called, raising his hand in farewell, and Isobel had no choice but to accompany Alejandro across the veranda and through the open doors into the house.

      CHAPTER TEN

      BEYOND the entry, the wood-blocked floor of a reception hall echoed with the sound of their feet. Shafts of sunlight fell through a series of narrow windows, and the air was sweet with the scent of verbena.

      It was very different from the gloomy magnificence of Anita’s villa. Here, colour-washed walls and a beamed ceiling gave the place a much more lived-in appearance. There were paintings on the walls, and a huge central table fairly spilling with vibrant colour. An enormous bowl of tropical flowers formed a brilliant centrepiece, while exotic stems of orchids grew from various pots and planters about the room.

      A woman came to meet them as they crossed the hall, a small, dark-skinned woman, dressed all in black, but with pleasant, friendly features. Much different from Sancha, thought Isobel with relief, remembering Anita’s housekeeper’s unsmiling demeanour.

      ‘This is Elena,’ said Alejandro at once, smiling at the woman. ‘Elena, this is Ms Jameson. A—friend of mine.’

      Isobel was fairly sure his hesitation had been deliberate, but Elena didn’t seem to notice. ‘Bemvindo da quinta,

      senhora,’ she said, bobbing her head politely. Then, turning back to Alejandro, ‘Voce gostaria um cafe, senhor?’

      Isobel’s simple grasp of Portuguese was enough to know that the woman had welcomed her to the estancia. And she wasn’t absolutely sure, but she thought she’d also asked if they’d like coffee.

      ‘Fruit juice, I think, Elena,’ responded Alejandro, proving she’d been right. He glanced at Isobel. ‘And some iced tea also, sim? We will be in the conservatorio.’

       ‘Sim, senhor.’

      With another bob of her head, Elena departed and Alejandro turned once more to his guest. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘I will show you a little of my house.’

      Isobel shrugged, aware that she didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter, but she was curious nonetheless. This place was so different from the Villa Mimosa. And not just its appearance. The atmosphere was different too.

      An open-plan living space led from the hall into a spacious salon with an Italian-tiled floor. The coffered ceiling was supported by veined marble pillars, dividing the room into elegant seating areas with the huge stone-faced hearth as a backdrop.

      Isobel couldn’t help moving forward to where long windows overlooked an outdoor patio. Wickerwork chairs were grouped around a glass-topped table, shaded again by the balcony above. And, beyond the patio, a pool sparkled invitingly in the sunlight, with woven, wooden cabanas where Alejandro’s guests could change their clothes.

      Isobel’s tongue sought her upper lip. She’d never imagined anything like this. Villiers, her aunt and uncle’s home, was beautiful, but she knew already it didn’t compare with Montevista.

      She couldn’t prevent a sudden intake of breath, and at once

      Alejandro came to join her. He walked a little stiffly, but it didn’t appear to impede his progress this morning, his tawny eyes assessing her with wary intent.

      ‘You do not like this place?’

      Isobel gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘How could I not?’ she asked drily. ‘It’s very beautiful, and I’m sure you know it.’ She paused. ‘Did you buy it when you were married to Miranda?’

      Alejandro’s lips compressed. ‘And why would you think that?’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Isobel shrugged, very conscious of him standing close beside her. ‘I just thought Senhora Silveira might have told you about it. After all, it’s in the same general area.’

      Alejandro expelled a breath. ‘Montevista has been in my family for generations,’ he told her at last. ‘My great-grandfather built it so that my great-grandmother could use it as an escape from the city. There was no air-conditioning in those days and, although it does not seem so at this moment, the mountain air is fresher. It can be cold, too, believe it or not. We have to light the fire from time to time.’

      Isobel absorbed this. ‘So you don’t actually own it?’

      ‘No.’ Alejandro spoke tolerantly, rubbing an impatient hand over his aching thigh. ‘It just so happens that, well, let us say it is a good place to—recuperate, nao? And I have always loved horses. I sometimes think I would rather be a cavaleiro—a horseman—than spend my days in an office.’

      Isobel glanced at him then, noticing that he was favouring his injured leg. ‘You had to recuperate,’ she said slowly, aware of a certain sympathy. ‘After the accident. Is that right?’

      Alejandro’s lips twisted. ‘As you say.’ He turned then, gesturing that she should precede him through an archway into an adjoining salon, where a formal polished table and a dozen upholstered chairs occupied a central position. ‘The conservatory,’ he added unnecessarily, indicating a huge glass-walled extension beyond sliding-glass doors.

      Despite its many windows, the conservatory was kept to an even temperature by air-conditioning and the use of half-drawn blinds. Tubs containing shrubs and climbing plants added their own particular fragrance to the air, and comfortable chairs and cushioned loungers provided plenty of seating space.

      ‘If you don’t mind …’

      Without waiting for her permission, Alejandro lowered himself onto one of the loungers, stretching out his aching leg with real relief. He was overdoing things, he knew, but it still annoyed him to show her any weakness. Her opinion of him mattered, however ridiculous that might be.

      ‘Oh, of course.’ Isobel swung round from her examination of an orange tree, the small, immature fruits so amazing in their natural habitat. ‘Um …’ She chose a chair some distance away from him and massaged its arms with nervous fingers. ‘Is your leg painful? I saw you rubbing it before.’

      ‘It has been better,’ said Alejandro tightly, not wanting to get into a discussion about his shortcomings. ‘Ah, at last. Here is Elena. If you would put the tray beside Ms Jameson, Elena, por favor.’

      Elena evidently understood a little English, because she did as Alejandro had asked, and then straightened with an enquiring smile.

      ‘O almoco, senhor?’ she said. And then, as if interpreting the look he gave her, she amended it to, ‘Lunch, senhor? You like for two?’

      ‘Receio que nao, Elena. I am afraid not,’ Alejandro answered her politely. ‘Ms Jameson has to return to Porto Verde.’ He paused, his eyes flickering over Isobel’s flushed face. ‘Another day, perhaps.’

       ‘Sim, senhor.’

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