The Spaniard's Stolen Bride. Maisey Yates

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СКАЧАТЬ was no reason to believe that it should be.

      Two weeks she had been here, and he hadn’t so much as kissed her.

      He had been solicitous beyond the point of reason. Constantly putting parasols over her head in the sun and worrying over her pale skin in the heat. Like she was a scoop of ice cream that might melt into a puddle.

      She might be free of her father, but her fiancé had taken up the charge of overprotective presence easily enough.

      Today had been the first time he had given her a bit of breathing room. There had been an accident with one of the horses on the rancho and a stable boy, and Matías had been consumed with the care of the boy since it had happened. As a result, Liliana had finally been given a few hours free to wander the rancho without someone clucking after her like a hen.

      That was what was so funny. He was more like a protective older brother than he was a fiancé. At least, how she would imagine a fiancé would be.

      And she was grateful for it. Which was another bad sign, she imagined.

      She had never seen a married couple together. She didn’t know how her parents had been, but the way that her father talked about her mother made her believe that theirs had been a passionate love. That when she had died his heart had been ripped from his body and sent to the grave right along with her.

      She couldn’t imagine having a connection like that with another person.

      Much less Matías.

      She didn’t think she wanted one like that, really.

      The footsteps passed by and she let out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t ready to be physical with him. Which was foolish, as they were going to be married very soon. They would have to be physical then. They should kiss. Something. They should do something.

      The idea didn’t disgust her—it was just that she found...

      When she closed her eyes and thought of kissing Matías, inevitably, his sculpted, dark features transformed. Into more dangerous ones.

      Diego.

      She had never—not in all her life before setting eyes on that man—indulged in childish infatuations. Having always had a sense that her father was going to arrange her marriage, she had known there was no point.

      She wasn’t a fairy-tale princess. Prince Charming wasn’t going to come for her.

      Prince Acceptable was going to be selected for her.

      And so there had never been a crush. Never been a fantasy.

      Until him.

      She wondered if it could be called a crush or a fantasy. This dark, terrible feeling that made her want to do something reckless and awful. Something the Liliana she’d been raised to be would never consider.

      Diego was the worst possible man for her to have developed a connection to. The worst possible man to be fixated on now.

      Her father wanted her to do this and she’d poured all of her energy, all of her life, all of herself, into doing what he asked.

      Liliana felt compelled to be a counterpoint to death. And that was a very heavy weight to carry. But she was alive. Her mother was dead.

      Could she complain about anything being too heavy when she lived?

       But you’ll live your whole life without ever touching him...

      “It doesn’t matter!”

      She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but it burst from her mouth and she looked around, hoping her voice didn’t draw attention to her.

      It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

      She’d made her choices. She could have been a rebellious daughter. She could have pushed back against her father’s edicts. His demands she learn etiquette and deportment instead of going on to university. His pronouncement that she’d play hostess when he had businessmen over.

      His long-standing proclamation he would choose her husband.

      But when she thought of rebelling against him...

      It made her cold all over.

      Her father was her only family. The only person in the world who loved her.

      How could she push back against that? How could she test that?

      Maybe someday Matías would love her.

      The idea didn’t fill her with any sense of joy.

      She stood from the bed and paced across the large bedroom. The rancho was opulent, but she had spent her life surrounded by opulence. It was nothing new, and suddenly, she despised her own jadedness on that score.

      So many people would be grateful to marry Matías. To be made his princess, for all intents and purposes. To be the lady of the rancho, and have all these beautiful lands, this incredible hacienda and the horses that came with it.

      And she could find nothing, no sense of excitement, no sense of triumph inside of her.

      Nothing at all.

      She stood at the window, brushing the curtains to the side and looking out at the well-manicured lawn. The pale moonlight spilled over the rippling grass, the slight breeze making it look like water rather than earth. Making her feel as though she could open the window and dive straight down into the depths and swim far, far away from all of this.

      Suddenly, she saw movement. Not the shift of a blade of grass, but a shadow, moving across the grounds. She didn’t know what possessed her, only that she unlatched the window, opening it and the screen along with it, leaning out slightly so that she might get a better look at whatever was below.

      And then, the dark shadow was closer to the house, and she could see for sure what it was.

      A man.

      There was a man out on the grass, moving around. She should call someone. For in all likelihood someone clearly sneaking through the property was not staff, and was not supposed to be here at all.

      Perhaps he was one-half of a pair of ill-fated lovers. In which case, she didn’t want to call anyone.

      Her own love life was, if not ill-fated, then severely stunted, and she was hardly going to damage anyone else’s.

      But the figure kept coming closer to the house, and when he began to scale the side of the building, using the ornate molding and the window ledges as footholds, she stood frozen, watching him.

      She should scream. She should call out for help. But she didn’t. She simply stood. With the window open, as if she were inviting him in. He kept moving closer, and closer. And then he looked up, and she saw dark, glittering eyes just barely visible in the moonlight.

      Still. She didn’t move. Still, she stood without making a sound.

      It СКАЧАТЬ