Secrets of Castillo del Arco Read Online Free PDF Page A

dinner.’
    Bella
.
    There was that name again.
    ‘I was just going to go home.’
    ‘Ah, but of course.’ He looked around the room, the remaining stragglers exchanging stories and talking overold times. ‘It has been a very long day for you. Then maybe I can take you home?’
    ‘No, not home,’ she decided suddenly. At home there would be no treasured grandfather waiting for her, ever again. Why had she ever thought ‘home’ would offer some kind of sanctuary?
    Besides, with Raoul beside her she didn’t feel so enervated, so drained. Instead, it seemed like every nerve ending in her body was suddenly awake and acutely aware of the man before her.
    And acutely aware of a sudden hunger. It felt like she hadn’t eaten for ever. ‘Thank you, Raoul. If the offer still stands, dinner would be lovely.’
    He stayed by her side while the wake wound up, lending her his strength when mourners departed and succumbed to a final burst of tears as they kissed her goodbye, and then he took her to a tiny 1890’s bistro on the Left Bank that greeted them with the scent of roasted garlic and tomatoes, with its
belle epoque
decor, quaint etched-glass and globe lamps. It was not somewhere she’d been expecting to be taken and definitely somewhere she was sure Consuelo would not know existed. There were no billionaires here that she could see, no players, politicians or film stars. Simply ordinary people enjoying a night out.
    Well, ordinary apart from Raoul. There was nothing ordinary about his broad shoulders and strong black hair that glowed blue in the subtle lighting. He shrank the tiny room with his sheer presence, blotting out the other diners until they might just as well have been cardboard cut-outs. It felt good to be able to sit opposite and haveno reason not to look at him and drink in his strong features—those dark eyes with their depths only hinted at under that dark slash of brow; those sculpted cheekbones, strong blade of nose and those lips, their passionate lines as detailed as if chiselled by a sculptor’s hand.
    It felt good to be here with him.
    ‘Twice today I have found you alone,’ he said after they had ordered their meals. ‘Could Garbas not stay until the end of the wake?’
    She fiddled with the napkin in her lap. Consuelo hadn’t made it at all, not that Raoul needed to know that, not when he clearly harboured enough resentment towards the man already. And not when there had been no word and she still had no idea herself what was going on. ‘He was called away. Something important, I guess.’
    ‘More important than you?’
    She flushed and waited while the waiter poured them both a glass of Beaujolais, ruby red in the light cast by the lamp in the centre of the table. Consuelo always had good reasons when he was delayed or had to suddenly change their plans—it happened so often that she was used to it. To let her down today of all days … But he would have good reason, she was sure.
    Although, what reason would he have for assuming they would now move in together?
    She picked up her glass on a sigh, admiring the colour of the wine. Maybe he’d just felt neglected, with her attention going firstly to her grandfather and then to Phillipa when she’d needed her recently. And maybe he hadn’t been uppermost in her thoughts these last few weeks and wanted to change that. But, still, when hadgoing to a few parties and dinners together been a sign of imminent cohabitation?
    Then she saw Raoul waiting for her and decided to worry about the missing Consuelo and his distorted perception of their relationship later. She gave an ironic smile. ‘Clearly much more important. Anyway, I didn’t come to dinner to talk about him.’
    ‘Touché.’
Across the table Raoul smiled and lifted his glass to hers in a toast. ‘To us, Gabriella. To old friends and new beginnings.’
    His words stirred her soul deep. ‘To us,’ she said, taking a sip, feeling the sensual slide of fine wine down her throat. She