He didn’t need that faintly wry shrug of his powerful shoulders, the supremely Spanish gesture with his hands, Isabelle thought cynically. But he used them anyway. They were his trump card, saying without words that he couldn’t help himself. That he was only a man, and a passionate man at that. A man who was so in love with his wife that he couldn’t endure another moment’s separation from her.
All around her, the murmured comments told Isabelle that Luis had won. He had swung the group’s loyalty to his side and there was no way she could fight that.
‘I really needed some time alone with her. I’m sure you understand.’
Oh, yes, they understood all right. But at least the chivalrous American wanted to be sure.
‘Will you be okay?’ he asked solicitously.
‘Oh, yes, I’ll be fine,’ Isabelle assured him emphatically. ‘Really I will.’
It was nothing less than the truth. Whatever his faults—and he had plenty of them—Luis was not a thug. He was hot-tempered, ruthless, totally convinced of his supremacy above all others, arrogant as the devil, but he would never knowingly hurt her.
At least not physically.
Emotionally it was a very different matter. That way he could hurt her simply by existing. By existing and not loving her as much as she had loved him. And when that ‘not loving’ had turned to hate, that was when he had totally devastated her soul.
But she wasn’t prepared to give in to him so easily. If you let him, Luis was perfectly capable of riding roughshod over anyone else’s feelings.
‘But I can’t come with you now, Luis. I’m at work—this is my job. I have this tour to finish.’
‘I am aware of that, mi angel.’
If she had hoped to disconcert him, then clearly it hadn’t worked.
‘And that is why I have made arrangements…’
One long, bronzed hand was lifted in an autocratic gesture, summoning someone from the darkness of a shop front.
‘Señor Morr
is!’
Isabelle’s heart sank to somewhere on the pavement, beneath the soles of her neat ankle boots, as, in answer to the command, the errant Andy, resplendent in his highwayman costume, appeared out of the shadows and strolled towards them, a slightly sheepish grin on his boyish face.
‘I’ll take over for you, Izzy,’ he said. ‘I know the rest of the route from here—and all the stories.’
‘But…’
She tried to protest but her weak-voiced interjection was ignored as Luis took things right out of her hands.
‘Señoras y señores, thank you for your patience with this unexpected interruption to your evening. I trust you realise that I would never have acted in this way if I had not thought it was the only thing I could do. Andrew here will be your guide from now on. If you will follow him…’
And they did. Isabelle could only stand and watch as the group headed off, with Andy launching straight into the familiar patter about the history of Clifford’s Tower. What else could she possibly do? Luis had outmanoeuvred her, check-mated her like a chess Grand Master.
Not that she was going to give in without a fight.
‘So now they’ve gone…’
Whirling, she faced Luis, her chin coming up defiantly, her eyes flashing challengingly.
‘What exactly did you want to talk to me about?’
‘Not here.’ He shook his dark head.
‘Yes! Here and now!’
If he was going to tell her that he agreed to a divorce, then she wanted it over and done with. Wanted the words spoken, the blow delivered. It was like waiting to hear that some part of her had to be amputated. Better to get it done, quickly and sharply. Hopefully, the event would hurt less that way. It was the pain that was waiting for her in the future that she couldn’t bear to think about.