‘What was it you wanted to talk to me about?’
From the way his face changed in response to her question, Isabelle knew that she wasn’t going to like what he had to say to her.
‘Luis—what is it?’
The bronze eyes had darkened swiftly, his jaw tightening, and he stopped walking abruptly, turning to face her.
‘I haven’t told you everything,’ he said sombrely. ‘Haven’t told you exactly why you’re here.’
Isabelle felt as if a cruel hand had suddenly closed over her throat, making it difficult to breathe properly.
‘I know why I’m here,’ she managed unevenly. ‘You asked me to come. To travel to Spain with you—as your wife.’
Why did he hesitate? Why had he suddenly hooded his eyes, shaking his dark head?
‘Not exactly,’ he said stiffly.
‘Not exactly?’ Isabelle echoed in confusion. ‘Why? What do you mean? What else is there?’
Luis drew in his breath again harshly, raking one hand through the raven darkness of his hair. And that sigh went straight to Isabelle’s insides, twisting all her nerves in fearful apprehension.
‘Luis! Tell me.’
At last his amber-coloured eyes met hers, fixing her with an intent and unwavering stare.
‘I wanted you to come to Spain with me, yes,’ he said roughly, clearly reluctantly. ‘But not as my wife. I need you to come as my fiancée. To be here as my prospective bride.’
‘Your prospective bride? What is this?’
Isabelle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She could only stare at him in blank bewilderment, struggling to see his expression clearly in the glare of the sun.
‘You have to be joking!’
‘It seems clear enough to me.’
Luis moved into the shade of a nearby tree, leaning back against the width of its trunk, and folded his arms across his chest.
‘My family don’t know I’m married. They don’t even know that you exist. If I turn up with you and say that you’re my wife, that we’ve been married for two years already, it will involve us in a lot of complicated, awkward explanations…’
‘And why would that matter?’
‘My father is ill—seriously ill. He’s supposed to avoid all stress or shock.’
‘Oh, Luis!’
That drew her shocked green eyes to his carefully shuttered face, one hand going out to touch his arm.
‘I’m sorry!’
‘Gracias.’
It was swift, dismissive. He didn’t look as if her sympathy had touched him at all.
‘What…?’
‘Prostate cancer. He’s in remission at the moment, but his time is limited.’
He drew in his breath in a sharp hiss between sharp white teeth.