The fear of discovery made her flinch inwardly and immediately Luis froze behind her.
‘Perdón—I’m sorry,’ he muttered roughly, and as she glanced up swiftly her eyes met his in the glass of the mirror.
It was as if someone had tossed a bucket of icy water over a fizzing firework, dousing it immediately. His gaze was so distant, so withdrawn, totally opaque. With what physical closeness they’d had gone, there was nothing there but coldness and total lack of emotion.
It was the first time he had touched her in days. But not because he hadn’t wanted to. Because he hadn’t felt he had the right to act as her husband physically, until he did so mentally.
I didn’t want forgiveness for something I didn’t do! I wanted trust! The sort of trust that doesn’t need proof—that believes in me completely and totally. Her words had hit him right where it hurt—in his heart.
Trust. He knew he h
adn’t given her that. He had walked out on their marriage in an agony of rage and hurt pride. He hadn’t stopped to listen to see if there could be any other possible explanation, and he had stayed away, nurturing that anger all the time.
His fingers fumbled with the fastening of the necklace and Isabelle shivered slightly.
‘Perdón,’ he muttered again, automatically glancing into the mirror where he met the wide emerald gaze head-on.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
Her voice was soft and the look in her eyes made his heart clench sharply. How could he not have seen the truth in those eyes? The way that her soul seemed to shine out from them?
‘It matters,’ he said roughly. ‘I want you to look perfect tonight.’
And then, because he had to hide his body’s instinctive, automatic reaction to her, to the touch of the silken fall of her hair, the soft perfume of her skin, he swung away abruptly.
It was either that or take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. Kiss her until both of them were past thought and into the place where only the wild, urgent responses of their bodies mattered. And he’d promised himself that that would not happen—at least not until he’d made everything right. He’d been caught that way before, and he had told himself that it was what would get him through this. Now he saw that in fact it was what had been blurring his vision, blinding him to the truth.
‘Luis?’
Isabelle’s voice sounded softly from behind him. Clamping down hard on his baser instincts, he forced himself to turn slowly and face her.
In spite of the warmth of the evening, Isabelle felt chilled to the bone. His abrupt reaction had taken all hope with it. He was totally closed off from her. She couldn’t even reach him physically. The distance he had put between them told her that.
And who had she to blame for that? Only herself.
Right now, she felt she would trade every bit of her pride for some of his passion if only it meant that he would look at her with something in his eyes. Anything.
‘How do I look?’
Molten bronze eyes swept over her in a burning survey and her heart skipped a beat as she saw that she had touched him at last.
‘You look wonderful.’
‘Fit to be a duke’s wife?’ Her voice quavered on the question.
‘You’re fit to be anyone’s wife,’ he told her deeply. ‘The question is more whether they are worthy of you.’
His tone worried her. She didn’t understand the raw edge to his voice, the way a muscle jerked just above his jaw.
‘What—?’ she began but he held up a hand to silence her.
‘No more questions, querida. Our guests will be here in half an hour, and before that I have one more thing for you.’
‘Something else? Luis, I don’t need another gift! I—’
‘You need this. And it is not a gift. More like something I have owed you for a long time—far too long.’
‘But…’