Free Bride in a Gilded Cage by Abby Green Page A

Rafael had come around to open her door and was waiting for her, hand outstretched. Thoughts of anything else disappeared. Isobel had no choice but to take his hand, and hated the tingle of awareness that raced up her arm, the inevitable blooming of heat.
    Staff in pristine black-and-white uniforms were waiting for them at the top of the steps. They blurred and morphed into a jumble of names and faces as Rafael introduced them all. As soon as the introductions were made they scattered, and only a housekeeper was left to guide them into the house. Isobel remembered her name: Juanita. And also the fact that she looked none too friendly.
    Rafael turned to Isobel. ‘Come, I’ll show you to your room, where you can freshen up. The guests will be arriving at the back of the property, where a wedding marquee has been erected for the reception.’
    Isobel ignored his outstretched hand this time, and followed him slowly up the stairs. To her surprise the walls weren’t hung with stern portraits of ancestors. Instead there were modern works of art which she guessed weren’t copies.
    Despite herself she asked, a little breathlessly as she tried to keep up in her long gown, ‘Is this your family home?’
    Rafael waited at the top of the stairs, hands in pockets and looking so rakishly handsome that Isobel had to cling onto the banister. He shook his head, ‘No. My family home is in Barrio Norte—again not far. I bought this about ten years ago.’
    ‘Oh…’ Isobel climbed the last few steps and followed Rafael as he led her down a wide, luxuriously carpeted corridor. At the end he indicated two doors which were facing each other.
    He opened the door on the left and led the way in to reveal a suite of rooms. ‘They’re two identical suites, both with bedrooms, bathrooms and dressing rooms.’
    Isobel guessed this was his domain by its dark colours and unashamedly masculine furnishings. She was too bemused to feel anything else at the moment, and followed him to another door, through a sitting room which had a state-of-the-art audio-visual system.
    This door led into another sitting room, a mirror image of the first, albeit in softer, more neutral tones.
    He turned to face her. ‘I appreciate that this has all moved quite fast, Isobel, and I’ll respect your need for some space and privacy at the start of our marriage. While I do expect you to share my bed, I won’t expect you to take up the more traditionally intimate role of sharing my rooms until you’re ready.’
    Spots danced before Isobel’s eyes, and the fire in her veins was starting to bubble threateningly. But Rafael had already moved on and was heading for the bedroom. Isobel stomped after him, holding up her dress.
    She walked in to see him standing at the open door of a dressing room, and when she looked she saw that every surface, nook and cranny was filled to overflowing with a wardrobe of clothes and shoes. Her own tatty luggage stood still packed in a corner, as if someone had deemed it not even worth unpacking.
    Her jaw dropped. She walked closer.
    ‘Consider it your trousseau,’ Rafael said easily, as she looked in horror at row upon row of undoubtedly designerlabel clothes. Her skin crawled with the sensation that he’d bought her, like some sort of living, walking doll.
    She rounded on Rafael, white with fury boiling over. ‘How dare you?’
    His jaw tightened. ‘How dare I what, Isobel? Provide for my wife?’
    Isobel was shaking. ‘How dare you presume to buy me a wardrobe full of clothes that will go to waste? I don’t wear designer outfits. How dare you presume to think that I’ll just fall into your bed, and how dare you presume to patronise me and give me my space until such time as I’m ready? Well, I’ll tell you something now. I’ll never be ready, and as for—’
    Her words were stopped when Rafael’s mouth came crashing down on hers, his arms tight around her. Isobel’s hands were fists crushed against his chest, trying to push