Free At the Spanish Duke's Command by Fiona Hood-Stewart

question?” he retorted arrogantly.
    â€œI don’t see why,” she said, regaining her poise. “And would you mind not manhandling me?” She shook him off.
    Reluctantly Juan removed his hand from her shoulder and they faced one another. “It is dangerous for a young woman to travel alone in Andalusia,” he said bitingly.
    â€œI didn’t come here alone,” she threw back, her green eyes flecked with gold, her lips set in a firm, unyielding line.
    â€œNo? Who are your companions, may I ask?”
    â€œNone of your damn business,” she spat.
    â€œNo?” He took a menacing step towards her.
    â€œHey.” A voice behind him made him turn to see the young Swede approaching. “Is something the matter, Georgiana? Are you okay?” He looked uncertainly from one to the other.
    Embarrassed, Georgiana smiled perfunctorily. “Yes, fine. Sven, let me introduce you to Juan Monsanto, my godmother’s son. Juan, this is Sven. He and I are travelling around with a group of fellow students for a few days, getting to know Andalusia.”
    The two men nodded, warily summing one another up like two suspicious dogs. If she hadn’t been so annoyed Georgiana would have laughed.
    â€œWell,” she said brightly, “it’s been nice seeing you again, Juan, but I think I should go and join the others.”
    â€œWait a minute,” Juan countered, determined not to let her go but aware that he couldn’t make a scene in public. “How about dining with me later this evening? I would like to show you my mother’s favourite restaurant,” he said, playing on her sentiments, knowing that Georgiana would want to tell her own mother that she’d visited a haunt which Lady Cavendish would know well from the old days. “Please?” he said, changing his tone.
    It was the smile that did it.
    How could he transform into another being in a matter of instants? she wondered, wishing she could refuse, knowing she would accept.
    â€œAll right,” she murmured at last.
    â€œTell me where you’re staying and I’ll pick you up. In fact,” he said, turning to Sven and smiling as a sudden brainwave hit him, “why don’t you all come out to my finca tomorrow? It’s a typical Andalusian farm. You’d enjoy it.”
    â€œThat’s very kind.” Sven looked uncertainly at Georgiana. “But we wouldn’t like to inconvenience you.”
    â€œNo inconvenience at all,” Juan answered easily. “It would be my pleasure. You can ride my horses and we’ll have a barbecue—or, better still,” he said, improvising, “a real Andalusian paella . In fact, if I might suggest,” he continued, slipping his arm around Georgiana’s shoulder in a friendly manner and taking the reins, “why don’t you come and stay after dinner, Georgiana? And your friends could join you in the morning. That way we can prepare properly for their visit. I’m slightly short-staffed at the moment,” he added apologetically.
    Georgiana sighed, knowing she was outclassed. Juan knew the rules of this game too well. She shouldn’t go, of course, but the look in his eyes, the way his hand rested on her shoulder and the scent of his cologne wafting towards her swayed her decision. It would, she justified, be an extraordinary opportunity for her companions to see a true Andalusian finca . She knew from her mother that the place was spectacular. Surely it would be wrong not to offer them the chance of a visit? And if he was short-staffed—well, she supposed it was only right that she should pitch in and give him a hand.
    â€œOkay,” she said finally. “My things are in the mini-van. Sven, would you mind if we went to pick them up?”
    â€œNo. that’s fine,” Sven said good-naturedly, and they walked back up the street. Soon they reached the vehicle and, retrieving her backpack, he handed it