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

to Juan.
    â€œThanks again for the invitation.” Sven shook the other man’s hand and smiled.
    â€œMy pleasure,” Juan answered politely. “We’ll look forward to receiving you tomorrow. Take down my number and I’ll explain exactly how to get there.”
    Sven carefully punched Juan’s number into his cellphone, after which they parted ways.
    Â 
    Any regrets Georgiana had initially experienced as she sat in the front seat of Juan’s Ferrari were entirely forgotten the instant she set eyes on the finca —Tres Marias.
    â€œIt’s perfectly lovely!” she exclaimed as the rambling edifice came into view, a panoply of changing hues, ancient stone walls and terracotta tiles mellowed by endless seasons of relentless Andalusian sun. Even now, in autumn, bougainvillaea and clematis crept lazily up the whitewashed walls, working their way freely over the sagging tiles and framing the long bright blue half-closed shutters.
    Georgiana gasped, jumping out of the car enchanted. They had decided to come back and leave her things before heading to the restaurant. As she looked about her a middle-aged woman dressed all in black, even the scarf covering her head, appeared at the arched front door.
    â€œDon Juan—I thought you were dining in town,” she said, rubbing her hands on her apron.
    â€œDon’t worry, Conchita, we are. Aren’t you going to the fiesta ?”
    â€œ Fiesta indeed,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’m too old to be gallivanting off to fiestas .” She gave a loud sniff. “Let the young enjoy themselves.” She looked at Georgiana, a questioning light entering her eyes.
    â€œThis,” Juan announced, touching Georgiana’s arm and leading her forward, “is the daughter of Lady Cavendish. You remember my mother’s dear friend, who used to stay with her here sometimes?”
    â€œBut of course.” The older woman unbent, her crinkled brown face creasing into a smile. “ Bienvenido, señorita . Your mother was much loved by the Duquesa. So sad,” she murmured, crossing herself and shaking her head beforeleading the way into the darkened hall. “Shall we put the señorita in the same room her mother used to occupy, Don Juan?”
    â€œYes. That would be perfect. Georgiana—Conchita will take you upstairs. Make yourself comfortable.”
    â€œThank you.” Georgiana smiled briefly.
    There was nothing the least seductive in Juan’s attitude, which helped leave her more at ease as she followed the housekeeper up the stairs and along the corridor to the bedroom. Her mother had often spoken about the delights of the finca Tres Marias, where she’d stayed several times over the years. Lady Cavendish and the Duquesa had met when they were both seventeen, at finishing school in Switzerland, and the friendship had remained over the years.
    Conchita placed Georgiana’s backpack on a chair. “Necesita algo más?” she asked, clasping her hands before her.
    â€œNo. I’m sure I have everything I need,” Georgiana answered, smiling. “I shall take a quick shower, then go down and join the Duke.”
    â€œVery well, señorita . I shall advise His Grace.”
    Alone in the room, Georgiana moved to the window. She pushed open the half-closed shutters and gazed out over the orange groves, breathing in the delicious unique scent of orange blossom reaching her on the evening breeze. Sitting for a moment on the window-sill, Georgiana reflected upon her presence here at the finca . Was she right to have come? Should she simply have rejected Juan’s offer and stayed with the others at the youth hostel in Seville?
    Shrugging, she stepped back from the window. She was here now, so it was too late for conjecture. She looked about the austere yet attractive room. Its dark, heavy jacaranda furniture was from an age gone by, draped with heavy white linen and lace.