His Spanish Bride by Teresa Grant

down. “Feelings.”
    “His feelings?”
    “And your own.”
    Suzanne got to her feet and put a hand on Blanca’s arm. “Blanca—I already knows this is more complicated than I thought. But I have to go forward. I’ll protect him as much as I can.”
    “And yourself ?”
    “I wouldn’t have survived this long if I wasn’t good at taking care of myself.”
    Blanca snorted. “You’ve never lived with anyone like this. You’re not used to it.”
    “I’m good at adapting.” Suzanne glanced at the door to the sitting room where her husband waited. “It’s barbaric if you think about it, a couple gathering together with their friends and family and more or less announcing that they’re going to spend the night together for the first time. But then a lot of things about marriage are barbaric.”
    “He won’t push you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
    “No.” Suzanne pulled the seafoam silk of her dressing gown about her. “But given that I’ve lied to him, made false promises, and fully intend to go on deceiving him for as long as I can, I think a real wedding night is the least I owe him, don’t you?”

    Addison paused in the passage outside the small room that, Blanca knew, had been allotted to her. “I trust you’ll be comfortable.”
    “Thank you.” He had a nice face. She had thought that from the first when they met in the Cantabrian Mountains. Well, truth to tell, she’d thought he was handsome. And, as she had said to Suzanne, regrettably the honorable sort, who wouldn’t dream of acting on the spark she had caught once or twice in his eyes.
    Addison inclined his head, started down the passage, then stopped and turned back to her. His pale hair caught the candlelight. His gaze met hers directly. “It’s no sense pretending this isn’t an adjustment. For all of us. We’ve been alone for close on ten years now, Mr. Rannoch and I. He’s not used to having anyone else to consider in his life, and I’m not used to having anyone else to consider in the arrangements of the household. I should greatly appreciate it if you would tell me at once if you believe that Mrs. Rannoch is uncomfortable in any way. Or if you feel I’m neglecting to include you in any of the household decisions or if I can in any way make things easier for you.”
    Blanca swallowed. She wasn’t used to such deference. It made him, perversely, more attractive. “You’re very kind, Mr. Addison.”
    “Not at all, Miss Mendoza.” He hesitated a moment. The flame of the candle he carried danced in his steady blue gaze. “Mr. Rannoch is the best of men. But he’s used to being on his own. It will be an adjustment, as I said, for him to have someone else to consider in his plans and in his life. He wishes to do everything he can do to make her comfortable, but it won’t be easy for him to share—”
    “Himself ?”
    “Precisely.”
    “You’re worried about him,” Blanca said.
    Addison hesitated, and for a moment Blanca feared she had gone too far. Like Mr. Rannoch, Addison did not easily talk about his feelings. “I’ve been with Mr. Rannoch for a number of years.”
    Blanca tilted her head back to observe him. She had seen Addison and Malcolm Rannoch work together seamlessly, seen them laugh at each other’s jokes, seen the concern in each man’s eyes when the other was in jeopardy. An outside observer might call them friends. But they wouldn’t use the word, at least not to others. However forward-thinking Mr. Rannoch was, he was a British gentleman. They lived in a world of rules that would never make sense to her. “I don’t want Mél—Mrs. Rannoch to be hurt, either. If you ask me, they’re lucky to have us.”
    A genuine smile broke through Addison’s reserve. Then he inclined his head. “Good night, Miss Mendoza.”
    “Good night, Mr. Addison.”
    Blanca watched him retreat down the passage, then went into her own room and closed the door with a sigh. A wedding night, and she feared they