‘Come—back?’ she managed through shock-stiffened lips. ‘I don’t…’ ‘Come back, as in return to me.’ Luis sighed his exasperation. ‘You are, after all, my wife.’ But when she still stared at him, blank-faced, her eyes looking bruised, he elaborated further. ‘I want you to come to Spain with me as my wife. Madre de Dios, I did not think that my English was so—’ ‘It’s not that!’ Isabelle protested sharply, still unable to believe what she had heard. ‘Your English is perfect and you know it. It’s just that I can’t see what you want with me.’ ‘I need you.’ And he hated himself for saying it. That much was there in the tight clench of his jaw, the way the words had to be forced out past lips that would clearly rather be saying anything else. ‘Why?’ ‘Do I have to explain here?’ He was every inch the arrogant aristocrat once again, proud head flung back, eyes flashing. She would have sworn that even his nostrils flared in an expression of disapproval.
What do You think about The Duke’s Secret Wife (2008)?
