Counterfeit Bride by Sara Craven

door. It was still early morning, and the sun hung low in the sky, a huge orange ball. The air was cool, and she breathed it gratefully.
    Luis appeared leading Malagueno. 'Vamos, querida. We can be at La Mariposa in time for breakfast.' She gasped, 'So soon? But it must be miles away!' 'It is closer than you think,' he said drily. 'Your tracks were easier to follow than your route, which seemed to go in circles. Have you got all your things?'
    'Those that have been left to me, yes,' she said coldly, then remembered. 'Oh—the driver's jacket. I can't leave that.'
    When she reappeared, Luis took it from her.
    'I was going to wear it,' Nicola protested.
    His mouth hardened. 'You do not wear a garment belonging to another man. If you feel cold, take this.' He handed her the poncho he had been wearing the night before, and reluctantly she slipped it on.
    As he lifted her into the saddle in front of him as he had done the previous night, she wondered if he would kiss her, hold her closely as they rode together. But he did not. In fact they might have been strangers.
    But that's what we are, she thought, shivering in spite of the enveloping folds of the poncho. I'm going to marry a man I hardly know— someone I've only spent a few hours with.
    It was a frightening thought, but on its heels came the even more disturbing realisation that if she had the chance to escape again, she was not sure that she would take it. And the implications of that kept her thoughtful all the way to the hacienda.

    There was inevitably a reception committee waiting in the entrance hall of the hacienda. Nicola was deeply conscious of Luis’ hand under her arm, urging her forward. On the fringe were several servants, all trying to be unobtrusive, but clearly eager to catch a glimpse of the girl who was to marry the dueno.
    She drew a deep and shaky breath as she assimilated precisely who was waiting to receive her. She could hear Luis performing introductions, his tone cool and composed as if this was a perfectly conventional meeting.
    'May I present my aunt, Dona Isabella de Costanza, my cousin Pilar, and her brother Ramon.'
    She was aware of hostility in two pairs of dark feminine eyes, knew that the murmured welcome was words alone. But Ramon was altogether different. He stepped forward beaming.
    'Señorita, may I welcome you to this house which is your home.'
    His English was hesitant and deeply accented. Luis shot him a caustic look.
    'Don't struggle, amigo. She speaks our language fluently.'
    Dona Isabella stepped forward. Her bearing was regal, and her face stony as she looked at Nicola.
    'No doubt you will wish to go to your room, señorita. I have assigned Maria to wait on you. When you are ready she will bring you to the comedor for breakfast.'
    As she walked towards the stairs, following the pretty girl who had shyly come forward at Dona Isabella's imperious nod, Nicola tried to take in something of her surroundings.
    The hacienda itself, she had thought as they approached, was more like a fortress, a rambling low building protected by a high wall. The family living quarters, it seemed were built in a large square round an interior courtyard, with separate wings for guests, and for the staff. Inside, the hacienda was incredibly spacious and cool, the fierceness of the sun being kept at bay by shutters on the windows. The floors were tiled, and such furniture as Nicola had glimpsed was clearly very old, opulently carved in dark wood.
    She followed Maria along a wide corridor to a pair of double doors at the end. The girl pushed them open and stood back to allow Nicola to precede her into the room.
    Nicola paused to look around her, her lips parting in sheer delight. It was a large room, and its charm lay in its utter simplicity, she thought. The walls were washed in a pale cream shade, and the highly polished furniture had probably made the journey to the New World from Spain in the sixteenth century. The bed was enormous, with four carved