Читать книгу Never Underestimate a Caffarelli - Melanie Milburne - Страница 11
ОглавлениеCHAPTER TWO
RAOUL HAD PLANNED on eating alone in his room or not eating at all, but the thought of spending an hour or two with Lily Archer proved to be the greater temptation. He told himself it was because he wanted to keep an eye on her. Who knew what she might be up to when his back was turned? She might be pilfering the silver or stashing away some of his priceless objects while no one was looking—or, even worse, she might be an undercover journalist planted inside the château to get the prize shot of him.
He was still furiously angry with his brother for bringing her here. He’d planned to spend some time out of the public eye, working on his recovery as best he could. What could she offer that hadn’t already been offered by his specialists and doctors? He wanted to be alone to get his head around the possibility that he might never fully recover. He didn’t want people fussing around him. He needed time to process what had happened and how he was going to move forward.
Her understated beauty didn’t fool him for a moment. That was probably all part of her artifice—to trick people into trusting her. Her nondescript clothing had hung off her slim figure as if she was trying to disguise it, and her brown hair had been tied back severely from her make-up-free face.
It was her eyes that had intrigued him, however. They were the most startling shade of blue, dark like slate, and veiled, as if she were hiding something. Eyes were supposed to be the windows to the soul, but he had a feeling Miss Lily Archer’s soul was not for public display.
He heaved himself into his electronic chair even though it annoyed the hell out of him to have to use it. It made him feel even more disabled, hearing that whirring sound as he drove it. He couldn’t wait to get this wretched plaster cast off his right arm. At least then he’d be able to keep his upper body in shape by wheeling himself around in the manual chair.
He caught a glimpse of himself in one of the large mirrors as he drove down the corridor towards the lift. It was like looking at someone else. It looked like someone had hijacked him and put him in someone else’s body.
A dagger-like pain seized him in the chest. What if this was the best he would ever be? He couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of his life stuck in this chair, having people look down at him—or, even worse, flicking their gaze away as if the sight of his broken body repulsed them.
He wasn’t going to give in to this.
He would get well.
He would move heaven and earth to get back on his feet and he would do it like he did everything else: on his own.
Raoul was on his second glass of wine when Lily Archer came in. She was dressed in a long-sleeved beige dress that was a size too big and did nothing to flatter her colouring. Her face was free of make-up, although she had put on a bit of lip gloss, and perhaps a bit of mascara as her dark lashes seemed more noticeable than they had earlier in the darker lighting of the library. Her hair was tied back, but in the brighter light from the chandelier overhead he could see it was healthy and shiny with natural-looking highlights in between the ash-brown strands.
‘Would you like a drink?’ He held up the bottle of wine he was steadily working his way through.
She inhaled a sharp little breath and shook her head. ‘I don’t drink alcohol. I’ll just have water... Thank you.’
‘A teetotaller?’ Raoul knew he sounded mocking but he was beyond caring.
She pressed her rather generous lips together as she took her seat to the left of his. Even the way she flicked her napkin across her lap communicated her irritation with him. Why hadn’t he noticed how lush her mouth was before? Was the lighting that bad in the library? Nor had he noticed how regally high her cheekbones were or the way her neck was swan-like and her pretty little nose up-tilted. She had prominent brows and deep-set eyes that gave her a mysterious, untouchable air. Her skin was clear and unlined with no hint of tan, as if she spent most of her time indoors, out of the sun.
She gave him a school-marmish look. ‘I don’t need alcohol to have a good time.’
‘So, how do you have a good time, Miss Archer?’
‘I read. I go to movies. I spend time with my friends.’
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
Her face flinched. She covered it quickly, however, adopting a composed façade that would have fooled most people—but then, he liked to think he was not most people. ‘No.’ Her one-word answer was definitive, like a punctuation mark. Book closed. End of subject.
Raoul picked up his wine glass and took a sip, holding it in his mouth for a moment before he swallowed. ‘What’s wrong with the men of England that a young woman like you is left on the shelf?’
She lowered her gaze and started fiddling with the stem of her empty wine glass. ‘I’m not interested in a relationship just now.’
‘Yes, well, I’m with you on that.’ He lifted his glass to his mouth and emptied it.
She brought her gaze back to his. Her expression had lost some of its reserve and was now sympathetic. It struck him as being genuine; although he could have been mistaken, given he’d drunk almost half a bottle of wine. ‘I’m sorry about your engagement,’ she said. ‘It must have been devastating to have it ended like that when you were feeling at your most vulnerable.’
Raoul wondered what online blog or forum she’d been lurking on, or whether Rafe or Dominique had told her the details of his failed relationship with Clarissa. He would be lying to say he wasn’t upset at having been dumped. He had always been the one to begin and end his relationships. He liked to be the one in control of his life because—like his brothers—having control was an essential part of being a Caffarelli. You didn’t let others rule or lord it over you. You took charge and you kept in charge.
No matter who or what stood in your way.
He picked up the wine bottle and recklessly refilled his glass. ‘I wasn’t in love with her.’
Her pale, smooth brow crinkled in a frown. ‘Then why on earth did you ask her to marry you?’
He put down the bottle and looked at her shocked expression. Was she a romantic at heart behind that prim, nun-like façade? He gave a shrug and picked up his glass again. ‘I wanted to settle down. I thought it was time.’
She looked at him as if he was speaking gibberish. ‘But marriage is meant to be for life. You’re meant to love the person and want to be with them to the exclusion of all others.’
Raoul gave another careless shrug. ‘In the circles I move in, it’s more important to marry the person who will best fit into your lifestyle.’
‘So love doesn’t come into it?’
‘If you’re lucky—like my brother Rafe, for instance. But it’s not mandatory.’
‘That’s preposterous!’ She sat back in her chair with an exhalation of disgust. ‘How could you possibly think of marrying someone you didn’t love?’
He met her gaze with his. ‘How many people do you know who have married whilst madly in love and yet went on to divorce in bitter hatred a few years later? The way I see it, love doesn’t always last. It’s better to choose someone you have something in common with. Clarissa was beautiful to look at, she came from a similar background, she was relatively easy company to be in and she was good in bed. What more could I have wanted?’
She rolled her eyes and reached for her water glass. ‘I can see now why she ended your engagement. Your attitude is appalling. Love is the only reason anyone should get married. If you love someone you will do anything to support them—to be with them through thick and thin. No woman—or man, for that matter—should marry for anything less.’
‘So you’re a romantic at heart, Miss Archer.’ He twirled the contents of his wine glass. ‘You’d get on well with my brother’s new fiancée, Poppy.’
‘She sounds like a lovely person.’
‘She is. Rafe’s very lucky to have found her.’
The look she gave him was pointed. ‘But from what you said just a moment ago you don’t think their love will last.’
‘I said love doesn’t always last. I think in their case it will. For one thing, his wealth means nothing to her. She loves him for who he is, not for what he has. She is indeed a rare find. But, apart from her, I have yet to meet a woman who doesn’t have dollar signs in her eyes.’
She visibly bristled. ‘Not all women are gold diggers.’
Raoul nailed her with his gaze. ‘Why did you ask for your payment up-front with a no-refund clause?’
She looked momentarily discomfited. ‘I—I had an urgent financial matter to see to.’
‘Are you a big spender, Miss Archer?’ He gave her outfit a cursory glance. ‘You don’t appear to be, on current appearances.’
Her mouth tightened a fraction and her creamy cheeks developed two spreading circles of colour. ‘I’m sorry if my lowly apparel offends your sensibilities, but I’m not a slave to fashion. I have other far more important priorities.’
‘I thought all women liked to make the most of their assets.’
She gave him an icy look. ‘Are you really so shallow that you judge a woman on what she is wearing rather than who she is on the inside?’
Raoul couldn’t help wondering what she looked like underneath those dreadful clothes. He was used to women who shamelessly flaunted their bodies in front of him, wearing the minimum of clothes and the maximum of cosmetics to draw his attention. But Miss Lily Archer, with her dowdy outfits, scrubbed clean face and dark blue secretive eyes intrigued him in a way no woman had ever done before. She held herself in a tightly contained way, as if she was frightened of drawing unnecessary attention to herself.
Maybe you shouldn’t have been so hasty to send her packing.
Raoul quickly nudged the thought aside. ‘I try not to judge on appearances alone, but it’s all part of the package, isn’t it? How people present themselves—their body language, how they act, how they speak. As humans we have evolved to decode hundreds of those subtle signs in order to work out whether to trust someone or not.’
She began to chew at her lower lip with her small white teeth. It struck Raoul how incredibly young it made her look. It was hard to gauge her age but he assumed she was in her mid-twenties, although right now she looked about sixteen.
Dominique came in with their entrées at that point. ‘Can I pour you some wine, Miss Archer?’ she asked, glancing at Lily’s empty glass.
‘Miss Archer is a teetotaller,’ Raoul said. ‘I haven’t been able to tempt her so far.’
Dominique’s black button eyes gave a little twinkle as she placed the soup in front of him. ‘Perhaps Mademoiselle Archer is immune to temptation, Monsieur Raoul.’
He moved his lips in a semblance of a smile. ‘We’ll see.’
The housekeeper left the room and Raoul studied Lily’s almost fierce expression. A frown was pulling at her smooth forehead and her mouth was set in a tight line, as if she was trying to stop herself from saying something she might later regret. Her slim shoulders were tense and her right hand was gripping her water glass so firmly he could see the bulge of each of her knuckles straining against her pale skin.
‘Relax, Miss Archer. I’m not about to debauch you with liquor and licentiousness. I couldn’t do so even if I wanted to, in my present condition.’
She raised her gaze to his, her cheeks still bright with colour. ‘Do you usually drink so much?’
He felt the back of his neck prickle with defensiveness. ‘I enjoy wine with my meals. I do not consider myself a drunk.’
‘Alcohol numbs the senses and affects coordination and judgement.’ She sounded like she was reading from a drug-and-alcohol education pamphlet. ‘You’d be best to avoid it, or at least limit it, while you’re recuperating.’
Raoul put his glass down with a little thwack. ‘I’m not “recuperating”, Miss Archer. This is what I’m left with because some brainless idiot driving a jet ski didn’t watch where he was going.’
‘Have you spoken to someone about how you feel about the accident?’
His defensiveness turned into outright nastiness. ‘I don’t need to lie down on some outrageously expensive psychologist’s sofa and tell them what I feel about being mowed down like a ninepin. I feel royally pissed off, or has that somehow escaped your attention?’
Her slim throat moved up and down in a tight little swallow but her eyes remained steady on his. ‘It’s understandable that you’re angry, but you’d be better off channelling that anger into trying to regain your mobility.’
Raoul saw red. It was like a mist in front of his eyes. He felt his rage pounding in his ears like thunder. What had the last few weeks been about other than trying to regain his mobility? What right did she have to suggest he was somehow blocking his recovery by holding on to his anger at being struck down the way he had been? Letting go of his anger wasn’t suddenly going to springboard him out of this chair and back into his previous life.
The life he’d had before was over.
Finished.
Kaput.
‘Do you have any idea of what it’s like to be totally dependent on other people?’ he asked.
‘Of course I do. I work with disabled people all the time.’
He slammed his fist on the table so hard the glasses almost toppled over. ‘Do not call me disabled.’
She flinched and paled. ‘I—I’m sorry...’
Raoul felt like the biggest jerk in the world but he wasn’t ready to admit it or to apologise for it. He was furious with Rafe for putting him in this invidious position. She was clearly only doing it for the money. It was ludicrous to think she would succeed where others had failed. She was a fraud, a charlatan who exploited the vulnerable and desperate, and he couldn’t wait to expose her for what she was.
‘Why did you take on this job?’
The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. ‘Your brother requested me. He’d heard about my success with another client. My manager at the clinic encouraged me to take the post and the money was...um...very good.’
‘I got the impression from my brother that he had to work rather hard to convince you to come here.’
Her gaze moved away from his as she picked up her spoon. ‘I don’t usually work with male clients.’
Raoul felt a pique of interest. ‘Why is that?’
She scooped up a portion of the soup but didn’t manage to bring any of it to her mouth. ‘I find them...’ She seemed to be searching for the right word. ‘Difficult to work with.’
‘Uncooperative, you mean?’
She moistened her mouth again. ‘It’s hard for anyone to suffer a major injury—male, female, child or adult. I find that generally women and girls are more willing to accept help and to work within their limitations.’
Raoul watched her for a moment or two, the way she toyed with her food and kept her eyes averted from his. Her cheeks still had two tiny spots of colour high on her cheekbones. Her teeth kept coming back to savage her bottom lip and there was a little pleat of a frown between those incredibly blue eyes. His gaze went to her hands—they were small and slim-fingered and her nails had been bitten down almost to the quick.
‘You don’t seem to be enjoying that soup. Would you like me to ask Dominique to get you something else?’
She met his gaze and gave him a tremulous smile but it was so fleeting it made him long to see it again and for longer. ‘No, it’s fine.... I’m just not very hungry. It’s been a very long day.’
Raoul felt a faint twinge of remorse. He certainly hadn’t laid on the Caffarelli charm he and his brothers were famous for. What if he allowed her to stay for a week to see if there was anything she could do for him? It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do right now. At least it would be a distraction from the humdrum pattern his once vibrantly active life had been whittled down to. What did he have to lose? If she was a fraud, he would expose her. If she had something to offer, it would be win-win.
‘I have a hypothetical question for you. If I agreed to have you here for the next month, what would you do with me?’
A light pink blush stole over her cheeks. ‘Your brother told me you have a gym here. I’d work on some structured exercises to start with. We’d start slowly and gradually build up. It would depend on what you could do. It’s tricky, given you’ve got a broken arm, but I’m sure I could work around that.’
‘What else?’
‘I’d like to have a look at your diet.’
‘I eat a balanced diet.’
She glanced at his almost empty wine glass, her mouth set in a reproving line. ‘Yes, well, there’s always room for improvement. Do you take any supplements?’
‘Vitamins, you mean?’
‘Yes. Things like fish oil, glucosamine, vitamin D—that sort of thing. Studies have shown they help in the repair of muscles and tissues and can even halt the progress of osteoarthritic change in your joints.’
He gave a bark of scorn. ‘For God’s sake, Miss Archer, I’m not arthritic. I’m only thirty-four years old.’
Her small chin came up. ‘Preventative health measures are worth considering no matter what your age.’
Raoul pinned her with his gaze. ‘How old are you?’
Her frown came back but even deeper this time and she seemed to hesitate over her reply. ‘I’m...I’m...twenty-six.’
‘You looked like you had to think about it for a moment.’
She gave a tight movement of her lips that didn’t even come close to being a smile. ‘I’m not keen on keeping a record on birthdays. What woman is?’
‘You’re very young to be worrying about that,’ Raoul said. ‘Once you’re over thirty, or even forty, it might be more of an issue, but you’re still a baby.’
She looked down at the soup in her bowl, that same little frown pulling at her forehead. ‘My father died on my birthday when I was seven years old. It’s not a day I’m used to celebrating.’
Raoul thought of the tragic death of his parents so close to his own birthday. Rafe had been ten; he had been eight, just about to turn nine, and Remy only seven. His parents’ funeral had been on Raoul’s birthday. It had been the worst birthday present anyone could imagine—to follow those flower-covered coffins into the cathedral, to feel that collective grief pressing down on him, to hear those mournful tunes as the choir sang.
To this day he hated having flowers in the house and he could not bear the sound of choral music.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘What about your mother? Is she still alive?’
‘Yes. She lives in Norfolk. I see her whenever I can.’
‘You live in London, yes?’
She nodded. ‘In a flat in Mayfair but, before you get all excited about the posh address, let me tell you it’s got creaking pipes and neighbours who think nothing of having loud parties that go on until four or five in the morning.’
‘Do you live alone?’
Her eyes flickered with something before she disguised it behind the screen of her lowered lashes. ‘Yes.’
Dominique came in to clear their plates, ready for the next course. She looked at Lily’s barely touched soup and frowned. ‘You are not hungry, mademoiselle? Would you like something else? I should have asked. Was the soup not to your liking?’
‘No, please, it was lovely,’ Lily said. ‘I’m a bit jet-lagged, that’s all. I suspect it’s affected my appetite.’
‘I have some lovely coq au vin for the main course,’ Dominique said. ‘It is Monsieur Raoul’s favourite. Perhaps that will whet your lagging appetite, oui?’
‘I’m sure it will,’ Lily said with a smile.
Raoul felt a spark of male interest when he saw Lily’s smile. She had beautiful white teeth, straight and even, and her smile had reached her eyes, making them come alive in a way they had not done previously. He felt a stirring in his groin, the first he had felt since his accident. He tried to ignore it but when she brought her gaze back to his he felt like a bolt of lightning had zapped him. She was stunningly beautiful when she wasn’t holding herself so rigidly. Her brief smile had totally transformed her rather serious demeanour. Why did she take such pains to hide her assets behind such drab clothing and that dour expression?
‘I hope I haven’t offended her,’ Lily said once Dominique had left.
‘She’s not easily offended,’ Raoul said with a hint of wryness. ‘If she were, she would have resigned the day I returned here after my accident. I wasn’t the best person to be around. I’m still not.’
‘It takes a lot of adjusting to accept limitations that have been imposed on us,’ she said. ‘You want your old life back, the one where everything was under your control. But that’s not always possible.’
Raoul picked up his wine glass again but he didn’t take a sip. It was more to have something to do with his hands, which increasingly felt compelled to reach across the table and touch one of hers. He wondered if her skin felt as soft as it looked. Her mouth fascinated him. It had looked so soft and plump when she’d smiled, yet now she held it so tightly. She gave off an aura of containment, of rigid self-control.
He gave himself a stern mental shake.
He was reading her aura?
‘That sounds like the voice of experience,’ he said. ‘Have you been injured in the past?’
Her expression closed like curtains coming down on a stage. ‘I didn’t come here to talk about me. I came here to help you.’
‘Against my will.’
She gave him a challenging look that put a defiant spark in her gaze. ‘I’m leaving first thing in the morning, as you requested.’
Raoul didn’t want her to leave, or at least not yet. Besides, his brother had paid a king’s ransom for her services. The no-refund clause she’d insisted on irritated him. She would be home free if he let her pack up and leave before she had even started.
No, he would make her stay and make her work damn hard for the money.
He gave her an equally challenging look. ‘What if I told you I’d changed my mind?’
‘Have you?’
‘I’m prepared to give you a week’s trial. After that, I’ll reassess.’
Her expression was wary. ‘Are you sure?’
‘When do we start?’
She reached across the table and snatched his wine glass away. ‘Right now.’
Raoul tightened his jaw. He knew he was using alcohol as a crutch. Normally he was appalled by such behaviour in others, but he didn’t take kindly to being treated like a child who didn’t know how to practise self-restraint. ‘It helps me sleep.’
‘Alcohol disrupts sleep patterns. Anyway, Dominique told me you were a bad sleeper.’
‘I wasn’t before.’
‘Do you have nightmares?’
‘No.’ He could tell she didn’t believe him, but there was no way he was going to tell her about the horrifying images that kept him awake at night. The pain he had felt on the impact would stay with him for life. The fear that he would drown before anyone got to him had stayed with him and made him break out in a cold sweat every time he thought of it. He couldn’t bear the thought of being submerged in water now, yet he’d used to swim daily.
‘I have a list of supplements I’d like you to take,’ she said. ‘And I want to introduce some aquatic exercises.’
Raoul held up his plastered right arm. ‘Hello? This isn’t waterproof. Swimming is out of the question.’
‘Not swimming, per se. Walking in water.’
He gave a disdainful laugh. ‘I can’t even walk on land, let alone in water. You’ve got the wrong guy. The one you’re looking for died two thousand-odd years ago and had a swag of miracles under his belt.’
She gave him a withering look. ‘You can wear a plastic bag over the cast. It will help your core stability switch on again to be moving in the water.’
Raoul glared at her furiously. ‘I want my life switched on again! I don’t give a damn about anything else.’
She pressed her lips together as if she were dealing with a recalcitrant child and needed to summon up some extra patience. ‘I realise this is difficult for you—’
‘You’re damn right it’s difficult for me,’ he threw back. ‘I can’t even get down to the stables to see my horses. I can’t even dress or shave myself without help.’
‘How long before the plaster comes off?’
‘Two weeks.’
‘You’ll find it much easier once it’s off. Once your arm is strong enough, you’ll be able to do some assisted walking on parallel bars. That’s what I did with my last client. Within twelve weeks she was able to walk without holding on at all.’
Raoul didn’t want to wait for twelve weeks. He didn’t want to wait for twelve days. He wanted to be back on his feet now. He didn’t want to turn his house into a rehabilitation facility with bars and rails and ramps everywhere. He wanted to be able to live a normal life, the life he’d had before, the life where he was in the driving seat, not being driven or pushed around by others. The grief and despair of what he had lost gnawed at him like a vicious toothache. How would he ever be happy with these limitations that had been forced on him?
He could not be happy.
He would never be happy, not like this.
How could he be?
Dominique came in with their main course. ‘Would you like me to cut the chicken into smaller pieces for you, Monsieur Raoul?’ she asked as she set his plate in front of him.
‘No, I would not,’ Raoul said curtly. ‘I’m not a bloody child.’
Lily gave him a reproachful look once Dominique had left the room. ‘You’re giving a very convincing impression of one, and a very spoilt one at that. She was only trying to help. There was no need to bark at her like that.’
‘I don’t like being fussed over.’ Raoul glowered at her. ‘I refuse to be treated like an invalid.’
‘It’s always much harder for people with control issues to accept their limitations.’
He let out a derisive grunt of laughter. ‘You think I’m a control freak? How did you come to that conclusion? Was my aura giving me away?’
‘You’re a classic control freak. That’s why you’re so angry and bitter. You’re not in control any more. Your body won’t let you do the things you want it to do. It’s galling for you to have to ask anyone for help, so you don’t ask. I bet you’d rather go hungry than have that meat cut up for you.’
Raoul curled his lip. ‘Quite the little psychologist, aren’t you, Miss Archer?’
She pursed her mouth for a moment before she responded. ‘You have a strong personality. You’re used to being in charge of your life. It doesn’t take a psychology degree to work that out.’
He gave her a mocking look. ‘Well, how about I read your aura, since we’re playing amateur psychologist?’
Her expression tightened. ‘Go right ahead.’
‘You don’t like drawing attention to yourself. You hide behind shapeless clothes. You lack confidence. Shall I go on?’
‘Is it a crime to be an introvert?’
‘No,’ Raoul said. ‘But I’m intrigued as to why a young woman as beautiful as you works so hard to downplay it.’
She looked flustered by his compliment. ‘I—I don’t consider myself to be beautiful.’
‘You don’t like compliments, do you, Miss Archer?’
She brought her chin up. ‘Not unless I believe them to be genuine.’
Raoul continued to hold her gaze, watching as she fought against the desire to break the connection. Her eyes were dark blue pools, layered with secrets. What was it about her that so captivated him? Was it that air of mystery? That element of unknowable, untouchable reserve? She was so different from the women in his social circles—not just in looks and manner of dress but in her guardedness. She reminded him of a shy fawn, always keeping a watch out for danger—tense, alert, focused. He would enjoy the challenge of peeling back the layers of that carefully constructed façade.
‘What time would you like to start in the morning?’ he asked.
‘Is nine OK? It will be hard work, but hopefully you’ll find it beneficial.’
‘I certainly hope so. Otherwise my brother is going to be without a best man.’
She frowned at him. ‘You mean you won’t go to the wedding at all if you’re not walking by then?’
‘I’m not going to ruin all the photos by being stuck in a chair. If I can’t walk, then I’m not going.’
‘But you can’t not go to your brother’s wedding.’ Her frown deepened. ‘It’s the most important day of his life. You should be there, chair or no chair.’
Raoul set his jaw. He was not going to make a spectacle of himself on his brother’s wedding day. The wedding would be large and the press would be there in droves. He could just imagine the attention he would receive. He could already see the caption on the photograph: the poor crippled brother. His stomach churned at the thought of it. ‘Your job, Miss Archer, is to get me out of this chair. You have one week to convince me you can do it.’
She moistened her lips with another little sweep of her tongue. ‘I’m not sure if I can or not. It’s hard to put a time frame on the healing process. It could take months or it might not happen at all...’
‘That is not an option,’ Raoul said. ‘You’ve supposedly worked a miracle before. Let’s see you if you can do it again.’
