Rebel's Bargain Page 3

  ‘Why, Orsino?’

  ‘Why not?’ he shot back at her. ‘Surely you owe me?’

  ‘Owe you?’ Indignation warred with guilt, just as it had all those years ago.

  Her cheeks flamed at the memory of what she’d done to deserve his disgust. But at the same time anger surged. He’d never admitted his role in what had happened, never once tried to understand. If it hadn’t been for his arrogance and selfish pride—

  ‘I don’t owe you a thing, Orsino.’

  ‘So you say, but would those millions of fans agree if they knew the details of why we split?’

  Poppy felt her eyes bulge.

  ‘You’re trying to blackmail me?’ She groped for words, her brain spinning. ‘Why now? Why after all this time?’ It didn’t make sense.

  ‘Blackmail? To expect a wife to take care of her husband when he needs her?’

  His arch tone set her teeth on edge.

  ‘I haven’t the time or inclination to continue this discussion.’ She rose and picked up her bag. ‘Spread what stories you like, Orsino. It makes no difference to me.’

  It was a lie. Damaging rumours would make her life hell again. With photos of Orsino as a wounded hero she’d be cast as a villainess, her reputation in tatters as well as her peace. It was bound to impact on her career.

  But she couldn’t let it matter. Losing her self-respect was too high a price.

  ‘Wait!’

  His peremptory tone stopped her as she turned away.

  ‘I have a proposition.’

  Reluctantly she turned. What she could see of his face looked paler than before. His mouth was set in a thin line of pain. She eyed his tense jaw and wondered if she could call the nurse.

  How could she feel concern for a blackmailer? It didn’t make sense. But then nothing about her reactions to this man was logical.

  ‘Poppy?’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I refuse to stay in a convalescent home. I want privacy while I recuperate.’

  ‘So?’ She refrained from pointing out that with his money he could buy the best medical care in his own home. ‘Why not ask one of your women to look after you?’

  Orsino was regularly seen with a gorgeous woman at his side, a different one every week.

  ‘Why not this Amindra you were expecting? I’m sure she’d jump at the chance to be alone with you.’

  His chuckle rippled, warm and rich, across her skin and Poppy was appalled to feel herself melt a little at the knees. Till he spoke again and her hackles rose. ‘Ah, that explains your bad mood. Are you jealous?’

  She stood straighter, a shaft of fury stiffening her backbone. ‘Absolutely not. Now, I have a return flight to organise.’

  She’d taken just one step when he spoke again. ‘Amindra is a nurse. I’m sure she’d jump at the chance for extra money but not if it means leaving her children and grandchildren behind for several weeks.’

  ‘She’s a nurse?’

  ‘Who else would I meet in this condition?’ For the first time Orsino’s voice betrayed bitterness as he waved his hand in a slashing gesture across his bandaged torso. It spoke of barely leashed frustration and all at once it hit her how difficult an active man like Orsino must find his forced confinement. She’d been so caught up in relief at seeing him alive, then irritation at his high-handed attitude, that hadn’t sunk in.

  Even badly wounded Orsino had more presence than most men she knew. If only he didn’t get under her skin so!

  ‘Look after me for a couple of weeks and I’ll set you free.’

  Poppy stared intently but couldn’t make out his expression. Those bandages hid so much. Was he blind behind them? She wanted to ask but knew he wouldn’t answer.

  ‘What do you mean, set me free?’

  His mouth curled up at one side. ‘That should be obvious. I’ll give you a divorce.’

  Poppy’s fingers tightened on the strap of her bag.

  ‘Why now? After all this time?’

  He shrugged again and fleetingly she thought of how his occasional Mediterranean gestures, the use of his hands as he spoke, the lifting of those broad shoulders, used to fascinate her. As had the intriguing combination of stunning Italian good looks and English reserve, courtesy of his Italian mother and British father.

  ‘It’s what you want, isn’t it?’

  Poppy stared. Was he offering an easy divorce because that’s what he wanted or because he thought she did? Had he found someone else to fill the rarefied position of his wife?

  For years she’d resolutely turned her thoughts away from Orsino with anyone else. Even though he wore gorgeous women like fashion accessories every time he appeared in public.

  A hollow ache started up beneath her ribs. She told herself it was stress from the long journey and from facing Orsino again.

  ‘Why should I go to such bother, when I could just visit a lawyer and file for divorce?’

  He didn’t like that. She saw his mouth tighten.

  ‘Because I have it in my power to make divorce easy.’ He paused. ‘Or hard. You get to choose whether it’s smooth and painless or drawn out and very, very public.’

  No mistaking the threat in the rough velvet timbre of his voice. It was on the tip of Poppy’s tongue to ask why he hadn’t divorced her. But she wouldn’t give him an excuse to pry into her own reasons for inaction. She hadn’t worked that out herself. ‘Unless—’ his voice dropped to a speculative murmur ‘—you don’t want a divorce after all?’

  Silence throbbed between them, fraught with vulnerabilities she’d thought she’d conquered years ago, and a challenge she didn’t dare refuse.

  Divorce meant an end to their relationship. No more lingering dregs of regret, no ‘if onlys’ in the wakeful predawn hours.

  A divorce would free her, make her whole. She’d thought herself free of Orsino but her reaction today taught her otherwise. Despite the way he’d shattered her dreams, some remnant of emotion remained.

  It was a remnant she was determined to obliterate.

  A couple of weeks with this arrogant, selfish man would cure her of those last hints of doubt. It would be hell but it would be worth it to finally be free.

  Poppy stepped to the edge of the bed and watched him turn his head towards her.

  ‘You’ve got yourself a deal, Orsino. I’ll give you a couple of weeks for old times’ sake and then I never want to see you again.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ORSINO GRIMACED AS the doctor probed gently and pain throbbed through him.

  ‘How long till I’m fit?’ he demanded, his voice hoarse from fighting pain and the unexpected emotion of meeting Poppy just hours before.

  He felt raw inside, as if the slip of deadly ice and rock had crashed right through his innards instead of merely cracking a few bones and tearing skin.

  Despite his injuries, death from exposure had, by comparison, been a strangely peaceful prospect. Numbness would lead to loss of consciousness then nothing. No pain, no struggle. Only his brain hadn’t let him give in. He’d heard a voice, Poppy’s voice, whenever he’d wanted to give up. He’d known he couldn’t just slip away until he’d finished what was between them.

  ‘For the arm, a month or so, though you could have lingering symptoms in this hand especially. You were in the ice too long for my liking.’

  The doctor scrawled another note in his report and Orsino reminded himself he was lucky he could see the movement, no matter how poorly. The prospect of blindness had terrified him. He repressed fear that this distorted vision was the best he’d ever get.

  ‘I’d prefer that you stayed here longer.’

  Orsino opened his mouth to protest but the doctor spoke again. ‘I know, I know. That’s not going to happen. Since you insist on leaving I’ll forward a report so your doctor can keep an eye on you. In the meantime you need rest and plenty of it.’

  The doctor’s terseness was a welcome change. He’d grown sick of that unfailingly upbeat tone with which the nurses avo
ided answering questions about his recovery.

  ‘You’ll have to be careful of the ribs for some time. As for the lacerations and bruising, that’s all healing nicely.’

  Orsino let himself sag against the pillows.

  ‘And my eyes?’

  Orsino tried not to read significance into the pause before the doctor answered.

  He’d come a long way from those hours half frozen as he dragged Michael from the avalanche. More than once he’d thought them both lost for ever.

  Whatever the prognosis it was better than being another fatal statistic.

  ‘Ah. Your vision. That’s more difficult. As we discussed earlier, snow blindness usually doesn’t last. But in some cases, such as yours, there can be longer-term damage. The injury to your head hasn’t helped.’

  ‘But I will recover?’

  Again that pause. Orsino drew a deep breath as he fought panic. These days of darkness had been the most taxing of his life. How would he cope if poor vision stopped him doing the things that made life worthwhile? He’d go insane.

  ‘I’m hopeful.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But how long it takes and whether the recovery will be complete I can’t say. You’ll need regular monitoring. I’ve made a referral for you to see an excellent specialist in France.’

  Orsino murmured his thanks as the doctor left.

  Ironic that he’d damaged his vision while raising money for an eye clinic.

  No, that wasn’t true. The clinic hadn’t been the real impetus for his perilous climb. It had been his father, and his own impetuous anger.

  Five years ago Orsino had thrown himself into ever more reckless adventures, trying to escape the pain of loss and Poppy’s betrayal.

  The media had loved his dangerous stunts, providing him with an opportunity to do something he actually felt proud of—making a difference in the lives of those who needed help. His exploits lured donors to support a range of causes and for the first time he’d had real purpose, not just an easy life of privilege.

  Till his father, Gene Chatsfield, took an interest.

  Orsino’s unbandaged hand clenched against the bedclothes, frustration rising.

  If his father had wanted to reconcile Orsino would have met him halfway.

  But Gene wasn’t interested in happy families. His interest was purely commercial.

  Orsino gritted his teeth. Had he really hoped the old man was interested in more than making money?

  To Gene Chatsfield his daredevil son was no more than a potential business asset. He wanted Orsino as the public face of his revamped luxury hotel chain, using his philanthropy as a draw card.

  Heat seared Orsino’s belly. His father cheapened everything Orsino had built. What had given him such purpose and satisfaction was reduced to the level of tawdry circus stunts to draw a crowd.

  And when Orsino had refused he’d been threatened with loss of income from the family trust.

  As if he was some callow kid, to be manipulated and brought to heel!

  His father didn’t know him at all. In twenty-eight years he’d learned enough about investment to build his own fortune separate from his family trust fund. These days Orsino lived off his own earnings and the trust monies were channelled into charitable programs.

  Sure he’d been wild in his youth, not surprising given his family background. But his father made the mistake of thinking he was still eighteen.

  Orsino shook his head, his mouth twisting. Who was he kidding?

  His decision to make this last climb had been pure defiance, thumbing his nose at his father’s manipulations.

  Orsino shoved away the covers and sat up, sick of being confined.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, vowing to be done with emotion. Look where it had got him. Disappointment and, yes, hurt at his father’s attitude had sent him on a climb that had been a hairsbreadth from suicidal.

  As for Poppy … Orsino paused, pain lancing as he forgot his ribs and took a deep breath.

  Poppy made him feel out of control, no longer master of his own destiny. She threatened him in ways his father could never manage.

  This vulnerability had to be faced, defeated and destroyed. Then he could get on with his life.

  He drew a slow breath and levered himself to his feet, ignoring another sharp throb of pain.

  It was time to put his plan into action.

  The group of reporters outside the hospital had grown when Poppy returned. Years of practice kept her moving at a steady clip but their shouted questions about a reconciliation with Orsino jarred like physical blows. Every strident call was a lash on tender skin.

  Once inside she paused, barely resisting the need to lean against the wall for support.

  Reconciliation with Orsino? No way!

  He’s still your husband, a tiny voice chided.

  All at once she felt like the Poppy she’d told herself no longer existed. The one who’d responded to Orsino’s shivery deep voice yesterday as she had all those years ago. The Poppy whose pulse had leapt into a jittering rhythm when he’d touched her. The Poppy who’d been devastated when he’d turned on his heel and left her bereft.

  A shudder of unadulterated terror ripped through her.

  She wasn’t that girl any more.

  She’d rebuilt herself into someone stronger. Into the woman she’d wanted to be for as long as she could remember—independent and successful. No man would ever take over her life again. She’d seen that side of the coin with her mother. For an awful time she’d been there herself. She wouldn’t let herself be so vulnerable again.

  Her relationship with Orsino had been an aberration—proof she’d been right in not wanting romantic love.

  Love made you weak.

  Poppy straightened, her tattered confidence growing.

  She could deal with Orsino. Besides, for all his faults and the anger that stirred when she remembered the past, she pitied him those injuries.

  Setting her shoulders she knocked and entered Orsino’s room. He wasn’t there and for one heart-stopping moment Poppy wondered if he’d taken a turn for the worse.

  ‘You’re late.’

  Hand to chest, she spun around, her heart catapulting.

  Orsino sat in a wheelchair, surveying her. The bandages around his eyes were gone, replaced by glasses so black she caught no hint of his eyes behind them.

  ‘Your eyes.’ It was more question than statement, but he said nothing, merely sat statue still, facing her.

  Was he blind? Infuriatingly he said nothing, shutting her out completely.

  Her belly cramped. He was an expert at that.

  Most of the bandages on his head had been removed, except for one at a rakish angle that made him look like a stranger. A tough stranger you wouldn’t want to mess with.

  Yet she’d know the angle of that cheekbone, the strong thrust of his nose and that square jaw even in her sleep.

  Poppy told herself it was natural to remember so much. He’d been her first lover, after all.

  Though the plan was to leave for France today, it was a shock to see him in street clothes. The image of Orsino buried in bandages had haunted her through the long, sleepless night.

  Now a casual jacket hung loose from one shoulder, partly covering his sling, and he wore a pale chambray shirt. Jeans clung to his long, solid thighs. Hiking boots encased his feet on the wheelchair’s footrest.

  Poppy worked to smother unwilling sympathy.

  ‘They must have cut the sleeve to get that shirt on.’ Her voice emerged just right, even and easy.

  ‘Trust a model to consider the clothes first and foremost.’ The words were an accusation that sliced straight through her. And the way he said model as if it was a euphemism for something ugly …

  Her lips firmed as indignation ignited. Did she really want to deal with Orsino in condescending mode?

  Being with him was an outrageously bad idea. Every instinct screamed at her to walk away. He could spill his version of
their break-up to the press and she’d survive. He could make divorce difficult but he couldn’t stop it.

  It wasn’t too late to back out.

  Except she was determined never to reveal vulnerability before him again. If she reneged on the deal he’d know it for weakness.

  She had to face him and prove these feelings were mere phantoms of memory.

  Poppy squared her jaw. She was woman enough to cope with him. After what she’d been through a few jibes were nothing.

  ‘You’d prefer if I made a fuss of you?’ She stepped closer, watching for some sign he could see her but his face remained impassive. Deep in her stomach tension swirled at the possibility he couldn’t see, and worse, he’d never see again.

  She cleared a knot in her throat. ‘If you’re after someone to simper and sigh over you you’ve picked the wrong woman. Call one of your girlfriends instead.’

  ‘The claws are out, I see.’

  Poppy shrugged, meeting that blank, reflective stare. ‘No claws. That implies I have a personal, emotional interest.’ She paused to let that sink in. ‘The only reason I’m allowing you to impose yourself is the prospect of a gloriously Chatsfield-free future.’ Poppy let her mouth curve in a smile that she knew didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Besides, no matter what you think of me I’m not the sort to kick a man while he’s down.’

  No matter how much he deserved it.

  ‘So tell me, Orsino, what do the doctors say? I need to know if I’m going to help you.’

  The sight of that wheelchair did nothing to dispel her concern. Had he damaged his spine? The idea chilled her to the marrow.

  His lips twisted and she sensed his impatience.

  ‘They counsel patience.’

  No wonder he was moody. Pain would be bad enough, but for Orsino, waiting to recuperate would be even worse. ‘I see.’

  ‘I’m glad someone does.’ He spoke under his breath but his bitter tone cut through the still air.

  Poppy stepped closer, her gaze on those dark glasses. ‘You can’t see at all?’

  He expelled a breath in a rush of air. ‘Let’s just say I won’t be driving a car any time soon.’