Never Underestimate a Caffarelli

‘So, what are some of your methods?’ His top lip curled mockingly. ‘Waving incense around? Chanting mantras? Reading auras? Laying on of hands?’

Lily felt a little spurt of anger shoot through her blood. She was used to people rubbishing her holistic approach but somehow his sarcastic tone got under her skin. But he would be laughing on the other side of his face if she got him back on his feet. The challenge to do so was suddenly rather more attractive than it had been before. ‘I use a combination of traditional therapies and some complementary ones. It depends.’

‘On what?’

‘On the client. I take into consideration their diet and lifestyle, their sleeping habits, their mental state and—’

‘Let me guess—you read their tarot cards or give them a zodiac reading.’

Lily pursed her mouth to stop herself from issuing a stinging riposte. He was quite possibly the rudest man she’d ever met. Arrogant, too, but she supposed that came from his privileged background. He was a spoilt, over-indulged playboy who had been handed everything on a silver platter. His surly, ‘poor me’ attitude was just typical of someone who’d never had to work for anything in his life. He had it so good compared to some of her clients. At least he had the money to set himself up. He had people to wait on him, to take care of him. He had a family who refused to give up on him. Didn’t he realise that while he was in his luxury château feeling sorry for himself, there were people out in the world who were homeless or starving with no one to care what happened to them from one day to the next?

‘I’m a Taurus, in case you’re wondering,’ he said.

She gave him an arch look. ‘That explains the bull-headedness.’

‘I can be very stubborn.’ He gave her another measuring look. ‘But I suspect you can, too.’

‘I like to call it persistence,’ Lily said. ‘I don’t believe in giving up on something until I’ve put in a decent effort.’

He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the armrest of his wheelchair, an almost absentminded movement that seemed overly loud in the silence.

Lily felt the slow, assessing sweep of his gaze again. Was he comparing her to all the women he had dated? If so, he would find her sadly lacking. She didn’t dress to impress. She didn’t wear make-up as a rule and she wore plain Jane clothes that hid her figure and her past.

‘I’m not sure what to do with you.’ He glared at her darkly. ‘It’s not like I can physically throw you out.’

Lily sent him a warning in her gaze. ‘I can assure you, Monsieur Caffarelli, I would put up a spectacular fight if you laid even a single finger on me.’

One of his brows went up in an arc. ‘Well, well, well; the seemingly demure Miss Archer has a sting in her tail. Scorpio?’

She ground her teeth. ‘Virgo.’

‘Detailed. Nit-picking. Pedantic.’

‘I prefer to think of it as thorough.’

A ghost of a smile tilted the edge of his mouth. It totally transformed his features and Lily had to remind herself to breathe.

But the half smile was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. His expression darkened again and his gaze singed hers. ‘I’ve had weeks of physical therapy, Miss Archer, and none of it has worked, as you can see. I can’t see how you could succeed where others more qualified than you have failed.’

‘It’s still early days,’ Lily said. ‘The body can take months, if not years, to recover from trauma.’

Cynicism made his eyes glitter. ‘You’re not offering your services for years, though, are you, Miss Archer? My prediction is you’ll last one or two days, three at the most, and then you’ll be off with a nice fat little wad of cash in your bank account. I’ve met your type before—you exploit people who are desperate. You’ve got nothing to offer me and we both know it.’

‘On the contrary, I think I can help you,’ Lily said. ‘You’re at a critical stage in your recovery. You should be supervised while exercising—’

‘Supervised?’ He barked the word at her. ‘I’m not a child who needs supervising while playing on the monkey bars.’

‘I didn’t say that. I just meant that you have to—’

‘I will do it my way,’ he said with indomitable force. ‘I don’t want your help. I didn’t ask for it. And I didn’t pay for it. I know what I have to do and I’m doing it, and I prefer to do it alone. Do us both a favour and catch the next flight back to London.’

Lily stared him down even though it took an enormous effort to hold that diamond-hard gaze. His anger was coming off him in waves that sent crackles of electricity through the air. She could even feel her skin tightening all over her body, as if those invisible currents were flowing over and through her. She could even feel her blood heating; it was pounding through her veins as if she had taken a shot of adrenalin. ‘You do realise if I leave now your brother will lose a considerable amount of money? There’s a no-refund clause in my contract.’

His mouth thinned in disdain. ‘Let him lose it. It’s no skin off my nose.’

Lily was shocked. Was he really prepared to forfeit an amount most people didn’t even earn in a year? And it wasn’t even his money. His assumption she would take the money and go made her all the more determined to stay. Her conscience wouldn’t allow her to take the money for nothing. He would think she was an unscrupulous gold digger and, given how high profile the Caffarelli name was, it would quite possibly tarnish the reputation of the clinic if word got out that she’d left without doing a day’s work.

Besides, she was a little intrigued by his resistance to rehabilitation. Didn’t he want to improve his mobility, or had he simply given up? Some clients found it very hard to adjust to the smallest of limitations put on them, while others coped remarkably well in spite of far worse injuries.

He was in good physical health, which was always a bonus in hoping for a positive outcome in rehabilitation, but his state of mind suggested he had not yet come to terms with what had happened to him. He reminded her of an alpha wolf who had secluded himself away to lick his wounds while no one was watching.

But then, hadn’t she done the very same thing five years ago?

Lily held his steely gaze. ‘I have no way of getting to the airport now that your brother has left.’

‘Then I’ll get one of the stableboys to drive you.’

‘I’m not leaving.’

A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘I don’t want you here.’

‘You’ve made that more than obvious,’ Lily said huffily. ‘I didn’t expect a red carpet to be rolled out or anything, but the least you could’ve done is be civil. Or does being filthy rich mean you can act like a total jerk and get away with it?’

His gaze warred with hers for a throbbing moment. ‘My brother had no right to bring you here without my permission.’

‘So you take it out on me?’ Lily tossed back. ‘How is that fair? I’ve travelled for hours and hours, I’m tired and hungry, and as soon as I set foot in the place I get my head bitten off by a boorish man who has a massive chip on his shoulder because he can’t do some of the things he used to do. At least you’ve got a roof over your head and a family who love you, not to mention loads and loads of money.’ She put a hand over her heart theatrically. ‘Oh, how my heart bleeds for you.’

His eyes were glacial as they hit hers. ‘I want you out of here by lunchtime tomorrow. Do you understand?’

Lily felt strangely exhilarated by their verbal sparring. The atmosphere was electric, the tension palpable. ‘Your loss, my gain. Well, I suppose it’s your brother’s loss, really, but still. Easy come, easy go, as they say.’

He gave her a glowering look before he turned to press an intercom button on his desk and spoke in French to his housekeeper. A fine shiver lifted the hairs on the back of Lily’s neck as she listened to the deep timbre of his voice in that most musical of languages. She wondered what his voice would sound like when he wasn’t angry. She wondered what his laugh sounded like. He was such a compelling man to look at, so dark and intense, bristling with barely suppressed emotion.

‘Dominique will show you to a guest suite,’ he said. ‘I will arrange to have you driven to the airport first thing tomorrow.’

The housekeeper appeared at the door of the library and escorted Lily to a guest suite on the third floor of the château along a long wide corridor that was lined with priceless works of art and marble statues that seemed to follow her progress with their eyes.

‘Monsieur Raoul’s suite is that one there.’ Dominique pointed to a double-door suite as they walked past. ‘He is not a good sleeper so I did not like to put you too close to him.’ She gave Lily a pained look. ‘He wasn’t like that before the accident. I blame that fiancée of his.’

Lily stopped in her tracks and frowned. ‘I didn’t realise he was engaged.’

Dominique gave her a cynical look. ‘He’s not. She broke it off while he was in hospital.’

‘Oh, but that’s awful!’

The housekeeper gave a Gallic sniff of disdain. ‘I didn’t like her from the moment I met her. But then, I haven’t liked any of his mistresses. His brother’s fiancée is another story. Poppy Silverton is the nicest young woman you’ll ever meet. She’s the best thing that ever happened to Monsieur Rafe. I just hope Monsieur Raoul meets someone like her.’

No wonder he was so bitter and angry, Lily thought. How heartless of his ex-fiancée to end their relationship in such a way. It was such a cruel thing to do. Surely she hadn’t truly loved him? How could she? Loving someone meant being there for them in the good times and the bad. How could his fiancée live with the fact she’d abandoned him when he was at his lowest point? It explained so much about his attitude. It was no wonder he was so prickly and unfriendly. He was hurting in the worst possible way.

Lily followed the housekeeper into the suite that was decorated in a classical French style. The queen-sized bed was made up in snowy white linen with a fine gold trim that matched the gilt-edged paintwork of the suite. An antique dressing table with a tapestry-covered stool was positioned in front of an ornately framed mirror; there was a chest of drawers on cabriole legs and a discreetly hidden built-in wardrobe lined another wall. The heavily festooned windows overlooked the formal gardens of the estate where neatly clipped hedges, sun-drenched paved terraces and a large bubbling fountain were situated.

‘I hope you’ll be comfortable,’ Dominique said. ‘Dinner will be served at eight. I’m not sure if Monsieur Raoul will join you. He’s not very sociable these days. He spends most of his time in his study or in his room.’

‘How does Monsieur Raoul get up and down the stairs?’ Lily asked. ‘I didn’t see a stair climber on the staircase.’

‘There is a proper lift on the ground floor that goes to all four levels,’ Dominique said. ‘Monsieur Raoul had it installed a few months ago when his grandfather came for a visit after he had a stroke. Not that he got a word of thanks for his effort, mind you. Vittorio Caffarelli is not the nicest person to have around. He spoke to me as if I was the dust under his feet. I had to bite my tongue the whole time he was here.’

Lily was starting to suspect there was a lot more to the Caffarelli dynasty than she had first realised. She had read a bit online about the family—how they had made their wealth in property and a variety of timely and rather clever investments; how Raoul’s parents had been killed in a speedboat accident on the French Riviera when he and his brothers were young. The three boys had been raised by their grandfather but had spent most of their school years at boarding school in England.

Raoul had been born to wealth but brought up with tragedy. And now he had yet another blow to deal with. Not that she had read anything of his injuries in the press, which made her wonder what sort of power the Caffarellis had at their fingertips. But how long would it be before some unscrupulous journalist came hunting for a story? It was certainly a juicy one: a rich man rejected by his fiancée after a freak accident that left him in a wheelchair.

In spite of her dislike of the man, Lily couldn’t help feeling Raoul had been badly treated. Rejection was always hard, but to be cast aside because of injury went against everything she believed in.

What sort of money would be exchanged for a photograph of him now? Was that why he didn’t want anyone he didn’t know here at the château?

‘It is a pity you aren’t staying the month,’ Dominique said. ‘Even without the physical therapy you offer, I think the company would have been good for Monsieur Raoul. He spends too much time on his own.’

Lily found it ironic that she wanted to stay when only days ago she had been hunting for excuses not to come. ‘I can’t force him to let me stay. It’s his call. If he wants to work with me, then I’ll be happy to do it. But he seemed pretty adamant he wanted me out of here.’

‘He might change his mind, oui?’ Dominique said. ‘You took him by surprise. Perhaps he will have a change of heart overnight.’

Lily walked over to the windows when the housekeeper had left and looked at the view over the estate. It was certainly a picturesque setting with its beautiful gardens and lush, seemingly unending fields beyond.

But the brooding man downstairs, who so resented her being here, reminded her that in any paradise there was always the potential for trouble and temptation.

CHAPTER 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.’