Never Underestimate a Caffarelli Page 2

  * * *

  Lily gripped her handbag on her lap with fingers that were ice cold in spite of the summer temperature. She’d heard shouting, and although she wasn’t fluent in French or Italian she understood enough to know Raoul Caffarelli was not happy about her being here. Which was ironic, since she wasn’t all that happy about being here, either. But with the money safely in her mother’s mortgage account at least one worry had been shelved.

  But her biggest worry lay ahead.

  Being left alone in this huge old château with a man she had never met before was like something out of a horror movie. Her pulse was racing and her heart was hammering. She could feel the stickiness of perspiration between her shoulder blades and on her palms. The floor of her stomach was crawling with prickly feet of panic and she had to press her knees together to stop them from knocking against each other.

  The morning-room door opened and Rafe Caffarelli came in with a grim look on his face. ‘He’s in the library. Try not to be put off by his surly attitude. Hopefully he’ll improve a little on acquaintance. He’s just frustrated and angry about his situation.’

  Lily rose to her feet, still clutching her handbag like a shield. ‘It’s fine...’ She moistened her paper-dry mouth. ‘It must be very difficult for him....’

  ‘It’s a nightmare, for him and for me. I don’t know how to reach him. He’s locked everyone out.’ He rubbed a hand over his face in a weary manner. ‘He refuses to cooperate. I’ve never seen him like this. I knew he could be stubborn, but this is taking it to a whole new level.’

  ‘It’s still early days,’ Lily said. ‘Some people take months to accept what’s happened to them. Others never accept it.’

  ‘I want him at my wedding,’ Rafe said with an implacable look. ‘I don’t care if we have to drag him or push him there kicking and screaming. I want him there.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Lily said. ‘But I can’t make any promises.’

  ‘The housekeeper, Dominique, will assist you with anything you need,’ he said. ‘She will show you to your suite once you meet Raoul. There’s a young guy called Sebastien who comes in each morning to help my brother shower and dress. Have you any questions?’

  Hundreds, but they could wait. ‘No, I think I’ve got it all under control.’

  He gave her a brief nod and held the door open for her. ‘I’ll show you the way to the library but I think it’s best if I leave you to it.’ He twisted his mouth ruefully and added, ‘I’m not my brother’s favourite person right now.’

  * * *

  The library was on the same floor in the centuries-old château, but the sombre dark setting was in sharp contrast to the bright morning room where the sunlight had streamed in through a bank of windows that overlooked the rolling, verdant fields of the Normandy countryside. The library had only one window that let in limited light, and there were three walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that dominated the room, as well as a large leather-topped desk and an old-world globe positioned beside it. The smell of parchment and paper, leather and furniture polish gave Lily a sense of stepping back in time.

  But her gaze was immediately drawn like a magnet to the silent figure seated in a wheelchair behind the desk. Raoul Caffarelli had the same breath-snatching good looks of his older brother, with glossy black hair, olive-toned skin and a rather stubborn, uncompromising-looking jaw. But his eyes were a green-flecked hazel instead of dark brown, and right now they were glittering at her in blistering anger.

  ‘You’ll forgive me for not rising.’ His tone was clipped and unfriendly, his expression stony.

  ‘I... Of course.’

  ‘Unless you are hard of hearing or a complete and utter fool, you must realise by now I don’t want you here.’

  She lifted her chin, determined not to show him how intimidated she felt. ‘I’m neither hard of hearing nor a fool.’

  He measured her with his gaze for a long, pulsing moment. Lily could see his French-Italian heritage in his features and in his bearing. There was a hint of the proud aristocrat in him; it was there in the broad set of his shoulders and the way he held himself in spite of being confined to a chair. He was taller than average—she estimated two or three inches over six feet—and was obviously a man who had been intensely physically active prior to his accident. She could see the well-formed muscles of his chest and arms through the fine cotton of the shirt he was wearing. His right arm was still in a plaster cast but his hands looked strong and capable. His face was cleanly shaven but the shadow of regrowth was evident, suggesting potent male hormones. His nose was a little more Roman than his brother’s, and there were lines about his mouth that gave him a slightly drawn look, as if he had lost weight recently. His mouth was set in an intractable line, flattened by his mood and temper, and she wondered what it would look like if he smiled.

  Lily pulled back from her thoughts with a little start. She was not here to make him smile. She was here to see if she could make him walk, and the sooner she got on with the job, the sooner she could leave.

  ‘I suppose my brother has given you all the gory details of my condition?’ he said, still pinning her with that intimidating gaze.

  ‘I’ve seen your scans and read the doctors’ and physiotherapists’ reports.’

  A dark brow lifted above his left eye, almost accusingly. ‘And?’

  She rolled her lips together to moisten them, trying to ignore the annoying jackhammer beat of her heart. ‘I think it’s worth trying some of my methods. I’ve had some success with clients with similar injuries to yours.’

  ‘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 w
ore 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.