Rumours: The Dishonoured Copelands: The Fallen Greek Bride (The Disgraced Copelands) / His Defiant Desert Queen (The Disgraced Copelands) / Her Sinful Secret (The Disgraced Copelands). Jane Porter
Time to give them both what they needed—freedom.
Drakon ran a hand over his jaw, feeling the dense beard, a beard he’d started growing that day he’d learned she intended to end their marriage without uttering a single word, or explanation, or apology to him.
He’d vowed he’d grow his beard until his wife returned home, or until he’d understood what had happened between them.
It had been an emotional, impulsive vow, but he’d kept it. Just as he’d kept hope that one day Morgan, his wife, would return to him.
And she had returned, but only to tell him how much she hated him. How much she despised him. How degrading she’d found their marriage.
Drakon exhaled slowly, trying to control the hot rush of emotion that made his chest ache and burn. He wasn’t used to feeling such strong emotions. But he was feeling them now.
He headed into the small sitting room, which opened off the living room to his laptop and his briefcase. He took a checkbook to his personal account out of his briefcase and quickly scrawled her name on a check and filled in the amount, before dating it and signing it. He studied the check for a moment, the anger bubbling up, threatening to consume him, and it took all of his control to push it back down, suppressing it with ruthless intent.
He wasn’t a failure. She was the failure. She was the one who had walked out on him, not the other way around. He was the one who had fought to save their marriage, who had honored their vows, who had honored her by thinking of no other woman but his wife, wanting no other woman than Morgan.
But now he was done with Morgan. He’d give her the money she wanted and let her go and once she left, he wouldn’t waste another moment of his life thinking or worrying about her. She wanted her freedom? Well, she was about to get it.
Morgan was standing on the villa’s front steps gazing out at the sweeping drive, with the stunning view of the dark green mountains that dropped steeply and dramatically into the sapphire sea, anxiously rubbing her nails back and forth against her linen skirt, when she heard the front door open behind her.
Her skin prickled and the fine hair at her nape lifted. She knew without even turning around it was Drakon. She could feel his warmth, that magnetic energy of his that drew everything toward him, including her.
But she wouldn’t allow herself to be drawn back into his life. Wouldn’t give him power over her ever again.
She quickly moved down the front steps, putting distance between them. She refused to look at him, was unable to look at him when she was filled with so much anger and loathing.
“You had no right to send away my car,” she said coolly, her gaze resolutely fixed on the dazzling blue and green colors of the coast, but unable to appreciate them, or the lushness of the dark pink bougainvillea blooming profusely along the stone wall bordering the private drive. Panic flooded her limbs. He was so close to her she could barely breathe, much less think.
“I didn’t think you’d need it,” he said.
She looked sharply at him then, surprised by his audacity, his arrogance. “Did you imagine I was going to stay?”
“I’d hoped,” he answered simply.
She sucked in a breath, hating him anew. He could be so charming when he wanted to be. So endearing and real. And then he could take it all away again, just like that. “You really thought I’d take one look at you and forget my unhappiness? Forget why I wanted the divorce?”
“I thought you’d at least sit down and talk to me. Have a real conversation with me.”
“You don’t like conversation, Drakon. You only want information in bullet form. Brief, concise and to the point.”
He was silent a moment, and then he nodded once, a short, decisive nod. “Then I’ll be brief in return. The helicopter is on the way for you. Should be here soon. And I have this for you.” He handed her a folded piece of paper.
Morgan took it from him, opened it. It was a check for seven million dollars. She looked up at Drakon in surprise. “What’s this?”
“The money you begged for.”
She flinched. “The pirates are only asking for six.”
“There will be other expenses. Travel and rescue logistics. You’ll want to hire an expert to help you. Someone with the right negotiation skills. There are several excellent firms out there, like Dunamas Maritime Intelligence—”
“I’m familiar with them.”
“They won’t be cheap.”
“I’m familiar with their fees.”
“Don’t try to do it on your own, thinking you can. Better to pay for their expertise and their relationships. They know what they’re doing, and they’ll help you avoid a trap. The Somali pirates sound like they’re a ragtag organization, but in truth, they’re being funded by some of the wealthiest, most powerful people in the world.”
She nodded, because she couldn’t speak, not with her throat swelling closed. For the first time in a long, long time, she was grateful for Drakon Xanthis, grateful he had not just the means to help her, but knowledge and power. There weren’t many people like Drakon in the world, and she was suddenly so very glad he had been part of her life.
“Use whatever is left after you pay your management fee to pay your father’s travel expenses home. There should be enough. If there isn’t, let me know immediately,” he added.
“Thank you,” she whispered huskily.
His jaw tightened. “Go to London before you return to New York, cash the check at the London branch of my bank. There won’t be any problems. They’ll give you the six million in cash you need for the ransom. You must have it in cash, and not new bills, remember that. But I’m sure your contact told you that?”
“Yes.”
His lashes dropped, concealing his expression. “They’re very particular, agapi mou. Follow the instructions exactly. If you don’t, things could turn unpleasant.”
“As if storming my father’s yacht off the Horn of Africa, and killing his captain, wasn’t unpleasant enough—” She broke off, hearing the distinctive hum of the helicopter. It was still a distance from them, but it would be here soon.
For a moment neither said anything, both listening to the whir of the helicopter blades.
“Why have you kept the news of your father’s kidnapping private?” he asked her. “I would have thought this was something you’d share with the world … using the kidnapping to garner sympathy.”
“Because it wouldn’t garner sympathy. The American public hates him. Loathes him. And if they discovered he was kidnapped by Somali pirates, they’d be glad. They’d be dancing in the streets, celebrating, posting all kinds of horrible comments all over the internet, hoping he’ll starve, or be killed, saying it’s karma—”
“Isn’t it?”
She acted as though Drakon hadn’t spoken. “But he’s my father, not theirs, and I’m not using their money. Not spending government funds, public funds or trust funds. We haven’t gone to the police or the FBI, haven’t asked for help from anyone. We’re keeping this in the family, handling it on our own, and since my brother and sisters don’t have the means, I’m using my money—”
“You mean my money.”
She flushed, and bit hard into her lower lip, embarrassed. His money. Right. They weren’t married, not really, and she had no right to spend his money, just because she had nothing left of her own.
“I stand corrected,” she whispered. “Your money. I’m using your money. But I will pay you back. Every penny. Even if it takes me the rest of my life.”
A small muscle popped in his jaw. “There is no need for that—”