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But as she flung the words out, opening her eyes to see the effect they had had, she found she was speaking to the empty air. Raoul had already gone and she was alone.
In an urgent scramble, she pushed herself from the bed and dashed to the door, stumbling over a ragged edge of the carpet as she made her way out into the corridor. The trip and the time needed to recover from it was enough to hold her back for a moment too long. She had barely recovered when she heard the slam of a car door, the roar of an engine.
By the time she got to the front door, all that was visible were the tail lights on Raoul’s car disappearing down the drive and out of sight.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SO THIS WAS where Raoul really lived!
Imogen got out of her car and leaned against the bonnet, staring in total amazement at the wonderful building before her. If she had needed any evidence of the fact that the real Raoul was light years away from the olive farmer she’d thought him, then this was it. Nothing could be further from the simple hotel where they’d shared those passionate nights; the plain inns and restaurants where they’d eaten; the clear blue bays in which they’d swum.
One of those bays, the Gulf of Liscia, stretched out now on the other side of the road, below the steep drop of the cliffs, while behind villa San Francescu the acres of olive trees stretched away into the distance. The villa itself was a fusion of ancient and modern, with the original stonework blended with contemporary touches, like big glass doors to let the sun flood in from all sides.
Over to one side of the sprawling building was a large paddock where several horses, the sturdy bay Corsicans that Raoul bred, contentedly cropped the grass. But Imogen spared the animals only the briefest of glimpses as she made her way across the stone path to rap at the main door.
She had thought she would have some warning of Raoul’s approach; that she would see him through the glass in the door or at least catch the sound of his footsteps approaching. But her attention was fixed on the interior of the villa so she missed the silent man who appeared around the corner of the house until he was only inches away from her.
‘Imogen.’
The sound of her name spoken in that special way brought her spinning round, her hair flying about her head and catching across her face so she had to tug it away to be able to see properly.
At first he was just a dark silhouette against the brilliant sky, a tall, powerful frame with narrow hips and long, long legs. In a worn black tee-shirt and ragged, cut-off jeans, he appeared much the farmer she had first taken him for, the man she had given her heart to all those years ago. Only the luxury and expanse of his surroundings gave any clue to the power and the wealth that were so much a part of the real Raoul Cardini she now knew. But it was the way her heart leapt and twisted, all in one moment, that left her in no doubt that, whoever he was, whatever his circumstances, Raoul was the man she loved. Totally, without reservation or hesitation.
‘Hello, Raoul.’
It was inane, but it was all she could manage. She had spent the length of the journey here thinking and planning, trying to work out just what she would say to him in the moment she saw him; how she would persuade him to listen to why she was here. And how she would convince him that the message she brought was the truth and nothing else.
But one look into his beloved face, one moment of recognition, and every thought fled her mind. All she could manage was, ‘Hello, Raoul…’ and the hastily swallowed declaration that she was here because she loved him. Because she couldn’t be anywhere else and be happy.
‘I’ve missed you.’
Understatement of the year. Was it really only five days since he had walked out of the house at Blacklands, driving away into the cool, pink dawn, heading for the airport and this beautiful villa that was his island home?
Only five days, but he looked as if he had aged in that time. Strain or tiredness…or would she be a fool to hope that the same sort of sorrow and sense of loss that had plagued her had also stolen his sleep at night? He had dark shadows under those spectacular eyes and his hard jaw was shadowed with a growth of stubble that indicated he hadn’t taken the time and trouble to shave for a day or more.
