Rebel's Bargain

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ORSINO LUMBERED THROUGH the antechambers like a man punch-drunk. More than once the floor tilted and rose up to meet him and he had to grab at a wall or doorframe to steady himself. The sound of music and voices came in waves, swelling to a roar in his ears then dying to nothing as Poppy’s words hammered into his brain.

We did not have sex.

Because I never stopped loving you.

She was doing his head in. Playing with him.

Was this her revenge for the way he’d left her high and dry years before?

Was Poppy really so calculating and cruel?

He’d believed many things but never that.

Where the hell was she? He had to find her.

Orsino had no idea how long it had been since she’d turned and left him. Time had waned and stretched. Was it minutes or hours? Surely it couldn’t be so long.

He searched for the dark flame of her long hair, the sinuous body in full-length purple, the glitter of gems and the proud thrust of her chin.

She’d looked like a queen, exquisitely regal and untouchable. Even with tears silvering her cheeks in the moonlight she’d had a power about her, a force that held him in check, awed not just by her words, but by her, the woman who turned him inside out and wrung him dry.

He’d felt empty inside, watching her battle her emotions. As if someone had reached in and ripped out his vital organs.

He swallowed convulsively, groping for the panelled wall, bile rising. What she’d said! How could she expect him to believe it? If what she said was true that meant that for five long years …

Orsino sagged against the wood panelling.

No. He refused to go there. He couldn’t.

He squinted, surveying the throng in the next room through the open double doors. Colour and glitter and acres of bare flesh. But no Poppy.

He sank back, his whole body shuddering. He had to find her. He had to—

‘Well, well. If it’s not the celebrated hero. I have to say you look like you should be in a hospital bed, not propping up a wall. Or have you just had too much champagne?’

‘Mischa.’ Orsino grimaced on the name as he stumbled upright and slitted his eyes.

He couldn’t even find the energy to dredge hatred for the man who surveyed him speculatively, pale eyebrows raised.

‘I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you again,’ the other man said, his lip curling.

‘I don’t give a damn whether you’re pleased.’ Orsino shook his head, trying to clear it. ‘Where is she?’

Mischa took his time raising a crystal tumbler to his mouth. With his too-perfect tailoring and languid movements, he looked so cool that Orsino battled the urge to force the information he needed.

‘You’ve lost someone? How careless of you.’ Mischa’s light eyes glittered with something like hatred.

Orsino’s fists bulged. Adrenaline pumped hard through his arteries as his body readied for action. But he held back.

‘Don’t play games. Where’s Poppy?’

‘Give me one good reason why I should tell you.’

‘Because—’ Orsino leaned into the other man’s space ‘—she’s my wife.’

To do him credit Mischa didn’t flinch. Maybe he’d underrated the man.

‘The wife you abandoned and ignored for the past five years?’

If Mischa thought anything he could say had the power to hurt Orsino now, he was badly mistaken. It wasn’t possible to inflict more pain.

‘That would be the one.’ Orsino spoke through gritted teeth as he leaned closer. ‘Where is she?’

Mischa faltered back a half step, this time reading something feral in Orsino’s eyes.

‘She’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘Left.’ Mischa paused. ‘Alone.’

Orsino’s knees buckled and he lurched back against the wall.

‘She couldn’t have gone.’ His voice was a scratch of protest.

‘You mean she couldn’t have walked out on you?’ Pale eyes skewered him. ‘Why not? She obviously learned the tactic from an expert.’ He paused as if wanting to see Orsino squirm then shrugged and turned away.

‘Wait!’ Orsino straightened, his arm outstretched. ‘Is it true?’

Once he’d been too proud to speak to this guy. Now his pride was dust. He had to know.

‘Is what true?’

‘Poppy said you and she … That you’d never …’

Mischa swung around, his Slavic cheekbones prominent in a face drawn tight with emotion. ‘What? That we’d never had sex? Is that what you’re trying to spit out?’ He bared his teeth. ‘After all this time you’re asking?’

Orsino nodded. ‘Yes.’ It was a harsh rasp of sound, ripped from the depths of his tortured soul.