Rumours: The Dishonoured Copelands. Jane Porter

her, but there was no one. Just Drakon. Just the man who had destroyed her, making her question her own sanity. “You already did that.”

      “You say that, my love, and yet you’ve never told me how—”

      “As you said, that isn’t something to discuss across a room of this size. And we both know, I didn’t come here to discuss us. Didn’t come to rehash the past, bring up old ghosts, old pain. I came for your help. You know what I need. You know what’s at stake. Will you do it? Will you help me?”

      “Six million dollars is a lot of money.”

      “Not to you.”

      “Things have changed. Your father lost over four hundred million dollars of what I gave him.”

      “It wasn’t his fault.” She met his gaze and held it, knowing that if she didn’t stand up to him now, he’d crush her. Just as he’d crushed her all those years ago.

      Drakon, like her father, played by no rules but his own.

      A Greek shipping tycoon, Drakon Sebastian Xanthis was a man obsessed with control and power. A man obsessed with amassing wealth and growing his empire. A man obsessed with a woman who wasn’t his wife. Bronwyn. The stunning Australian who ran his Southeast Asia business.

      Her eyes burned and her jaw ached.

      But no. She wouldn’t think of Bronwyn now. Wouldn’t wonder if the willowy blonde still worked for him. It wasn’t important. Morgan wasn’t part of Drakon’s life anymore. She didn’t care whom Drakon employed or how he interacted with his female vice presidents or where they stayed on their business trips or what they discussed over their long dinners together.

      “Is that what you really believe?” he asked now, voice almost silky. “That your father is blameless?”

      “Absolutely. He was completely misled—”

      “As you have been. Your father is one of the biggest players in one of the biggest Ponzi schemes ever. Twenty-five billion dollars is missing, and your father funneled five billion of that to Michael Amery, earning himself ten percent interest.”

      “He never saw that kind of money—”

      “For God’s sake, Morgan, you’re talking to me, Drakon, your husband. I know your father. I know exactly who and what he is. Do not play me for a fool!”

      Morgan ground her teeth together harder, holding back the words, the tears, the anger, the shame. Her father wasn’t a monster. He didn’t steal from his clients. He was just as deceived as they were and yet no one would give him an opportunity to explain, or defend himself. The media had tried and convicted him and everyone believed the press. Everyone believed the wild accusations. “He’s innocent, Drakon. He had no idea Michael Amery was running a pyramid scheme. Had no idea all those numbers and profits were a lie.”

      “Then if he’s so innocent, why did he flee the country? Why didn’t he stay, like Amery’s sons and cousins, and fight instead of setting sail to avoid prosecution?”

      “He panicked. He was frightened—”

      “Absolute rubbish. If that’s the case, your father is a coward and deserves his fate.”

      She shook her head in silent protest, her gaze pinned to Drakon’s features. He might not look like Drakon, but it was definitely him. She knew his deep, smooth voice. And those eyes. His eyes. She’d fallen in love with his eyes first. She’d met him at the annual Life ball in Vienna, and they hadn’t danced—Drakon didn’t dance—but he’d watched her all evening and at first she’d been discomfited by the intensity of his gaze, and then she’d come to like it. Want it. Crave it.

      In those early weeks and months when he’d pursued her, Drakon had seduced her with his eyes, examining her, holding her, possessing her long before he’d laid a single finger on her. And, of course, by the time he did, she was his, completely.

      The last five years had been brutal. Beyond brutal. And just when Morgan had found herself again, and felt hopeful and excited about her future, her world came crashing down with the revelation that her beloved, brilliant financier father, Daniel Copeland, was part of Michael Amery’s horrific Ponzi scheme. And instead of her father handling the crisis with his usual aplomb, he’d cracked and run, creating an even bigger international scandal.

      She drew a slow, unsteady breath. “I can’t leave him in Somalia to die, Drakon. The pirates will kill him if they don’t get the ransom money—”

      “It would serve him right.”

      “He’s my father!”

      “You’ll put yourself in debt for the rest of your life, just to buy his freedom, even though you know that his freedom will be short-lived?”

      “Yes.”

      “You do understand that he’ll be arrested the moment he tries to enter any North American or European country?”

      “Yes.”

      “He’s never going to be free again. He’s going to spend the rest of his life in prison, just like Michael Amery will, once he’s caught, too.”

      “I understand. But far better for my father to be in an American prison than held by Somali pirates. At least in the United States he could get medical care if he’s sick, or medicine for his blood pressure. At least he could have visitors and letters and contact with the outside world. God knows what his conditions are like in Somalia—”

      “I’m sure they’re not luxurious. But why should the American taxpayer have to support your father? Let him stay where he is. It’s what he deserves.”

      “Do you say this to hurt me, or is it because he lost so much of your money?”

      “I’m a businessman. I don’t like to lose money. But I was only in four hundred million of the five billion he gave to Amery. What about those others? The majority were regular people. People who trusted your father with their retirement money … their life savings. And what did he do? He wiped them out. Left them with nothing. No retirement, no security, no way to pay the bills now that they’re older and frailer and unemployable.”

      Morgan blinked hard to clear her vision. “Michael Amery was my father’s best friend. He was like family. Dad trusted him implicitly.” Her voice cracked and she struggled to regain her composure. “I grew up calling him Uncle Michael. I thought of him as my family.”

      “Yes, that’s what you told me. Just before I gave your father four hundred million dollars to invest for me. I nearly gave him more. Your father wanted more. Twice as much, as a matter of fact.”

      “I am so sorry.”

      “I trusted your father.” His gaze met hers and held. “Trusted you. I know better now.”

      She exhaled slowly. “Does that mean you won’t help me?”

      “It means …” His voice faded, and his gaze narrowed as he looked at her, closely, carefully, studying her intently. “Probably not.”

      “Probably?” she repeated hoarsely, aware that if Drakon wouldn’t help her, no one would. The world hated her father, and wanted him gone. They all hoped he was dead. And they all hoped he’d suffered before he died, too.

      “Surely you must realize I’m no fan of your father’s, glykia mou.”

      “You don’t have to be a fan of my father’s to loan me the money. We’ll draft a contract, a legal document that is between you and me, and I will pay you back in regular installments. It will take time, but it’ll happen. My business is growing, building. I’ve got hundreds of thousands of dollars of orders coming in. I promise—”

      “Just like you promised to love me? Honor me? Be true to me for better or worse, in sickness and in health?”

      She winced. He made it sound as if she hadn’t ever cared for him, when nothing