Rumours: The Dishonoured Copelands. Jane Porter

“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—” He paused, glancing up at the dark speck overhead. The helicopter.

      One of the reasons Drakon had chosen this villa for their honeymoon five and a half years ago was that the outdoor pool had a special cover that converted it into a heli landing pad, making the remote villa far more appealing for a man who needed to come and go for meetings in Naples, Athens and London.

      “No need to pay me back,” Drakon said, picking up his broken train of thought, “because I’m calling my attorney this afternoon and asking him to process the paperwork for the divorce. He will make sure the dissolution is expedited. By the end of the month, it will be over.”

      It will be over. For a moment Morgan couldn’t take this last bit in. What was he saying? He’d finally agreed to the divorce?

      He was giving her the money and granting her the divorce?

      She just looked up at him, eyes burning, too overwhelmed to speak.

      He dipped his head and raised his voice in order to be heard over the hum of the helicopter, which had begun to descend. “You will receive your full settlement once the dissolution occurs. With the current state of affairs, I’d suggest you allow me to open a personal account for you in London or Geneva and I can deposit the funds directly into the account without fear of your government freezing it. I know they’ve frozen all your family accounts in the United States—”

      “I don’t want your money.”

      “Yes, you do. You came here for my money. So take what you came for—”

      “I came to see you for my father, and that was the only reason I came here today.”

      “A point you made abundantly clear.” He smiled at her but his amber gaze looked icy, the golden depths tinged with frost. “So I am giving you what you wanted, freedom and financial security, which fulfills my obligation to you.”

      She shivered at the hardness in his voice. She had never heard him speak to her with so much coldness and disdain and it crushed her to think they were ending it like this—with contempt and anger.

      “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her heart beating too fast and aching far too much.

      He didn’t answer her, his gaze fixed on the helicopter slowly descending. Morgan watched him and not the helicopter, aware that this just might be the last time she would see Drakon and was drinking him in, trying to memorize every detail, trying to remember him. This.

      “Thank you,” she added, wanting him to just look at her, acknowledge her, without this new terrible coldness.

      But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. “I’ll walk you to the landing pad,” he said, putting his hand out to gesture the way without touching her or looking at her.

      Perhaps it was better this way, she told herself, forcing herself to move. It was hard enough being near him without wanting to be closer to him. Perhaps if he’d been kind or gentle, she’d just want more of him, because she’d always wanted more of him, never less. The doctors had said she was addicted to him, and her addiction wasn’t healthy. He wasn’t the sun, they lectured her, and Drakon, despite his intense charisma and chemistry, couldn’t warm her, nor could he actually give her strength. She was the only one who could give herself strength, and the only way she could do that was by leaving him, putting him behind her.

      And so here she was again, leaving him. Putting him behind her.

      So be strong, she told herself. Prove that you ‘re strong on your own.

      Morgan blinked to clear her vision, fighting panic as they rounded the villa and walked across the lawn for the open pool terrace where the helicopter waited, balancing like a peculiar moth on the high-tech titanium cover concealing the pool. The roar from the helicopter’s spinning blades made conversation impossible, not that Drakon wanted to talk to her.

      One of the household staff met them at the helicopter with Morgan’s travel bag and Drakon set it inside the helicopter, then spoke briefly to the pilot before putting out his hand to assist Morgan inside.

      She glanced down at his outstretched hand, and then up into his face, into those unique amber eyes that had captivated her from the start. “Thank you again, Drakon, and I hope you’ll be happy.”

      His lips curved, but his eyes glittered with silent fury. “Is that a joke? Am I supposed to be amused?”

      She drew back, stunned by his flash of temper. For a moment she could only stare at him, surprised, bewildered, by this fierce man. This was a different Drakon than the man she’d married. This was a Drakon of intense emotions and yet after they’d married she’d become convinced that Drakon felt no emotion. “I’m serious. I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy—”

      “As you said I’m not one for meaningless conversation, so I’m going to walk away now to save us from an embarrassing and uncomfortable goodbye,” he said brusquely, cutting her short, to propel her into the helicopter. Once he had her inside, he leaned in, his features harsh, and shouted to her, “Don’t try to cut corners, Morgan, and save money by handling the pirates yourself. Get help. Call Dunamas, or Blue Sea, or one of the other maritime intelligence companies. Understand me?”

      His fierce gaze held hers, and she nodded jerkily, even as her stomach rose up, and her heart fell. If he only knew …

      If he only knew what she had done….

      And for a split second she nearly blurted the truth, how she had been negotiating with the pirates on her own, and how she’d thought she was in control, until it had all gone terribly wrong, which was why she was here … which was why she needed Drakon so much. But before she could say any of it, Drakon had turned around and was walking away from the helicopter.

      Walking away from her.

      Her eyes burned and her throat sealed closed as the pilot handed Morgan a set of headphones, but she couldn’t focus on the pilot’s instructions, not when she was watching Drakon stride toward the villa.

      He was walking quickly, passing the rose-covered balustrade on the lower terrace then climbing the staircase to the upper terrace, and the entire time she prayed he’d turn around, pray he’d acknowledge her, pray he’d wave or smile, or just look at her.

      He didn’t.

      He crossed the terrace to the old ballroom and disappeared into the great stone house without a backward glance.

      So that was it. Done. Over. She was finally free to move on, find happiness, find love elsewhere.

      She should be happy. She should