November Harlequin Presents 1(111)

Was what? Why was she being kept here, waiting like this? What had happened to Andreas? Where was he? Something about the look in Leander’s eyes made panic rise in her throat.

‘Is my husband all right? Where is he? How is he?’

‘Please don’t upset yourself, Mrs Petrakos.’

The tone was soothing, obviously meant to calm, but still there was something about the man’s expression, his careful control of his words that set her nerves on edge. It was obvious that there was something he was holding back.

‘Your husband is as well as can be expected. But he is still under a physician’s care. So perhaps it would be best if…’

‘No! No, it wouldn’t be best—I want to see him now!’

Becca actually flinched at the sound of her own voice. It was too high, too sharp, too tight—too everything— and she didn’t need the change that moved across the young man’s face, tightening every muscle, pressing his lips together, to tell her that she had overstepped some invisible mark, one she hadn’t been fully aware of. She didn’t have the right, the position, in this household, to make demands like that. She had no idea what orders Andreas had given before his accident or even after it. She didn’t even know whether he had given this Leander permission to contact her or if the young man had done it on his own initiative. And if that was the case…

‘Please…’ she added, unable to erase the raw note of desperation from her tone. ‘Can I see my husband now?’

She saw doubt in the face before her and was about to give in to the despair that swamped her. But then, just as she was debating whether to open her mouth and plead or simply to try to push past him and head into the house—she could remember much of the layout of the place from the brief time she had spent in it in the past—Leander obviously reconsidered.

‘Very well—if you will come this way.’

He would never know, Becca reflected, just how difficult she found it to keep behind him as he made his way up the wide, curving staircase and along the landing. With anxiety chewing at her thoughts, she wanted to rush ahead to get to Andreas’ room before he did. It was only when Leander came to a halt outside an unexpected door that she was thankful that she hadn’t. Because Andreas had obviously decided not to stay in the room that had been his when she had been at the villa before. The room that would have been theirs if the marriage hadn’t broken up as soon as it had begun. And as her footsteps slowed and stopped she knew that she should be grateful.

How could she ever have gone into that room, with all the memories it held? How could she have coped with the past being thrown right into her face as soon as the door opened, and she saw the bed on which Andreas had made her his?

Made her his and then rejected her without a second thought.

It would destroy her, she knew. Already the way that her heart was beating high up in her throat was choking off the air to her lungs and making her head swim so that she felt faint.

So she could only be grateful when Leander opened the door to a room she had never been into and stood there waiting for her to come past him.

Becca’s legs felt weak beneath her, shaking in apprehension as she forced herself to walk into the room. What would Andreas look like? What sort of a mood would he be in? He had been asking for her, yes—but why?

The image of her husband’s dark, furious face, the black eyes blazing, the beautiful, sensual mouth drawn into a hard, slashing line floated in her mind so that for a few moments that was all she saw when she was actually standing in the room. It obscured her vision, covering the reality of the man in the bed.

But then she blinked and saw Andreas for the first time since he had slammed the door in her face almost twelve months before.

The bruises were the first things she noticed. Bruises that marred the smooth, olive-toned skin, turning it black and blue in a way that had her drawing in her breath in a sharp hiss. His eyes were closed, lush black lashes lying in dark crescents above the high cheekbones, and a day or more’s growth of beard darkened the strong line of his jaw.

Shock at the sight of him lying there so still and silent made her gasp. Her vision that had cleared for just a brief moment blurred again as tears of horror filled her eyes.

‘He’s unconscious!’

She didn’t care that her distress showed in her voice, that the edge of fear sharpened it.

‘Asleep,’ Leander reassured her. ‘He was unconscious for a time, but the doctors wouldn’t let him out of hospital until they were sure he was on the mend.’

‘Can I stay—with him?’

She didn’t know what she might do if Leander refused permission. She didn’t think that her legs would support her if she tried to walk out of the room. She could still barely see, and the fight to force back the tears, refusing to let them spill out down her cheeks, was one that took all her concentration.