Already? he thought as his eyes flicked over the article, taking in the pertinent details. So it was done and she was safe. Surely Umberto would not quibble about the exact letter of his promise not being carried out? He’d done her a favour, after all, and if all went to plan Garbas would be locked up for a very long time and Gabriella could find and marry someone decent. ‘But what brings you here? What do you think I can do?’
‘We have to help him. It can’t be true. We have to—’
‘We?’
‘Surely you would help me?’
‘But if it is true, what they accuse him of?’
She blinked watery eyes up at him and exhilaration almost gave way to regret for causing her more tears after she had shed what seemed like an ocean of them. ‘What?’
‘If the police are right? That he has been using the foundation as a front?’
She buried her head against his chest again, as if to block out the truth. ‘But that would make him some kind of criminal.’
‘Then maybe, just maybe, you should brace yourself for that eventuality.’
She stilled in his arms. ‘You think there is a possibility?’
He shrugged, unable to prevent himself from stroking her back through her coat, trying to show indifference when all he wanted to do was tell her that he knew it to be true and that she had had a lucky escape. Could she not tell from the gravity of the reports that this was no frame-up? Then battling to care about Garbas and whether he was guilty or innocent when she was in his arms this way, and so very beautiful, so very desirable …
With a groan, he hauled his libido and his thoughts back to where they should be.
‘The police must have evidence. They do not go around arresting people on such charges lightly, Bella.’
The use of her pet name sliced through her tears and through the dense fog that had occupied her mind ever since he had abandoned her last night, leaving her sleepless and unable to cope with this morning’s revelations.
And suddenly she was aware of so many other things—of the spring of chest hair under her fingers; of the broad width of naked chest that lay heated under her cheek and pressed against her breasts; of the rough towel that was the only barrier separating them.
‘You called me Bella,’ she said, lifting her head to look up at him. ‘I thought you hated me.’
He stroked her hair back from her face. ‘I could never hate you.’
And she smiled. ‘Nor me you. I think we are destined to be friends for ever, Raoul.’ Even though, with his warm, firm flesh under her hands, she wished it could be more.
He kissed the top of her head. ‘I believe so. I’m sorry I was so—abrupt last night, Bella. There are things you do not understand.’
‘I would be happy to try, if only you would let me.’
He let her go and turned away, so suddenly that she was left to find her balance in a world that had somehow subtly shifted while she was in his arms. ‘I should get dressed,’ he said, opening his wardrobe. ‘So, what do you intend to do?’
It took her a moment to work out what he meant. ‘I have to do something. Maybe I should go to the police station—tell them there must be another explanation. Offer to be a character witness.’
Halfway pulling out a shirt from a wardrobe, he stopped and looked at her. ‘Do you always believe the best of people, Bella? Always? No matter what?’
It was her turn to shrug. ‘But how can it be true? The foundation does such wonderful work. I have seen the children he has helped—tiny children with no hope until his foundation funds their treatment; tiny children who have lost so much and yet are still able to smile because of what his foundation has done for them—offering them hope for some kind of future. What will happen to them?’
He growled as he shrugged the shirt on. Was she so naive that she couldn’t see that Consuelo’s purpose was to hide behind those very children he pretended to care about in order to cover his filthy tracks? ‘They will not suffer because of this.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I keep thinking someone must have made a mistake. Maybe it’s someone working for him behind the scenes who might have done this. And I can’t help feeling there must be something I can do to help.’
His fingers stabbed the last shirt-button home, his blood running cold in his veins while he watched her over his shoulder. ‘Do you love him, Bella—this man who abandoned you yesterday on a day you needed friends to stand by you? Is that why you are so desperate to help him?’
‘No.’ She made a sound like a whimper. ‘No, but does it have to be about love? He’s a friend, and he’s going to need all the friends he can to get through this.’
‘And yesterday, when you needed a friend? Where was he then, if not already running, if what the paper suggests is true? Why else would his offices be raided? Why else would he have been arrested at the airport like that article says if he was not trying to flee? Unless he had plans to travel that you knew about?’
‘No.’ She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘We were planning on having a quiet dinner together.’
‘Then how much help do you think you can be, without proving him to be a liar with your evidence?’
She collapsed on the un-made bed, her face in her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know! I just don’t know what to do.’
She looked so vulnerable and broken, so desperate and despair-ridden, that he could not help but feel guilty, even when Garbas was scum and had it coming to him. There was little triumph here. In kicking Garbas, he’d kicked her too when she was already down, even if it was to save her.
But there was no way now he would walk away and leave her here in Paris, not like this. All she knew was death and loss here, and a friend she was determined to defend. She was just as likely to go to the police and ask to speak to him. If she asked him if he had done it and Garbas said he had not, of course she would believe him. She would never be free of him, not really, not unless …
God, what a mess.
‘Bella,’ he said, sitting alongside her, pulling her into his arms. ‘I will tell you what you must do. You must pack your bags and come with me to Venice and you will forget all about what is happening here.’
She sniffed again against his chest, a fresh torrent of tears hot against his fresh shirt. ‘But you don’t want me there,’ she sobbed. ‘You said you didn’t.’
‘I’m asking you now.’
‘So why now and not last night? You didn’t want me to come last night. You sent me home.’
He sighed, stroking her hair, looking across the room at nothing in particular. ‘Last night I was reminded of things I would rather forget. Not because of you, Bella, but Umberto’s death reached me in places I did not want to go. And I was angry. Unthinking. Careless of your feelings. But I cannot leave you here like this in Paris, all alone, with Umberto gone and your friend in jail.’
She shook her head. ‘But …’
He took her chin in his hand and lifted it so he could see her eyes. ‘You have leave. Why not make the most of it? How long has it been since you had a real holiday?’
Too long, if the lost look in her eyes was any indication. ‘You said it has been years since you were in Venice,’ he said, knowing she was swayed. ‘I have an apartment on a canal, big enough that I could do my work and you could sightsee to your heart’s content. And we could sip wine in the evening on the balcony and watch the gondolas slip by. What do you say?’
Her eyes swirled with the possibilities. He saw them; he saw her hesitation and felt her