He searched her features for any sign of a chink in that shiny new armour but she was as hard as nails. He felt a sinkhole of sadness open up inside him. She’d had a very good teacher indeed.
He had done that to her.
‘I’ll get my secretary to tee things up,’ he said.
‘Fine.’
There was another clunky silence.
‘Is there anything else?’ Her tone was impatient and unfriendly. Rafe recognised it, for he had used it a thousand times when he had wanted to dismiss someone who was taking up too much of his precious time.
‘No.’ He gave her a tight, formal smile. ‘That’s about it.’
She didn’t return his smile. She didn’t even wait until he’d turned his back to go back down the path before she shut the door.
Rafe stared at the wood panelling for a moment. He toyed with the idea of knocking and starting over, but he dismissed the thought before it took hold.
It was better this way. He’d got what he wanted; she was selling him the dower house.
Goal.
Focus.
Win.
But it was ironic that the victory, now he had it, didn’t taste so sweet.
* * *
‘Any luck on tracking down that rehab woman Lily Archer?’ Rafe asked his secretary when he got back to London after he’d taken Raoul to his villa in Normandy.
‘Yes, but apparently she doesn’t work with male clients,’ Margaret said.
Rafe exhaled in irritation. ‘Then get her to change her mind. I don’t care how much it costs.’
‘How is Raoul?’
‘The same.’ He scraped a hand through his hair. ‘Won’t eat. Barely drinks. Just sits there brooding all the time.’
‘A bit like you, then.’
Rafe’s brows snapped together. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Margaret gave him a knowing look. ‘You remind me of one of my sons. He’s an all-or-nothing thinker. He doesn’t know how to compromise. It doesn’t have to be either-or, Rafe. You can help Raoul and be happy in your love life.’
‘I don’t have a love life.’ He strode over to the window and looked at the dismal weather outside.
‘You miss her, don’t you?’
Rafe swung back to glower at her. ‘You might want to have another look at your job description. As far I as recall, it says nothing about you making comments on my private life.’
‘You’re a good boss, Rafe, and you’re a good man,’ Margaret said. ‘What you’ve done for Armand, your accountant in Paris, is proof of that.’
‘That was Poppy’s idea, not mine.’ He thrust his hands in his pockets, still scowling. ‘I was going to send him to rot in prison.’
‘No, you weren’t,’ Margaret said. ‘You’d have found a way to help him. Just like you help lots of people. Like that foundation you set up for kids who’ve lost their parents. Funny how the press like to report on who you’re sleeping with but they never report on all the good things you do.’
Rafe turned back to the window. He couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with anyone but Poppy. His need for her was an ache that had settled around his heart like a set of ten-kilogram dumb-bells. Every breath he took felt painful. It wasn’t just the sex he missed, which was ironic, because that in itself was way out of character for him.
It was her smile he missed, the way her gorgeous brown eyes lit up whenever she saw him. The way her touch soothed the wound of loneliness inside him that he had not even realised he’d possessed until she had eased it. The way she gave herself to him with such complete trust.
But he had destroyed the things he loved most about her. She didn’t look at him like that any more. She didn’t want to touch him. She didn’t trust him.
Could he win back her trust? Could he make her smile at him? Could he make her eyes sparkle with delight when he walked into the room?
‘Do you want me to send Miss Silverton some jewellery?’ Margaret asked. ‘Rubies, sapphires or maybe pearls? They’d look rather nice with her colouring, don’t you think?’
Rafe turned and faced her. ‘No, I’ll do it myself.’
Margaret’s pencilled brows rose above the frame of her tortoiseshell glasses. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
Rafe had never been surer of anything in his life. It was like a stone curtain had lifted in his brain. ‘Cancel all of my appointments,’ he said. ‘I’m heading out of town.’