CHAPTER ONE

      IT WAS dark in the room, and very quiet. The man in the bed lay in the mute blackness of despair.

      Nurse Smith watched him for a moment before saying, ‘Good afternoon, Mr Tenby.’

      Silence. He might have been dead.

      His eyes were covered, as they had been ever since the accident that had almost killed him. Elinor knew how bad the injuries beneath those bandages were. She looked at his hands lying on the coverlet. Such big, ruthless hands, like the man himself. Jason Tenby had enforced his will on all who crossed his path, but today he was helpless, at the mercy of a woman who called him her enemy.

      Elinor Smith pulled herself together. She was a nurse, sworn to protect the sick and vulnerable, and this man was both. It didn’t matter that he’d smashed her love and condemned her to a lonely wilderness. It was her job to care for him.

      ‘I don’t want any more damned nurses,’ the man said tiredly.

      ‘I know. They told me at the agency.’

      ‘The last two ran away.’

      ‘You mean they stormed out in indignation.’

      Jason Tenby gave a grunt. ‘You’ve heard about that too?’

      ‘The head of the agency told me everything. He said it was fairer to warn me about you.’

      ‘So you’ve only yourself to blame for ignoring his warning.’

      ‘That’s right. I’ve only myself to blame.’

      ‘How long, I wonder, before you storm out?’

      ‘It’ll take more than you can throw at me.’ She was feeling her way, sensing that a robust approach would work best with this patient. Sympathy would merely drive him crazy. He was already on the edge of endurance, clinging on with frantic fingertips to a crumbling sanity.

      She looked around his old-fashioned room, with its big oak bed and heavy oak furniture. The carpet was a deep brown, and russet curtains hung at the tall windows.

      It was an intensely masculine room with nothing soft or gentle about it. The man who lived in this wealthy house spent little on his personal needs. A hard man. A comfortless man in a comfortless desert.

      ‘And your name?’ he asked at last.

      ‘Nurse Smith.’

      ‘I meant your first name.’

      ‘I think Nurse Smith is best for the moment.’

      ‘The formal approach, huh?’

      ‘It’ll make it easier for you to yell at me.’

      ‘I guess it will at that. Tell me what you look like.’

      ‘I wear a white uniform and a white cap. And black, sensible shoes.’

      In the long pause that followed, she could sense him sizing her up.

      ‘By God, you’re a cool one!’ he said at last.

      ‘I’m here to help you, Mr Tenby. That’s all that matters. I want to see you up and walking, as you used to.’

      His voice had a bitter edge. ‘And you really think that can happen? Have you read the notes?’

      ‘Yes. There was a fire in your stables. You went in to rescue a horse and the roof fell on you.’

      Another grunt. ‘Damned horse wasn’t even there. Someone else had already got it out.’

      ‘It must have been hard having all this happen for nothing,’ Elinor agreed. ‘You were lucky not to have been seriously burned.’

      ‘Yes, people keep telling me how lucky I was,’ said the sightless figure on the bed.

      ‘You were partially protected by the beams that fell on you. Because of them your burns were superficial, and have now healed. So have your ribs. Your back’s injured and your sight has been damaged, but with luck that won’t last.’

      ‘You’re just giving me the same line they all do. But you don’t believe it either.’

      It was true. She was nowhere near convinced that he would see or walk again. But he had to be convinced of it if he were to have a chance.

      ‘I believe it can happen if we work at it together,’ she said firmly. ‘And that’s what we’re going to do.’

      Suddenly his brows drew together and he covered his bandaged eyes with his hand. Elinor could see that something vital inside him had cracked.

      ‘For God’s sake, go!’ he said in a shaking voice. ‘Just leave me.’

      ‘Certainly.’ She closed the door firmly so that he could hear that she’d gone.

      Mrs Hadwick, the housekeeper, was waiting in the corridor.

      ‘All your bags have been taken upstairs, miss,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you the way.’

      Because she was on edge over her meeting with Jason, Elinor had chosen to visit him first, before even going to her room. Now she followed the housekeeper down the corridor and round the corner. And, with alarm, she realised where she was going.

      ‘This room—’ she said.

      ‘It’s the best guest room,’ Mrs Hadwick said, pushing open a door. ‘I’ll send you up some tea.’ She vanished.

      The room was big and imposing, with a four poster bed in the centre. There was a dressing table, an ordinary table and chair, and a big, comfortable armchair. There were two tall windows with drapes that swept the floor. Nothing had changed since the last time she’d slept here, six years ago.

      Until now she’d managed to control her memories, but in this place they came flooding back.

      Simon seemed to be with her, young and handsome, full of love and eagerness, as he’d been the day he first brought her to his home as his future bride, driving with one arm around her shoulders, and one on the wheel of his gleaming new sports car. They’d swept up the long avenue of oaks until suddenly the house had come into view, and she’d gasped at its beauty and splendour.

      ‘Simon, I never dreamed—that can’t be your home?’

      ‘What’s