by Lynne Graham
‘Wasn’t your stepmother prepared to help?’
‘No. In fact Margo tried to persuade my father to sell up, I was really scared she might wear him down,’ she confided. ‘That was when we had a bit of good luck for a change. I had a piece of antique jewellery valued and we ended up selling that instead—’
‘A piece of jewellery?’ Luca interposed with silken softness.
‘A ring. My father had forgotten it even existed, but that ring fetched a really tidy sum,’ Darcy shared with quiel pride.
‘Fancy that,’ Luca drawled, and the dark timbre of his deep-pitched accented voice slid down her spine in the most curiously enervating fashion. ‘Did you sell it on the open market?’
In the darkness, Darcy turned over restively. ‘No, it was a private sale. I assumed the estate was secure then. I didn’t realise how serious things really were until my father died. He never confided in me. But you have to understand that there is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep the Folly in the family.’
‘I understand that perfectly.’
Darcy licked at her taut lower lip. ‘So when my wealthy godmother died a few months ago, I was really hoping that she would leave me some money...’
‘Nothing more natural,’ Luca conceded encouragingly.
‘There were three of us...three god-daughters. Myself, Maxie and Polly,’ Darcy enumerated heavily. ‘But when the will was read, we all got a shock. Nancy left us a share of her estate, but only on condition that we each marry within the year.’
‘How extraordinary...’
‘So that’s why I needed you...to inherit.’ The hardness of the floor was starting to make its presence felt through the layers of both carpet and quilt. Shifting from one slender unpadded hip to the other with increased discomfort, Darcy added uneasily, ‘I suppose you think that’s rather calculating and greedy of me...?’
‘No, I think you are very brave to take me on trust,’ Luca delivered gently.
Darcy smiled, relieved by the assurance and encouraged. ‘This floor is kind of hard...’ she admitted finally.
‘And you’re being such a jolly good sport about it,’ Luca remarked slumberously from the comfort of the bed. ‘I really admire that quality in a woman.’
‘Do you?’ Darcy whispered in surprise.
‘But of course. You’re so delightfully democratic! No feminine sulks or pleas for special treatment,’ Luca pointed out approvingly. ‘You lost the toss and you took it on the chin just like a man would.’
Darcy nodded slowly. ‘I guess I did.’
It didn’t seem quite the moment to suggest that he took the floor instead. But a helpless little kernel of inner warmth blossomed at his praise. He mightn’t fancy her but he seemed to at least respect her.
‘Buona notte, Darcy.’
‘Goodnight, Luca.’
Darcy woke with a start to find Luca standing over her fully dressed. She blinked in confusion. He looked so impossibly tall, dark and handsome.
‘The Land Rover’s outside,’ he imparted.
‘Outside...how?’ She sat up, hugging the quilt and striving not to wince as every aching muscle she possessed shrieked complaint.
‘I called your local garage. They were keen to help. I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast,’ Luca concluded.
It was already after nine. Darcy hurried into the bathroom and looked in anguish at her reflection. Overnight her hair had exploded into dozens of babyish Titian curls. She ran her fingers through them and they all stood up on end. In despair, she tried to push them down again.
Ten minutes later, Darcy went downstairs, curls damped down, last night’s dress crumpled, and the sensation of looking an absolute mess doing nothing for her confidence. She slunk over to the corner table where Luca was semi-concealed behind a newspaper, beautifully shaped dark imperious head bent, luxuriant black hair immaculate, not a single strand out of place.
Darcy sank down opposite, in no hurry to draw attention to herself. And then her attention fell on the photograph of the statuesque blonde adorning the front page of his newspaper. ‘Give me that paper!’ she gasped. ‘Please!’
Ebony brows knitting in incomprehension, Luca began lowering the paper, but Darcy reached over and snatched it from him without further ado, spreading the publication flat on the table to read the blurb that went with the picture.
‘She’s married already...married!’ Darcy groaned in appalled disbelief. ‘Page four...’ she muttered, frantically leafing through the pages to reach the main story.
‘Who has got married?’
‘Maxie Kendall...one of Nancy’s other god-daughters.’
‘The lady has beaten you to the finishing line?’ Luca enquired smoothly.
Darcy was too busy reading to reply. ‘Angelos Petronides...oh, dear heaven would you look at that dirty great enormous mansion they’re standing outside?’ she demanded in stricken appeal. ‘Not only has she got herself a husband, he looks besotted, and he has to be loaded—’
‘Angelos Petronides... yes... loaded,’ Luca confirmed very drily.
‘I feel ill!’ Darcy confessed truthfully, thrusting the offending newspaper away in disgust.
‘Jealous...envious?’
Darcy turned shaken eyes of reproach on him. ‘Oh, no...it’s just...it’s just everything always seems so easy for Maxie...she’s incredibly beautiful! We were practically best friends until Richard fell in love with her. That’s why we didn’t get married,’ she completed tightly.
After that dialogue, breakfast was a silent meal. Darcy was embarrassed by her outburst and insulted by his response. Jealous? Envious? She thought about that as she drove them back to the Folly. No...Luca had got her completely wrong.
As her chief bridesmaid, Maxie had stayed at the Folly the week running up to that misfired wedding three years earlier. The glamorous model had accepted the bridegroom’s attention and admiration as her due, responding with flirtatious smiles and amusing repartee. Richard had been, quite simply, dazzled. And Darcy had been naively pleased that her friend and her fiancé appeared to be getting on so well.
But on their wedding day Richard had turned to look at Darcy at the altar, only to confess in despair, ‘I can’t go through with this...’
The wedding party had adjourned to the vestry.
‘I’ve fallen in love with Maxie,’ Richard had admitted baldly, his shame and distress at having to make that admission unconcealed.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Maxie had demanded furiously. ‘I don’t even like you!’
Fierce anger had filled Darcy then. She could have borne that devastating change of heart better had Maxie returned Richard’s feelings. Then, at least, there might have seemed some point to the whole ghastly mess. But Maxie’s careless encouragement of male homage had done the damage. Both Darcy and Richard had been bitterly hurt and humiliated by the experience.
Darcy had long since forgiven Richard, indeed still regarded him as a dear friend. Yet she had not been half so generous to Maxie, she conceded now. She had awarded her former friend the lion’s share of the blame. Only now did it occur to her that Maxie had been a thoughtless teenager at the time, she herself only a year older. Perhaps, she reflected grudgingly, she had been unjust...
Face still and strained over her troubling reflections, for Darcy never liked to think that she had been less than fair, she climbed out of the Land Rover outside the Folly.
‘Do you realise that you have not spoken a single word since breakfast?’ Luca enquired without any expression at all.
Darcy tautened defensively. ‘I was thinking about Richard.’
Dark colour slowly rose to accentuate the hard angles of Luca’s slashing cheekbones, his lean, strong face tightening. He surveyed her from beneath dense inky black lashes, eyes broodingly dark and icy cold. Colliding unexpectedly with that chilling scrutiny, Darcy felt her stomach clench as if she had hit black ice. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘What could possibly be wrong?’
&
nbsp; ‘I don’t know, but...’ Darcy continued with a frown of uncertainty. ‘Gosh, I owe you some money for our overnight stay—’
‘I will present you with a bill for all services rendered,’ Luca asserted with sardonic cool.
‘Thanks...a cheque might bounce if I wrote it today.’ But Darcy’s green eyes remained anxious. ‘When are you planning to move in?’ she asked abruptly.
‘The day of our wedding,’ Luca revealed.
‘So what time will you be here, then?’ she pressed.
‘I’ll be at the church in time for the ceremony.’ An almost dangerous smile curved his wide, sensual mouth. ‘You need cherish no fear that I might fail to show. After all, in this materialistic world, you get what you pay for.’
Disturbed at having her secret apprehensions so easily read, Darcy watched him stroll fluidly towards the Porsche. How did he do it? she wondered then in fierce frustration. How did he contrive to make her agonisingly aware of that dynamic masculinity and virile sexuality even as he walked away from her? The angle of his proud dark head, the strong set of his wide shoulders, the sleek twist of his lean hips and the indolent grace of those long, powerful legs as he moved all grabbed and held her attention.
As he opened the car door he glanced back at her.
Caught staring again, Darcy looked as guilty as she felt.
‘By the way,’ Luca murmured silkily, ‘I forgot to mention how impressed I was by that pre-nuptial contract I signed. That we each leave the marriage with exactly what we brought into it is very fair.’
‘Sexual equality,’ Darcy muttered, unable to take her eyes off the way the sunlight glistened over black hair she already knew felt like luxurious silk beneath her fingertips. And she recalled with a little frisson of helpless pleasure how good it had felt in Margo and Nina’s radius to have a man by her side she could trust.
‘I’m all for it,’ Luca informed her lazily, angling the most shatteringly sensual smile of approval at her.
Even at a distance that fascinating smile had the power to jolt and send a current of all too warm appreciation quivering through her. As he drove off, Darcy gave him a jerky, self-conscious wave.
‘Do you realise how often you have mentioned Luca’s name over the past two days?’ Karen prompted tautly.
‘Luca is rather central to my plans, and we are getting married tomorrow,’ Darcy pointed out with some amusement as she straightened Zia’s bed, Karen having arrived in the midst of the bedtime story ritual. ‘Love you, sweetheart,’ she whispered, dropping a kiss on her daughter’s smooth brow.
The toddler mumbled a sleepy response and burrowed below the duvet until only a cluster of black curls showed. Darcy switched off the bedside light and walked out into the corridor, leaving the door ajar.
‘I’m scared that you’re developing a crush on the guy,’ Karen delivered baldly, determined to send the message of her concern fully home.
‘I think I’m a little too mature for a crush, Karen—’
‘That’s what’s worrying me.’ The brunette grimaced. ‘You are paying Luca to put on a good act. He’s hired help—whatever you want to call it... You can’t afford to fall in love with him!’
Darcy looked pained. ‘I’m not going to fall in love with him.’
‘Then why do you keep on talking about how much he shone at Margo’s party?’
‘Because I give honour where it’s due and he did!’
‘Not to mention how wonderful his manners are and how many and varied are the subjects on which he can converse like Einstein!’ Karen completed doggedly.
‘So I was impressed...’ Darcy shrugged, but her cheeks were flushed, her eyes evasive.
‘Darcy...you’ve had a pretty rough time the last couple of years and you’re vulnerable,’ Karen spelt out uncomfortably. ‘I’m sure Luca is a really terrific bloke, but you don’t know him well enough to trust him yet. In fact, he could be thinking you’ll be a darned good catch with this house behind you.’
‘He knows I’m in debt up to my eyeballs,’ Darcy contradicted.
Confronted with the full extent of her friend’s unease, however, Darcy took some time to get to sleep that night. Was it so obvious that she was attracted to Luca? Was it obvious to him? She cringed at the suspicion. But, even so, Karen was mad to suggest that she was in danger of falling for Luca.
She had returned from Venice with a heart broken into so many pieces she had been torn apart by her own turmoil. Falling like a ton of bricks for a complete stranger in the space of one night had been a hard lesson indeed. Her battered pride, her pain and her despair had taken a very long time to fade. Darcy had not the slightest intention of allowing her undeniable attraction to Luca go one step further than appreciation from a safe distance.
In its day, it had been a costly designer dress. The ivory silk wedding gown hugged Darcy’s shoulders, smoothly clung to her slender waist and hips and fanned out into beautifully embroidered panels between mid-thigh and ankle. It had belonged to her late mother, and, foolish and uneasy as she felt at using the dress for such a purpose, she thought it would look very odd if she didn’t make some effort to put on a show of being a real bride.
And this afternoon Darcy also had an important appointment to keep with her bank manager. Hopefully a candid explanation of the terms of her godmother’s will would persuade the older man that the Folly was a more secure investment than he had previously believed. With his agreement she would be able to re-employ the most vital estate workers, and very soon things would get back to normal around her home, she thought cheerfully.
‘Pretty Mummy,’ Zia enthused, liquid dark eyes huge as she took an excited twirl in the pink summer dress and frilly ankle socks which she loved. ‘Pretty Zia?’ she added.
‘Very pretty,’ Darcy agreed with a grin.
Karen drove them to the church in her car. Darcy was shaken to see quite a crowd waiting in the churchyard to see her arrive. She recognised every face. Former estate staff and tenants, people she had known all her life.
An older woman who had retired as the Folly’s last housekeeper moved forward to press a beautiful bouquet into Darcy’s empty hands. ‘Everybody’s so happy for you, Miss Fielding,’ she said with embarrassing fervour. ‘We all hope you have a really wonderful day!’
As other voices surged to offer the same sincere good wishes for her future happiness, Darcy’s eyes stung and flooded with rare tears. She blinked rapidly, touched to the heart but also wrenched by guilt that her coming marriage would only be an empty pretence.
As she entered the small church, Luca turned his imperious head to stare down the aisle. His strong, dark face stilled in what might have been surprise at her appearance in the silk gown, dark golden eyes glittering. Darcy’s tear-drenched gaze ran over him. Sheathed in an exquisitely tailored charcoal-grey suit, he exuded the most breathtaking aura of command and sophistication. He had such incredible impact that she forgot how to breathe and her knees wobbled. There was just something about him, she thought with dizzy discomfiture.
Unexpectedly, another, younger man stood beside Luca. Slim and dark, he looked tense, his eyes slewing away from Darcy as she gave him a friendly nod of acknowledgement.
The ceremony began. Only at the point where Luca took her hand to put on the ring did Darcy register that she had totally overlooked the necessity of supplying one. Relief filled her when Luca produced a narrow gold band and slid it onto her wedding finger. ‘Thanks...’ she muttered, only half under her breath, reddening at the vicar’s look of surprise at that unusual bridal reaction.
When the brief marriage service was concluded, the register was signed. Karen and the other man, whom Luca addressed as Benito, performed their function as witnesses. All formalities dealt with, Darcy rubbed her still damp and stinging eyes, and accidentally dislodged one of her contact lenses. With an exclamation of dismay, she dropped to her knees. ‘Don’t move, anyone...I’ve lost one of my lenses!’
Luca reached down and flicked up t
he tiny item from where it glimmered on the stone floor. He slipped it into his pocket, evidently aware that without the aid of cleansing solution she could not immediately replace the lens. ‘Relax, I have it...’
Amazed by the speed of his reactions, Darcy skimmed a glance up at him. At the same time he bent down to help her upright again. As she focused myopically on him through one eye, she closed the other in an involuntary attempt to see better. In that split second his features blurred, throwing his strong facial bones into a different kind of prominence that lent them a stark, haunting familiarity. Darcy froze in outright disbelief. Her Venetian lover!
In that instant of incredulous recognition shock seized her by the throat and almost strangled the life force from her. ‘You...y-you?’ she began, stammering wildly.
Darcy gaped at Luca in an uncomprehending stupor. Her head pounded sickly and he swam back out of focus again. As she blacked out, Luca caught her in his arms before she could fall.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘TAKE a deep breath...’ Luca’s deep, dark drawl instructed with complete calm.
Whoosh. The air flooded back into Darcy’s constricted lungs. Perspiration broke out on her clammy brow. Her eyes fluttered open again. She found herself seated on a hard wooden pew.
‘See...’ Karen was soothing Zia, several feet away. ‘Mummy’s all right.’ And then, in a whispered aside to Luca, ‘I bet Darcy fainted because she’s exhausted—she works eighteen-hour days!’
As Darcy lifted her swimming head everything came hurtling back to her. She simply gawped at Luca, still doubting the stunning evidence provided by that one myopic glance. Shimmering dark eyes held her bemused gaze steadily, and all over again that frantically disorientating sense of frightening familiarity gripped her.