‘The princess is supposed to be smiling when she goes to the ball,’ he observed wryly, feeling her sequin-covered thigh tense beneath his fingers. ‘Not looking as if she’s walking towards her own execution.’
‘But I’m not a princess, Renzo. I’m a waitress who happens to be wearing a gown which cost as much as I earn in three months.’ She touched her fingertips to one of the mother-of-pearl clips which gleamed like milky rainbows against the abundant red curls. ‘If you must know, I feel like Cinderella.’
‘Ah, but the difference is that your clothes will not turn into rags at midnight, cara. When the witching hour comes you will be doing something far more pleasurable than travelling home in a pumpkin. So wipe that concerned look from your face and give me that beautiful smile instead.’
Feeling like a puppet, Darcy did as he asked, flashing a bright grin as someone rushed forward to open the car door for her. Carefully, she picked up the fishtail skirt of her emerald gown and stepped onto the pavement in her terrifyingly high shoes, thinking how quickly you could get used to being driven around like this and having people leap to attention simply because you were in the company of one of the world’s most powerful men. What was not so easy was getting rid of the growing feeling of anxiety which had been gnawing away inside her for weeks now—a sick, queasy feeling which just wouldn’t shift.
Because she was starting to realise that she was stuck. Stuck in some awful limbo. Living in a strange, parallel world which wasn’t real and locked into it by her inability to walk away from the only man who had ever been able to make her feel like a real woman.
The trouble was that things had changed and they were changing all the time. Why hadn’t she realised that agreeing to accept the key to his apartment would strengthen the connection between them and make it even harder for her to sever her ties with him? It had made things...complicated. She didn’t want her heart to thunder every time she looked at him or her body to melt with instant desire. Her worst fears had been realised and Renzo Sabatini had become her addiction. She ran her tongue over her lips. She knew he was bad for her yet she couldn’t seem to give him up.
Sometimes she found herself longing for him to tire of her and kick her out since she didn’t have the strength to end it herself. Wouldn’t such a move force her to embrace the new life in Norfolk which she’d done absolutely nothing about—not since the day he’d given her his key and then made her come on the narrow bed in her humble bedsit, which these days she only ever visited when Renzo was away on business?
She could hear him telling his driver to take the rest of the night off and that they’d get a taxi home when the ball was over and she wished he wouldn’t be so thoughtful with his staff. No wonder they all thought the world of him. But Darcy didn’t need any more reasons to like him. Hadn’t it been easier not to let her heart become involved when their affair had been more low-key, rather than this new-found openness with trips to the opera and theatre and VIP balls?
And now he was taking her arm and leading her towards the red-carpeted marble staircase where the paparazzi were clustered. She’d known they were going to be there, but had also known she couldn’t possibly avoid them. And anyway, they weren’t going to be looking at her. They would be far too busy focussing on the Hollywood actress who was wearing the most revealing dress Darcy had ever seen, or the married co-star she was rumoured to be having an affair with.
Flashbulbs exploded to light up the warm night and although Darcy quickly tried to turn her head away, the press weren’t having any of it. And wasn’t that a TV camera zooming in on her? She wondered why she had let the dress designer put these stupid clips in her hair which meant she couldn’t hide behind the usual comforting curtain of her curls. This was the most high-profile event they’d attended as a couple but there had been no way of getting out of it—not when it was Renzo’s foundation and he was the man who’d organised it.
She felt like a fox on the run as they entered the ballroom but the moment she was swallowed up by all that glittering splendour, she calmed down. The gilded room had been decked out with giant sprays of pink-and-white cherry blossoms, symbolising the hope which Renzo’s foundation brought to suffering children in war-torn areas of the world. Tall, guttering candles gave the place a fairy-tale feel. On a raised dais, a string quartet was playing and the exquisitely dressed guests were mingling in small chattering groups. It was the fanciest event she’d ever attended and dinner had been prepared by a clutch of award-winning chefs. But the moment the first rich course was placed in front of her, Darcy’s stomach did an intricate kind of twist, which meant she merely pushed the food around her plate and tried not to look at it. At least Renzo didn’t notice or chide her for her lack of appetite as he might normally have done—he was too busy talking to fundraisers and donors and being photographed next to the diamond necklace which was the star lot for the night’s auction.
But after disappearing into one of the restrooms, where a splash of her face with cold water made her queasiness shift, Darcy became determined to enjoy herself. Stop living so fearfully, she chided herself as she chatted attentively whenever she was introduced to someone new and rose eagerly to her feet when Renzo asked her to dance. And that bit felt like heaven. His cheek was warm against hers and her body fitted so snugly into his that she felt like one of those salt and pepper shakers you sometimes found in old-fashioned tea rooms—as if they were made to be together. But they weren’t. Of course they weren’t.
She knew this couldn’t continue. She’d been seduced into staying but if she stayed much longer she was going to have to tell him the truth. Open up about her past. Confess to being the daughter of a junkie and all the other stuff which went with it. He would probably end their affair immediately and a swift, clean cut might just be the best thing. She would be heartbroken for a while of course, but she would get over it because you could get over just about anything if you worked at it. It would be better than forcing herself to walk away and having to live with the stupid spark of hope that maybe it could have worked.
‘So... How is the most beautiful woman in the room?’ He bent his head to her ear. ‘You seem to be enjoying yourself.’
She closed her eyes and inhaled his sultry masculine scent. ‘I am.’
‘Not as bad as you thought it was going to be?’
‘Not nearly so bad.’
‘Think you might like to come to something like this again in the future?’
‘I could be persuaded.’
He smiled. ‘Then let’s go and sit down. The auction is about to begin.’
The auctioneer stepped onto the stage and began to auction off the different lots which had been donated as prizes. A holiday in Mauritius, a box at the opera and a tour of Manchester United football ground all went under the hammer for eye-watering amounts, and then the diamond necklace was brought out to appreciative murmurs.
Darcy listened as the bidding escalated, only vaguely aware of Renzo lifting a careless finger from time to time. But suddenly everyone was clapping and looking at them and she realised that Renzo had successfully bid for the necklace and the auctioneer’s assistant had handed it to him and he was putting it on her neck. She was aware of every eye in the room on them as he fixed the heavy clasp in place and she was aware of the dazzle of the costly gems.
‘In truth you should wear emeralds to match your eyes,’ he murmured. ‘But since diamonds were the only thing on offer they will have to do. What do you think, cara?’
Darcy couldn’t get rid of the sudden lump in her throat. It felt like a noose. The stones were heavy and the metal was cold. But there was no time to protest because cameras were flashing again and this time they were all directed at her. Sweat beaded her forehead and she felt dizzy, only able to breathe normally when the rumour went round that the Hollywood star was exiting through the kitchens and the press pack left the ballroom to follow her.
Darcy turned to Renzo, her fingertips touching the unfamiliar stones. ‘You do reali
se I can’t possibly accept this?’ she questioned hoarsely.
‘And you do realise that I am not going to let you give it back? Your tastes are far too modest for a woman in your position. You are the lover of a very wealthy man, Darcy, and I want you to wear it. I want you to have some pretty jewels for all the pleasure you’ve given me.’
His voice had dipped into a silken caress, which usually would have made her want to melt, but he made it sound like payment for services rendered. Was that how he saw it? Darcy’s smile felt as if someone had stitched it onto her face with a rusty needle. Shouldn’t she at least try to look as a woman should look when a man had just bought something this valuable? And wasn’t she in danger of being a hypocrite? After all, she had a key to his Belgravia home—wasn’t that just a short step to accepting his jewels? What about the designer dress she was wearing tonight, and the expensive shoes? He’d bought those for her, hadn’t he?
Something like fear clutched at her heart and she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. She was going to have to come clean about her mum and the children’s home and all the other sordid stuff.
So tell him. Explain your aversion to accepting gifts and bring this whole crazy relationship to a head, because at least that will end the uncertainty and you’ll know where you stand.
But in the car he kissed her and when they reached the apartment he kissed her some more, unclipping the diamond choker and dropping it onto a table in the sitting room as casually as if it had been made of paste. His hands were trembling as he undressed her and so were hers. He made love to her on one of the sofas and then he carried her into the bedroom and did it all over again—and who would want to talk about the past at a moment like that?
They made love most of the night and because she’d asked for a day off after the ball, Darcy slept late next morning. When she eventually woke, it was getting on for noon and Renzo had left for the office long ago. And still she hadn’t told him. She showered and dressed but her queasiness had returned and she could only manage some mint tea for breakfast. The morning papers had been delivered and, with a growing sense of nervousness, she flicked through the pages until she found the column which listed society events. And there she was in all her glory—in her mermaid dress of green sequins, the row of fiery white diamonds glittering at her throat, with Renzo standing just behind her, a hint of possessiveness in the sexy smile curving his lips.
She stood up abruptly, telling herself she was being paranoid. Who was going to see, or, more important, to care that she was in the wretched paper?
The morning slipped away. She went for a walk, bought a bag of oranges to put through the squeezer and was just nibbling on a piece of dry toast when the doorbell rang and Darcy frowned. It never rang when Renzo wasn’t here—and not just because his wasn’t a lifestyle where people made spontaneous visits. He’d meant what he said about guarding his privacy; his home really was his fortress. People just didn’t come round.
She pressed the button on the intercom.
‘Yes?’
‘Is that Darcy Denton?’ It was a male voice with a broad Manchester accent.
‘Who is this?’ she questioned sharply.
‘An old friend of yours.’ There was a pause. ‘Drake Bradley.’
For a minute Darcy thought she might pass out. She thought about pretending to be someone else—the housekeeper perhaps. Or just cutting the connection while convincing herself that she didn’t have to speak to anyone—let alone Drake Bradley. But the bully who had ruled the roost in the children’s home had never been the kind of person to take no for an answer. If she refused to speak to him she could imagine him settling down to wait until Renzo got home and she just imagined what he might have to say to him. Shivering, she stared at her pale reflection in the hall mirror. What was it they said? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.
‘What do you want?’
‘Just a few minutes of your time. Surely you can spare that, Darcy.’
Telling herself it was better to brazen it out, Darcy pressed the buzzer, her heart beating out a primitive tattoo as she opened the door to find Drake standing there—a sly expression on his pockmarked face. A decade had made his hair recede, but she would have recognised him immediately and her blood ran cold as the sight of him took her back to a life she’d thought she’d left for ever.
‘What do you want?’ she asked again.
‘That’s not much of a welcome, is it? What’s the matter, Darcy? Aren’t you going to invite me in? Surely you’re not ashamed of me?’
But the awful thing was that she was. She’d moved on a lot since that turbulent period when their lives had merged and clashed, yet Drake looked as if he’d been frozen in time. Wearing clothes which swamped his puny frame, he had oil beneath his fingernails and on the fingers of his left hand were the letters H, A, T, E. You have no right to judge him, she told herself. He was simply another survivor from the shipwreck of their youth. Surely she owed him a little hospitality when she’d done so well for herself.
She could smell stale tobacco and the faint underlying odour of sweat as she opened the door wider and he brushed past her. He followed her into the enormous sitting room and she wondered if he was seeing the place as she had seen it the first time she’d been here, when she’d marvelled at the space and light and cleanliness. And, of course, the view.
‘Wow.’ He pursed his lips together and whistled as he stared out at the whispering treetops of Eaton Square. ‘You’ve certainly landed on your feet, Darcy.’
‘Are you going to tell me why you’re here?’
His weasel eyes narrowed. ‘Not even going to offer me a drink? It’s a hot day outside. I could murder a drink.’
Darcy licked her lips. Don’t aggravate him. Tolerate him for a few minutes and then he’ll go. ‘What would you like?’
‘Got a beer?’
‘Sure.’
Her underlying nausea seemed to intensify as Darcy went to the kitchen to fetch him a beer. When she returned he refused her offer of a glass and began to glug greedily from the bottle.
‘How did you find me?’ she asked, once he had paused long enough to take a breath.
He put the bottle down on a table. ‘Saw you on the news last night, walking into that big hotel. Yeah. On TV. Couldn’t believe my eyes at first. I thought to myself, that can’t be Darcy Denton—daughter of one of Manchester’s best known hookers. Not on the arm of some rich dude like Sabatini. So I headed along to the hotel to see for myself and hung around until your car arrived. I’m good at hanging around in the shadows, I am.’ He smiled slyly. ‘I overheard your man giving the address to the taxi driver so I thought I’d come and pay you a visit to catch up on old times. See for myself how you’ve come up in the world.’
Darcy tried to keep her voice light. To act as if her heart weren’t pounding so hard it felt as if it might burst right out of her chest. ‘You still haven’t told me what you want.’
His smile grew calculating. ‘You’ve landed on your feet, Darcy. Surely it’s no big deal to help out an old friend?’
‘Are you asking for money?’ she said.
He sneered. ‘What do you think?’
She thought plenty but nothing she’d want him to hear. She thought about how much cash she had squirrelled away in her bank account. She’d amassed funds since she’d been with Renzo because he wouldn’t let her pay for anything. But it was still a pitiful amount by most people’s standards, and besides...if you gave in to blackmail once then you opened up the floodgates.
And she didn’t need to give into blackmail because hadn’t she already decided to tell Renzo about her past? This might be the push she needed to see if he still wanted her when he discovered who she really was. Her mouth dried. Dared she take that risk?
She had no choice.
Drawing her shoulders back, she looked straight into Drake’s shifty eyes. ‘You’re not getting any money from me,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d like you to leave and not bother
coming back.’
His lip curled and then he shrugged. ‘Have it your own way, Darcy.’
Of course, if she’d thought it through properly, she might have wondered why he obeyed her quite so eagerly...
* * *
Renzo’s eyes narrowed as the man with the pockmarked face shoved his way past, coming out of his private elevator as if he had every right to do so. His frown deepened. Had he been making some kind of delivery? Surely not, dressed like that? He stood for a moment watching his retreating back, instinct alerting him to a danger he didn’t quite understand. But it was enough to cast a shadow over a deliciously high mood which had led to him leaving work early—something which had caused his secretary to blink at him in astonishment.
In truth, Renzo had been pretty astonished himself. Taking a half-day off wasn’t the way he usually operated, but he had wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon with Darcy. Getting into bed with her. Running his fingers through her silky riot of curls. Losing himself deep in her tight, tight body with his mouth on her breast. Maybe even telling her how good she made him feel. Plus he’d received an urgent message reminding him that he needed to insure the necklace he’d spent a fortune on last night.
After watching the man leave the building, Renzo took the penthouse elevator where the faint smell of tobacco and beer still tainted the air. He unlocked the door to his apartment just as Darcy tore out of the sitting room. But the trouble was she didn’t look like the Darcy of this morning’s smouldering fantasies, when somehow he’d imagined arriving home to see her clad in that black satin basque and matching silk stockings he’d recently bought. Not only was she wearing jeans and a baggy shirt—her face was paler than usual and her eyes looked huge and haunted with something which looked like guilt. Now, why was that? he wondered.
Secrets of a Billionaire's Mistress (Mills & Boon Modern) (One Night With Consequences, Book 29) Page 7