‘Renzo!’ she exclaimed, raking a handful of bouncing red curls away from her forehead and giving him an uncertain smile. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘So I see.’ He put his briefcase on the hall table. ‘Who was the man I saw leaving?’
‘The man?’ she questioned, but he could hear the sudden quaver in her voice.
Definitely guilt, he thought grimly.
‘The man I met coming down in the elevator. Bad skin. Bad smell. Who was he, Darcy?’
Darcy met the cool accusation in Renzo’s eyes and knew she had run out of reasons not to tell him.
‘I need to talk to you,’ she said.
He didn’t respond straight away, just walked into the sitting room leaving her to follow him, her senses alerted to the sudden tension in his body and the forbidding set of his shoulders. Usually, he pulled her into his arms and kissed all the breath out of her when he arrived home but today he hadn’t even touched her. And when he turned around, Darcy was shocked by the cold expression on his face.
‘So talk,’ he said.
She felt like someone who’d been put on stage in front of a vast audience and told to play a part she hadn’t learnt. Because she’d never spoken about this before, not to anyone. She’d buried it so deep it was almost inaccessible. But she needed to access it now, before his irritation grew any deeper.
‘He’s someone I was in care with.’
‘In care?’
She nodded. ‘That’s what they call it in England, although it’s a bit of a misnomer because you don’t actually get much in the way of care. I lived in a children’s home in the north for most of my childhood.’
His black eyes narrowed. ‘What happened to your parents?’
Darcy could feel a bead of sweat trickling its way down her back. Here it was. The question which separated most normal people from the unlucky few. The question which made you feel a freak no matter which way you answered it. Was it any wonder she’d spent her life trying to avoid having to do so?
And yet didn’t it demonstrate the shallowness of her relationship with Renzo that in all the time she’d known him—this was the first time he’d actually asked? Dead parents had been more than enough information for him. He hadn’t been the type of person to quiz her about her favourite memory or how she’d spent her long-ago Christmases.
‘I’m illegitimate,’ she said baldly. ‘I don’t know who my father was and neither did my mother. And she... Well, for a lot of my childhood, she wasn’t considered fit to be able to take care of me.’
‘Why not?’
‘She had...’ She hesitated. ‘She had a drug problem. She was a junkie.’
He let out a long breath and Darcy found herself searching his face for some kind of understanding, some shred of compassion for a situation which had been out of her control. But his expression remained like ice. His black eyes were stony as they skimmed over her, looking at her as if it was the first time he’d seen her and not liking what they saw.
‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?’
‘Because you didn’t ask. And you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to know!’ she exclaimed. ‘You made that very clear. We haven’t had the kind of relationship where we talked about stuff like this. You just wanted...sex.’
She waited for him to deny it. To tell her that there had been more to it than that—and Darcy realised she was already thinking of their relationship in the past tense. But he didn’t deny it. His sudden closed look made his features appear shuttered as he walked over to the table near where he’d undressed her last night and her heart missed a beat as she saw him looking down at the polished surface, on which stood a lamp and nothing else.
Nothing else.
It took a moment for her to register the significance of this and that moment came when he lifted his black gaze to hers and slanted her an unfathomable look. ‘Where’s the necklace?’ he questioned softly.
Darcy’s mind raced. In the heat of everything that had happened, she’d forgotten about the diamond necklace he’d bought last night for her at the auction. She vaguely remembered the dazzle of the costly gems as he’d dropped them onto the table, but his hands had been all over her at the time and it had blotted out everything except the magic of his touch. Had she absent-mindedly tidied it away when she was picking up her clothes this morning? No. It had definitely been there when...
Fear and horror clamped themselves around her suddenly racing heart.
When...
Drake! Her throat dried as she remembered leaving him alone in the room while she went to fetch him a beer. Remembered the way he’d hurriedly left after his half-hearted attempt at blackmail. Had Drake stolen the necklace?
Of course he had.
‘I don’t—’
His voice was like steel. ‘Did your friend take it?’
‘He’s not—’
‘What’s the matter, Darcy?’ Contemptuously, he cut through her protest. ‘Did I arrive home unexpectedly and spoil your little plan?’
‘What plan?’
‘Oh, come on. Isn’t this what’s known in the trade as a scam? To rob me. To cheat on me.’
Darcy stared at him in disbelief. ‘You can’t honestly believe that?’
‘Can’t I? Perhaps it’s the first clear-headed thought I’ve had in a long time, now that I’m no longer completely mesmerised by your pale skin and witchy eyes.’ He shook his head like a man who was emerging from a deep coma. ‘Now I’m beginning to wonder whether something like this was in your sights all along.’
Darcy felt foreboding icing her skin. ‘What are you talking about?’ she whispered.
‘I’ve often wondered,’ he said harshly, ‘what you might give a man who has everything. Another house, or a faster car?’ He shook his head. ‘No. Material wealth means nothing when you have plenty. But innocence—ah! Now that is a very different thing.’
‘You’re not making sense.’
‘Think about it. What is a woman’s most prized possession, cara mia?’ The Italian words of endearment dripped like venom from his lips. ‘Sì. I can see from your growing look of comprehension that you are beginning to understand. Her virginity. Precious and priceless and the biggest bartering tool in the market. And hasn’t it always been that way?’
‘Renzo.’ She could hear the desperation in her voice now but she couldn’t seem to keep it at bay. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Sometimes I would ask myself,’ he continued, still in that same flat tone, ‘why someone as beautiful and sensual as you—someone hard-up and working in a dead-end job—hadn’t taken a rich lover to catapult herself out of her poverty before I came along.’
Desperation morphed into indignation. ‘You mean...use a man as a meal ticket?’
‘Why are you looking so shocked—or is that simply an expression you’ve managed to perfect over the years? Isn’t that what every woman does ultimately—feed like a leech off a man?’ His black gaze roved over her. ‘But not you. At least, not initially. Did you decide to deny yourself pleasure—to look at the long game rather than the lure of instant gratification? To hold out for the richest man available, who just happened to be me—someone who was blown away by your extraordinary beauty coupled with an innocence I’d never experienced before?’ He gave a cynical smile. ‘But you were cunning, too. I see that now. For a cynic like me, a spirited show of independence was pretty much guaranteed to wear me down. So you refused my gifts. You bought cheap clothes and budget airline tickets while valiantly offering me the money you’d saved. What a touching gesture—the hard-up waitress offering the jaded architect a handful of cash. And I fell for it—hook, line and sinker! I was sucked in by your stubbornness and your pride.’
‘It wasn’t like that!’ she defended fiercely.
‘You must have thought you’d hit the jackpot when I gave you the key to my flat and bought you a diamond necklace,’ he bit out. ‘Just as I did when you gave yourself so willingly to me and I discovered you
were a virgin. I allowed my ego to be flattered and to blind myself to the truth. How could I have been so blind?’
Darcy felt her head spin and that horrible queasy feeling came washing over her again, in giant waves. This couldn’t be happening. In a minute she would wake up and the nightmare would be over. But it wouldn’t, would it? She was living her nightmare and the proof was right in front of her eyes. In the midst of her confusion and hurt she saw the look of something like satisfaction on Renzo’s face. She remembered him mentioning his parents’ divorce and how bitterly he’d said that women could never be trusted. Was he somehow pleased that his prejudices had been reinforced and he could continue thinking that way? Yes, he was, she realised. He wanted to believe badly of her.
She made one last attempt because wasn’t there still some tiny spark of hope which existed—a part which didn’t want to let him go? ‘None of that—’
‘Save your lying words because I don’t want to hear them. You’re only upset because I came home early and found you out. How were you going to explain the absence of the necklace, Darcy?’ he bit out. ‘A “burglary” while you were out shopping? Shifting the blame onto one of the people who service these apartments?’
‘You think I’d be capable of that?’
‘I don’t know what you’re capable of, do I?’ he said coldly. ‘I just want you to listen to what I’m going to say. I’m going out and by the time I get back I want you out of here. Every last trace of you. I don’t ever want to see your face again. Understand? And for what it’s worth—and I’m sure you realise it’s a lot—you can keep the damned necklace.’
‘You’re not going to go to the police?’
‘And advertise exactly what kind of woman my girlfriend really is and the kind of low-life company she keeps? That wouldn’t exactly do wonders for my reputation, would it? Do whatever you’d planned to do with it all along.’ He paused and his mouth tightened as his black gaze swept down over her body. ‘Think of it as payment for services rendered. A clean-break pay-off, if you like.’
It was the final straw. Nausea engulfed her. She could feel her knees buckling and a strange roaring in her head. Her hand reached out to grab at the nearest chair but she missed and Darcy felt herself sliding helplessly to the ground, until her cheek was resting on the smooth silk of the Persian rug and her eyes were level with his ankles and the handmade Italian shoes which swum in and out of focus.
His voice seemed to come from a long way off. ‘And you can spare me the histrionics, Darcy. They won’t make me change my mind.’
‘Who’s asking you to change your mind?’ she managed, from beneath gritted teeth.
She saw his shadow move as he stepped over her and a minute later she heard the sound of the front door slamming shut.
And after that, thankfully, she passed out.
CHAPTER SIX
‘YOU CAN’T GO ON like this, Darcy, you really can’t.’
The midwife sounded both kind and stern and Darcy was finding it difficult keeping her lips from wobbling. Because stern she could handle. Stern was something she was used to. It was the kindness which got to her every time, which made her want to cover her face with her hands and howl like a wounded animal. And she couldn’t afford to break down, because if she did—she might never put herself back together again.
Her hand slipped down to her belly. ‘You’re sure my baby’s okay?’ she questioned for the fourth time.
‘Your baby’s fine. Take a look at the scan and see. A little bit on the small side perhaps, but thriving. Unlike you. You’re wearing yourself out,’ continued the midwife, a frown creasing her plump face. ‘You’re working too hard and not eating properly, by the look of you.’
‘Honestly, I’ll try harder. I’ll...I’ll cut down on my hours at work and start eating more vegetables,’ said Darcy as she rolled up her sleeve. And she would. She would do whatever it took because all she could think about was that her baby was safe. Safe. Relief washed over her in almost tangible waves as the terror she’d experienced during that noisy ambulance ride began to recede. ‘Does that mean I can go home?’
‘I wanted to talk to you about that. I’m not very happy about letting you go anywhere,’ said the midwife. ‘Unless you’ve got somebody who can be there for you.’
Darcy tried not to flinch. She supposed she could pretend she had a caring mother or protective sister or even—ha, ha, ha—a loving husband. But that would be irresponsible. Because it wasn’t just her she was looking out for any more. There was a baby growing inside her. Her throat constricted. Renzo’s baby.
She tried not to tense up as the midwife began to measure her blood pressure. Things hadn’t been easy since Renzo had left her lying on the floor of his Belgravia apartment, accusing her of histrionics before slamming the door behind him. But Darcy’s unexpected faint hadn’t been caused by grief or anger, though it had taken a couple of weeks more to realise why a normally healthy young woman should have passed out for no apparent reason. It was when she’d found herself retching in the bathroom that she’d worked it out for herself. And then, of course, she wondered how she could have been so stupid to have not seen it before. It all added up. But her general queasiness and lack of appetite—even the lateness of her period—had been easy to overlook after Renzo had dumped her.
Of course she’d hoped. Hoped like mad she’d somehow got her dates muddled, but deep down she’d known she hadn’t because the brand-new aching in her breasts had told her so. She’d gone out to buy a pregnancy kit and the result had come as a shock but no great surprise. Heart racing, she’d sat on the floor of her bathroom in Norfolk staring at the blue line, wondering who to tell. But even if she had made some friends in her new home town, she knew there was only one person she could tell. Tears of injustice had stung her eyes. The man who thought she was a thief and a con woman. Who had looked at her with utter contempt in his eyes. But that was irrelevant. Renzo’s opinion of her didn’t really matter—all that mattered was that she let him know he was going to be a father.
If only it had been that easy. Every call she’d made had gone straight through to voicemail and she’d been reluctant to leave him her news in a message. So she’d telephoned his office and been put through to one of his secretaries for another humiliating experience. She’d felt as if the woman was reading from a script as she’d politely told her that Signor Sabatini was unavailable for the foreseeable future. She remembered the beads of sweat which had broken out on her forehead as she’d asked his secretary to have him ring her back. And her lack of surprise when he hadn’t.
‘Why...?’ Her voice faltered as she looked up into the midwife’s lined face. ‘Why do I have to have someone at home with me?’
‘Because twenty-eight weeks is a critical time in a woman’s pregnancy and you need to take extra care. Surely there must be someone you could ask. Who’s the baby’s father, Darcy?’
Briefly, Darcy closed her eyes. So this was it. The point where she really needed to be self-sacrificing and ignore pride and ego and instinct. For the first time in a long time images of Renzo’s darkly rugged face swam into her mind, because she’d been trying her best not to think about him. To forget that chiselled jaw and lean body and the way he used to put on those sexy, dark-rimmed glasses while he was working on plans for one of his buildings. To a large extent she had succeeded in forgetting him, banishing memories of how it used to feel to wake up in his arms, as she concentrated on her new job at the local café.
But now she must appeal for help from the man who had made her feel so worthless—whose final gesture had taken her back to those days when people used to look down their noses at her and not believe a word she said. She told herself it didn’t matter what Renzo thought when the hospital phoned him. That she didn’t care if he considered her a no-good thief because she knew the truth and that was all that mattered. Her hand reached down to lie protectively over her belly, her fingers curving over its hard swell. She would do anything to protect the life
of this unborn child.
Anything.
And right at the top of that list was the need to be strong. She’d been strong at the beginning of the affair and it had protected her against pain. She’d done her usual thing of keeping her emotions on ice and had felt good about herself. Even during that weekend when he’d taken her to Tuscany and hinted at his trust issues and the fickleness of women, she had still kept her feelings buried deep. She hadn’t expected anything—which was why it had come as such a surprise to her when they’d got back to England and he’d offered her the key to his apartment.
Had that been when she’d first let her guard down and her feelings had started to change? Or had she just got carried away with her new position in life? Her plans to move to Norfolk had been quietly shelved because she’d enjoyed being his mistress, hadn’t she? She’d enjoyed going to that fancy ball with him, when—after her initial flurry of nerves—she’d waltzed in that cherry blossom–filled ballroom in his arms. And if things hadn’t gone so badly wrong and Drake hadn’t turned up, it probably wouldn’t have taken long for her to get used to wearing Renzo’s jewels either.
She’d been a fool and it was time to stop acting like a fool.
Never again would she be whimpering Darcy Denton, pleading with her cruel Italian lover to believe her. He could think what the hell he liked as long as he helped take care of her baby.
She opened her eyes and met the questioning look in the midwife’s eyes.
‘His name is Renzo Sabatini,’ she said.
* * *
Feeling more impotent than he’d felt in years, Renzo paced up and down the sterile hospital corridor, oblivious to the surreptitious looks from the passing nurses. For a man unused to waiting, he couldn’t believe he was being forced to bide his time until the ward’s official visiting hours and he got the distinct impression that any further pleas to be admitted early would by vetoed by the dragon-like midwife he’d spoken to earlier, who had made no secret of her disapproval. With a frown on her face she’d told him that his girlfriend was overworked and underfed and clearly on the breadline. Her gaze had swept over him, taking in his dark suit, silk tie and handmade Italian shoes and he could see from her eyes that she was sizing up his worth. He was being judged, he realised—and he didn’t like to be judged. Nor put in the role of an absentee father-to-be who refused to accept his responsibilities.
Secrets of a Billionaire's Mistress (Mills & Boon Modern) (One Night With Consequences, Book 29) Page 8