The Vengeful Husband

‘Your mother?’

‘She died when I was six. I hardly remember her,’ Darcy confided ruefully. ‘My father remarried a few years later. He was desperate to have a male heir but I’m afraid it didn’t happen.’

She cast open the door of a big dark oak-panelled bedroom, dominated by a giant Elizabethan four-poster. ‘This will be your room. The bathroom’s through that door. I’m afraid we’ll have to share it. There isn’t another one on this side of the house.’

As he glanced round the sparsely furnished and decidedly dusty room, which might have figured in a Tudor time warp, Darcy found herself studying him again. That stunningly male profile, the hard, sleek lines of his muscular length. A tiny frisson of sexual heat tightened her stomach muscles. He strolled with the grace of a leopard over to the high casement window to look out. Sunlight gleamed over his luxuriant black hair. Unexpectedly he turned, dark eyes with the dramatic impact of gold resting on her in cool enquiry.

Caught watching him again, Darcy blushed as hotly as an embarrassed schoolgirl. She was appalled by her own outrageous physical awareness of him, could not comprehend what madness was dredging such responses from her. Whirling round, she walked swiftly back into the corridor.

As he drew level with her she snatched in a deep, sustaining breath and started towards the stairs again. ‘I’m afraid there are very few modern comforts in the Folly, and locally, well, there’s even fewer social outlets...’ She hesitated uneasily before continuing, ‘What I’m really trying to say is that if you feel the need to take off for the odd day in search of amusement, I’ll understand—’

‘Amusement?’ Luca prompted grimly, as if such a concept had never come his way before.

Darcy nodded, staring stonily ahead. ‘I’m one of these people who always says exactly what’s on their mind. I live very quietly but I can’t reasonably expect you to do the same thing for an entire six months. I’m sure you’ll maybe want to go up to London occasionally and—’

‘Amuse myself?’ Luca slotted in very drily.

In spite of her discomfiture, Darcy uttered a strained little laugh. ‘You can hardly bring a girlfriend here—’

‘I do not have a woman in my life,’ he interrupted, with a strong suggestion of gritted teeth.

‘Possibly not at present,’ Darcy allowed, wondering what on earth was the matter with him. He was reacting as if she had grossly insulted him in some way. ‘But I’m being realistic. You’re bound to get bored down here. City slickers do...’

Brilliant eyes black as jet stabbed into her. A line of dark colour now lay over his taut cheekbones. ‘There will not be a woman nor any need for such behaviour on my part, I assure you,’ he imparted icily.

They were descending the stairs when a tiny figure clad in bright red leggings and a yellow T-shirt appeared in the Great Hall below. ‘Mummy!’ Zia carrolled with exuberance.

As her daughter flashed over to eagerly show off a much creased painting, Luca fell still. Interpreting his silence as astonishment, Darcy flung him an apologetic glance as she lifted her daughter up into her arms. ‘My daughter, Zia...I hadn’t got around to mentioning her yet,’ she conceded rather defensively.

Luca slid up a broad shoulder in an infinitesimal shrug of innate elegance. The advent of a stray cat might have inspired as much interest. Not a male who had any time for children, Darcy gathered, resolving to ensure that her playful and chatty toddler was kept well out of his path.

‘Is there anything else you wish to discuss?’ Luca prompted with faint impatience.

Darcy stiffened. Minutes later, she had written and passed him the cheque she had promised. He folded the item and tucked it into his inside pocket with complete cool. ‘I’ll drop you a note as soon as I get the date of the ceremony organised. I won’t need to see you again before that,’ she told him.

Luca printed a phone number on the front of the jotter she had left lying. ‘If you need to contact me for any other reason, leave a message on that line.’

A fortnight later, Darcy unbolted the huge front door of the Folly and dragged it open, only to freeze in dismay.

‘About time too,’ Margo Fielding complained sharply as she swept past, reeking of expensive perfume and irritation, closely followed by her daughter, Nina.

Aghast at the unforewarned descent of her stepmother and her stepsister, Darcy watched with a sinking heart as the tall, beautiful blonde duo stalked ahead of her into the drawing room.

She hadn’t laid eyes on either woman since they had moved out after her father’s funeral, eager to leave the privations of country life behind them and return to city life. The discovery that Darcy could not be forced to sell the Folly and share the proceeds with them had led to a strained parting of the ways. Although Morton Fielding had generously provided for his widow, and Margo was a wealthy woman in her own right, her stepmother had been far from satisfied.

Margo cast her an outraged look. ‘Don’t you think you should’ve told me that you were getting married?’ she demanded as she took up a painfully familiar bullying stance at the fireplace. ‘Can you imagine how I felt when a friend called me to ask who you were marrying and I had to confess my ignorance? How dare you embarrass me like that?’

Darcy was very tense, her tummy muscles knotting up while she wondered how on earth the older woman had discovered her plans. The vicar’s wife could be a bit of a gossip, she conceded, and Margo still had friends locally. No doubt that was how word had travelled farther afield at such speed. ‘I’m sorry...I would’ve informed you after the wedding—’

Nina’s scornful blue eyes raked over the younger woman. ‘But of course, when it’s safely over. You’re terrified that your bridegroom will bolt last minute, like Richard did!’

At that unpleasant and needless reminder, which was painfully apt, the embarrassed colour drained from Darcy’s taut cheekbones. ‘I—’

‘Just when I thought you must finally be coming to your senses and accepting the need to sell this white elephant of a house, you suddenly decide to get married,’ Margo condemned with stark resentment. ‘Is he even presentable?’

‘With all this heavy secrecy, it’s my bet that the groom is totally unpresentable...one of the estate workers?’ Nina suggested, with a disdainful little shudder of snobbish distaste.

‘You’re not pregnant again, are you?’ Margo treated Darcy to a withering and accusing appraisal. ‘That’s what people are going to think. And I refuse to have my acquaintances view me as some sort of wicked stepmother! So you’ll have to pay for a proper wedding reception and I’ll act as your hostess.’

‘I’m afraid I haven’t got the money for that,’ Darcy admitted tightly.

‘What about him?’ Nina pressed instantaneously.

Darcy flushed and looked away.

‘Penniless, I suppose.’ Reaching that conclusion, Margo exchanged a covert look of relief and satisfaction with her daughter. ‘I do hope he’s aware that when you go bust here, we’re entitled to a slice of whatever is left.’

‘I’m not planning to go bust,’ Darcy breathed, her taut fingers clenching in on themselves.

‘I’m just dying to meet this character.’ Nina giggled. ‘Who is he?’

‘His name’s Luca—’

‘What kind of a name is that?’ her stepmother demanded.

‘He’s Italian,’ Darcy confided grudgingly.

‘An immigrant?’ Nina squealed, as if that was the funniest thing she had ever heard. ‘I do hope he’s not marrying you just to get a British passport!’

‘I’ll throw a small engagement party for you this weekend in Truro,’ Margo announced grandly with a glacial smile. ‘I will not have people say that I didn’t at least try to do my duty by my late husband’s child.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Darcy mumbled, after a staggered pause at the fact that Margo was prepared to make so much effort on her behalf. ‘But—’

‘No buts, Darcy. Everyone knows how eccentric you are, but I will not allow you to embarrass me in front of my friends. I will expect you and your fiancé at eight on Friday, both of you suitably dressed. And if he’s as hopeless as you are in polite company, tell him to keep his mouth shut and just smile:’

Her expectations voiced, Margo was already sweeping out to the hall. Darcy unfroze and sped after her. ‘But Luca...Luca’s got other arrangements for that night!’ she lied in a frantic rush.

‘Saturday, then,’ Margo decreed instead.

Darcy’s tremulous lips sealed again. How could she refuse to produce her supposed fiancé without giving the impression that there was something most peculiar about their relationship? She should never have practised such secrecy, never have surrendered to her own shrinking reluctance to make any form of public appearance with a man in tow. In her position, she couldn’t afford to arouse suspicion that there was anything strange about her forthcoming marriage.

‘I’m so glad you’ve finally found yourself a man.’ Nina dealt her a pitying look of superiority. ‘What does he do for a living?’

Darcy hesitated. She just couldn’t bring herself to admit that Luca was unemployed. ‘He...he works in a bank.’

‘A clerk...how sweet. Love blossomed over the counter, did it?’

Utterly drained, and annoyed that she had allowed her stepmother to reduce her yet again to a state of dumbstruck inadequacy, Darcy stood as the two women climbed into their sleek, expensive BMW and drove off without further ado.

‘Luca, haven’t you got any of my other messages? I realise that this is terribly short notice, but I do really need you to show up with me at this party in Truro...er...our engagement party,’ Darcy stated apologetically to the answering machine which greeted her for the frustrating fourth time at the London number he had left with her. ‘This is an emergency. Saturday night at eight. Could you get in touch, please?’

‘The toad’s done a bunk on you with that cheque!’ Karen groaned in despair. ‘I don’t know why you agreed to this party anyway. Margo and Nina have to be up to something. They’ve never done you a favour in their lives. And if Luca fails to show up, those two witches will have a terrific laugh at your expense!’

‘There’s still twenty-four hours to go. I’m sure I’ll hear from him soon,’ Darcy muttered fiercely, refusing to give up hope as she hugged Zia, grateful for the comforting warmth of her sturdy little body next to her own.

‘Darcy...you have written to him as well. He is obviously not at home and if he is home, he’s ignoring you—’

‘I don’t think he’s like that, Karen,’ Darcy objected, suddenly feeling more than a little irritated with her friend for running Luca down and forecasting the worst. From what she had contrived to roughly translate of her future husband’s references, one of which was persuasively written by a high court judge, she was dealing with a male of considerable integrity and sterling character.

Late that night the frustratingly silent phone finally rang and Darcy raced like a maniac to answer it. ‘Yes?’ she gasped with breathless hope into the receiver.

‘Luca... I got your messages this evening—all of them.’

‘Oh, thank heaven...thank heaven!’ Just hearing the intensely welcome sound of that deep, dark accented drawl, Darcy went weak at the knees. ‘I was starting to think I was going to have to ring my stepmother and say you’d come down with some sudden illness! She would’ve been absolutely furious. We’ve never been close, and I certainly didn’t want this wretched party, but it is pretty decent of her to offer, isn’t it?’

‘I’m afraid we have one slight problem to overcome,’ Luca slotted softly into that flood of relieved explanation. ‘I’m calling from Italy.’

‘Italy...?’ Darcy blinked rapidly, thoroughly thrown by the announcement. ‘It-Italy?’ she stammered in horror.

‘But naturally I will do my utmost to get back in time for the party,’ Luca assured her in a tone of cool assurance.

Darcy sighed heavily then, unsurprised by his coolness. What right did she have to muck up his arrangements? This whole mess wasn’t his fault, it was hers. After all, she had told him she wouldn’t need to see him again before the wedding. Obviously he had used the money she had given him to travel home and see his family. ‘I’m really sorry about this,’ she said tiredly, the stress of several sleepless nights edging her voice. ‘Look, can you make it?’

‘With the best will in the world, not to the party before nine in the evening...unless you want to meet me there?’ he suggested.

Aghast at the idea of arriving alone, Darcy uttered an instant negative.

‘Then offer my apologies to your stepmother. I’ll come and pick you up.’

Darcy told herself that she was incredibly lucky that Luca was willing to come back from Italy to attend the party at such short notice. ‘I really appreciate this...look, you can stay here on Saturday night,’ she offered gratefully. ‘I’ll make up the bed for you.’

‘That’s extraordinarily kind of you, Darcy,’ Luca drawled smoothly.

CHAPTER THREE

ZIA was spending the night with Karen in the gatehouse. Returning to the Folly to nervously await Luca’s arrival, Darcy caught an unsought glimpse of her reflection in the giant mirror in the echoing hall...

And suddenly she was wishing she had spent money she could ill afford on a new outfit. The brown dress hung loose round her hips and flapped to an indeterminate length below her knees. The ruffled neckline, once chosen to conceal the embarrassing smallness of her breasts, looked fussy and old-fashioned. She was much more comfortable in trousers—never had had much luck in choosing clothes that flattered her slight and diminutive frame...

And in the back of her wardrobe the green designer evening dress which had been Maxie’s wedding present three years earlier still hung, complete with shoes and delicate little beaded bag. Maxie, no longer a friend and always rather too reserved and too confident of her feminine attraction for Darcy to feel quite comfortable in her radius. As for the dress, Darcy hadn’t looked near it once since her return from Venice. She needed no reminder of that night of explosive passion in a stranger’s arms. Yet somehow she still hadn’t been able to bring herself to dispose of that exquisite gown which had lent her the miraculous illusion of beauty for a few brief hours.

The Victorian bell-pull shrieked complaint in the piercing silence, springing Darcy out of a past that still felt all too recent and all too wounding. In haste, she yanked open - the heavy door. There she stopped dead at the sight of Luca, her witch-green eyes widening to their fullest extent in unconcealed surprise.

He was wearing a supremely elegant black dinner jacket when she hadn’t dared even to ask if he possessed such an article. And there he stood, proud black head high, strong dark face assured, one lean brown hand negligently thrust into the pocket of narrow black trousers to tighten them over his lean hips and long powerful thighs, his beautifully tailored jacket parted to reveal a pristine white pleated dress shirt. He looked so incredibly sophisticated and gorgeous he stole the breath from Darcy’s convulsing throat.

‘Gosh, you hired evening dress,’ she mumbled, relocating her vocal cords with difficulty.

Luca ran brilliant dark eyes over her, a distinct frownline drawing together his ebony brows. ‘Possibly I’m slightly over-dressed for the occasion?’

‘No... no... not at all.’ Never more self-conscious than when her personal appearance was under scrutiny, Darcy flushed to the roots of her hair. Her attention abruptly fell on the glossy scarlet Porsche sitting parked beside the ancient Land Rover which was her only means of transport. ‘Where on earth did you get that car?’ she gasped helplessly.

‘It’s on loan.’

Slowly, Darcy shook her curly auburn head. It would be madness to turn up in an expensive car and give a false impression of Luca’s standing in the world. Margo would ask five hundred questions and soon penetrate the truth. Then Luca, who could only have borrowed the car for her benefit—and she couldn’t help but be touched by that realisation—would end up feeling cut off. ‘I would really love to roar up in the Porsche, but it would be wiser to use the Land Rover,’ she told him in some disappointment.

‘Dio mio...you are joking, of course.’ Luca surveyed the rusting and battered four-wheel drive with outright incredulity. ‘It’s a wreck’

Darcy opened the door of the Land Rover. ‘I do know what I’m talking about, Luca,’ she warned. ‘If we show up in the Porsche, my stepmother will get entirely the wrong idea and decide that you’re loaded. If we’re anything less than honest, we’ll both be left sitting with egg on our faces. We want to blend in, not create comment, and that car must be worth about thirty thousand—’

‘Seventy.’

‘Seventy thousand pounds?’ Darcy broke in, her disbelief writ large in her shaken face.

‘And some change,’ Luca completed drily.

‘Wish I had a friend willing to trust me with a car like that! We’ll park the Land Rover out on the road and run away from it fast,’ Darcy promised, worriedly examining her watch and then climbing into the driver’s seat to forestall further argument. ‘I’d let you drive, but this old girl has a number of idiocyncrasies which might irritate you.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Luca swung into the tatty passenger seat with pronounced reluctance, his classic profile hard as a granite cliff in winter.

As she stole a second glance at that hawkish masculine profile, Darcy found herself thinking that he had a kind of Heathcliffish rough edge when he was angry.

And he was definitely angry, and she didn’t mind in the slightest. It made him seem far more human. Posh cars and men and their egos, she reflected with sudden good cheer. Even she understood that basic connection. ‘Believe me, you’re about to cause enough of a stir tonight. You’re very good-looking...’

‘Am I really?’ Luca prompted rather flatly.

‘Oh, come on, no false modesty. I bet you’ve been breaking hearts from the edge of the cradle!’ Darcy riposted with a rueful sound of amusement.

‘You’re very frank.’

‘In that garb you look like you just strolled in off a movie set,’ Darcy reeled off, trying to work herself up to giving the little speech she had planned. ‘Do you think you could contrive to act like you’re keen on me tonight? No...no, don’t say anything,’ she urged with a distinctly embarrassed laugh. ‘It’s just that nobody can smell a rat faster than Margo or Nina, and you are not at all what they are primed to expect.’

‘What are they expecting?’

‘Some ordinary boring guy who works in a bank.’

‘Where do you get the idea that bankers are boring?’

‘My bank manager could bore for Britain. Every time I walk into his office, he acts like I’m there to steal from him. That man is just such a pessimist,’ Darcy rattled on, grateful to have got over the hint about him acting keen without further discussion. It was so unbelievably embarrassing to have to ask a man to put on such a pretence. ‘When he tells me the size of my overdraft, he even reads out the pence owing to make me squirm—’

‘You have an overdraft?’

‘It’s not as bad as it sounds. The day we get married, I will have some really good news for my bank manager...at least I hope he thinks it’s good news, and loosens the purse-strings a little.’ She shot him an apprehensive glance, wishing she hadn’t allowed nervous tension to tempt her into such dangerous candour. ‘Don’t worry, if the worst comes to the worst, I could always sell something to keep the bank quiet. I made a commitment to you and I won’t let you down.’

‘I’m impressed. Tell me, have you thought of a cover story for this evening?’ Luca enquired with some satire.

‘Cover story?’

‘Where and how we met, et cetera, et cetera.’

‘Of course,’ she said in some surprise. ‘We’ll say we met in London. I haven’t been there in over a year, but they’re not likely to know that. I want to give the impression that we’ve plunged into one of those sudden whirlwind romances and then, when we split up, nobody will be the slightest bit surprised.’

‘I see you’re wearing a ring.’

‘It’s on loan, like your Porsche. We can’t act engaged without a ring.’ Darcy had borrowed the diamond dress ring from Karen for the evening, and her finger had been crooked ever since it went on because it was a size too big and she was totally terrified of losing it.

‘Don’t you think you ought to fill me in on a few background details on your family? My younger sister is the only close relative I have,’ he revealed. ‘She’s a student.’

‘Oh...right. My stepmother, Margo, was first married to a wealthy businessman with one foot in the grave. They had a daughter, Nina, who’s a model,’ she shared. ‘Margo married my father for social position; he married her in the hope of having a son. Dad was always very tight with money, but Margo and Nina could squeeze juice out of a dehydrated lemon. He was extremely generous to them. That’s one of the reasons the estate is in such a mess... I inherited the mess and a load of death duties.’

‘Very succinct,’ Luca responded with a slight catch in his voice.

‘Margo and Nina are frantic snobs. They spend the summer in Truro and the rest of the year in their London apartment. Margo doesn’t like me but she loves throwing parties, and she is very, very conscious of what other people think.’

‘Are you?’

‘Good heavens, no, as an unmarried mother, I can hardly afford to be!’

‘I think I should at least know the name of the father of your child,’ Luca remarked.

The silence in the car became electric. Darcy accelerated down the road, small hands clenching the steering wheel tightly. ‘On that point, I’m afraid I’ve never gratified anyone’s curiosity,’ she said stiffly, and after that uncompromising snub the silence lasted all the way to Truro.

Some distance from her stepmother’s large detached home, which was set within its own landscaped grounds on the outskirts of town, Darcy nudged her vehicle into a space. And only with difficulty. They walked up the sweeping drive and Darcy’s heart sank as she took in the number of cars already parked. ‘I think there’s going to be a lot more people here than I was led to expect. If anyone asks too many probing questions, pretend your English is lousy,’ she advised nervously.

‘I believe I will cope.’ Luca curved a confident hand over her tense spine. Her flesh tingled below the thin fabric of her dress and she shivered. He bent his glossy dark head down almost to her level, quite a feat with the difference in their heights. The faint scent of some citrus-based lotion flared Darcy’s sensitive nostrils. Her breath tripping in her throat, she collided with deep, dark flashing eyes and her stomach turned a shaken somersault in reaction.

‘Per meraviglia...’ Luca breathed with deflating cool and impatience. ‘Will you at least smile as if you’re happy? And stop hunching your shoulders like that. Walk tall!’

Plunged back to harsh reality with a jolt, her colour considerably heightened, Darcy might have made a pithy retort had not Margo’s housekeeper swept open the door for their entrance.

And entrance it certainly was. Margo and Nina were in the hall, chatting in a group. Their eyes flew to Darcy, and then straight past her to the tall, spectacularly noticeable male by her side. Her stepmother and her stepsister stilled in astonishment and simply stared. Suddenly Darcy was wickedly amused. Luca was undeniably presentable. How unexpectedly sweet it was to surprise the two women whose constant criticisms and cutting comments had made her teenage years such a misery.

Retaining that light hold on her, Luca carried her forward.

‘Darcy...Luca,’ Margo said rather stiltedly.

After waiting in vain for Darcy to make an introduction, Luca advanced a hand and murmured calmly, ‘Luca Raffacani, Mrs Fielding...I’m delighted to meet you at last.’

‘Margo, please,’ her stepmother gushed.