Secret Heirs Collection. Коллектив авторов
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 realise 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