The Vengeful Husband (The Husband Hunters 2)

'Isn't it strange how the passage of time operates?' Luca remarked with a philosophical air. 'What you once didn't want to know for your own protection, you are now des¬perate to discover—'

'You can't do this to me...you can't threaten me...I won't let you!' Darcy swore vehemently.

'Watch me,' Luca advised, consulting the rapier-thin gold watch on his wrist with tremendous poise. 'Now, I suggest you locate your passport and start packing.'

'Passport...p-packing?' Darcy parroted.

'My surprise, cara.' His mocking smile didn't add one iota of warmth to the cold brilliance of his dark eyes. 'In a couple of hours a helicopter will pick us up and take us to the airport. We're flying to Venice. I want to go home.'

Darcy backed away from him, green eyes burnished by angry bewilderment. 'Venice? Are you out of your mind? I'm not going to Italy with you!'

A fleeting smile of sardonic amusement curved his ex¬pressive mouth. "Think that refusal through. If I leave this house without you, I will not return, and you will forfeit any hope of winning your inheritance in six months' time.'

'You bastard...' Darcy mumbled sickly as that message sank in. Evidently Luca knew far more than she had naively told him. He knew the exact conditions of her godmother's will. A marriage that lasted less than that six-month dead¬line would not count.

His stunning dark eyes narrowed to an icy splinter of gold. 'In the light of the circumstances of your child's birth, I'm astonished to hear you use that particular word.'

Slashed with guilty unease by that unwelcome reminder, Darcy's facial muscles locked tight. Zia...her mind screamed with equal suddenness, as she finally faced up to and acknowledged the connection between this particular male and her child. Their child. The furious colour in her cheeks receded to leave her pale as milk. Zia was Luca's daughter as well—not that he appeared to have even a sus¬picion of the fact, although he seemed to have a daunting grasp of every other confidential aspect of her life.

'And by the way,' Luca murmured sotto voce, 'when you collect your daughter from the lodge, try not to forget the confidentiality clause in the pre-nuptial contract we both signed. If you talk about this, I will talk to the executor of your godmother's will.'

Darcy closed her eyes tightly again. 'I can't believe this is happening to me...' she ground out unsteadily.

And it was true. She had played into his hands so com¬pletely that she had tied herself in knots. Her home, her security, both her future and her daughter's were entirely reliant on Luca maintaining his verbal agreement with her. If they parted company a day before that six months was up, she would indeed lose everything she had worked so hard to retain.

Luca lifted one of her hands and lazily uncurled her fin¬gers to plant something into her palm. 'Your missing lens... perhaps if you replace it, your view of the world will be clarified.'

Her lashes flew up. 'You are one sarcastic—!'

'And when you have shed the equivalent of Miss Havisham's wedding gown, which strangely enough does more for you than anything I have recently seen you in, is it possible that you could dig very deep into your wardrobe and produce something even passably presentable in which to travel?' Luca enquired gently.

'I'm not going to Italy...I'm not leaving to go any¬where...I have too many responsibilities here!' Darcy shot at him in a rising crescendo of desperation. 'This is my home...you cannot make me leave it!'

'I can't make you do anything,' Luca conceded softly. 'The choice is yours.'

Outrage gripped Darcy at that quip. Both her hands closed into fierce fists of frustration. 'You're blackmailing me...what choice do I have?'

Luca surveyed her with immovable cool and said noth¬ing.

Unnerved by that lack of reaction, Darcy twisted away and raced upstairs to her bedroom.

Her mind was in a state of utter turmoil, stray thoughts hitting her like thrown knives thudding into a shrinking target. How would Luca feel if he found out that she had conceived his child that night in Venice? She was in no hurry to find out. Wouldn't that give him even more power over her? And why the heck had she had Zia christened Venezia? Or was that fanciful use of the Italian name of that great city too remote a connection to occur to anyone but her own foolish and sentimental self?

What the heck was Luca trying to do to her? Most of all, her brain screeched, why was he doing it? His behaviour made not the smallest sense. In fact her sheer inability to comprehend why Luca Raffacani should have employed diabolical cunning and deception to sneak into her life and threaten to blow it asunder was the most terrifying aspect of all. He knew so much about her, but as yet she knew next to nothing about him—and ignorance was not bliss!

Galvanised into action by that acknowledgement, Darcy reached for the phone by her bed and punched out the num¬ber of Richard's stud farm, praying he was in his office because he hated mobile phones and refused to carry one. 'Richard...it's Darcy—'