Mistress By Blackmail(35)

His security team had done their job, albeit not in the way he’d expected. However, they had tracked her, had known where she was when he’d called from the empty penthouse, irate.

They had assured him it wouldn’t happen again.

Now the only thing he needed to do was lay down the law one more time to her. One more time for the thousandth time. Then continue to stay away from her for his own sanity until she gave up her silly notion that sex wasn’t in their immediate future.

Marcus hoped his glare was boring into her thick head and making a clear statement without him having to say a word. But it appeared from her behavior when she saw him he was in for a disappointment.

She stilled for a moment, then shot him a cheeky grin. Twirling around, she spotted another in a long line of suckers, and within seconds, gained a new customer.

He marched across the street, stepped onto the sidewalk, and came to a stop.

Caricatures? She did caricatures? And she called herself an artist?

He smirked. How cute.

He’d attended enough gallery openings for business reasons to know true art when he saw it. He’d even made some judicious purchases for investment purposes. His brother’s avid interest in sculpture and determination to make it his career had been a curious choice, yet at least it had kept the kid out of trouble. He’d been perfectly happy to hand over the necessary funds to keep Matteo comfortable and content in London’s finest art school. Merda, he’d even funded a scholarship for a needy student at his brother’s urging.

In this instance, the money hadn’t been the issue.

The important fact was he’d figured the young fool would be close at hand and easy to keep an eye on. Rather than roaming the streets of Rome, picking up girls, and getting into trouble, his brother was under his control. There was also the added benefit of not having to take his mother’s calls on a daily basis. The endless screeching and wailing about the latest Matteo disaster had given him a never-ending headache.

For four years, the whole deal had gone well. Matteo had behaved. His mother had spent her time shopping rather than screeching. And he’d been left alone to make more deals and more money.

“Aren’t you darling,” the sprite cooed at her young male customer, who promptly blushed at her words.

His smirk grew. Did she think he was going to go all jealous on her because of this young sprig she was drawing? Did she think if she kept ignoring his presence, he’d slink away?

Not a chance.

He could bide his time for now. Eventually, he’d have her complete attention.

After he got that, he’d have her complete obedience.

He eyed the long sidewalk filled with various artwork, some downright awful, some with potential. The crowd was relaxed and playful. Kids ran by hanging onto balloons. A group of young girls giggled and batted their eyes at him as they passed. A fishmonger’s loud voice called out his list of delicacies including oysters and crab.

The sprite cooed another of her absurd compliments.

Marcus strolled across to a line of paintings propped behind her. In the background, he heard her soft, lilting voice become higher, louder. The sprig bantered back with teenage enthusiasm.

Ignoring both of them, he eyed the oil before him. A sturdy stone cottage nestled itself on a rolling hill. The glow of candlelight sprinkled gold on the waving leaves of an old oak tree. With a bit of a shock, he realized it was good. The technique was excellent, the color choices highlighting the sense of homeyness. He could almost feel the warmth of the light, the wisp of the wind.

Something twitched inside him.

He stepped to the next oil. Immediately he knew it was the same artist. Something about the use of color told him. The painting showed two children running down an alley. One of them, a tiny girl with a shock of long, black hair, was staring over her shoulder with fear.

Marcus stared at the night-blue eyes in the picture.

Filled with fear.

The similarity was striking. The memory of another pair of eyes shining with fear struck him right in the chest, along with the immediate recognition of who the artist had to be.

He jerked around and stared at the nymph.

The same night-blue eyes peered back at him from beneath her long, black eyelashes, wariness lacing this stare.

Why was she hiding her talent in this long row of wannabes? Why hadn’t she damn well insisted his stupid brother include her in last year’s big gallery showing? Rocca Enterprises had funded the entire event, with the proviso that some new artists would be included in the display. He’d let Matteo choose who would be included along with himself. His brother had been ecstatic.

Why the hell hadn’t he included his very talented lover’s paintings?

The young male sprig left with one last longing gaze at Darcy. Marcus stared at his lanky figure as he strolled away, the prized caricature in hand. Her protection had disappeared at exactly the right moment.