Mistress By Blackmail(70)

Enjoying life.

His hands tightened on the mantel until his fingers turned white.

All these years, he’d rejected. Run from. Buried himself.

Yet the startling truth burned deep inside him.

He was his father’s son.

Ruthlessly, he’d pushed away the need to love, to be close. He’d kept himself apart. Kept aloof. He’d thought of it as necessary and a smart way to live. Still, the entire time it had been a sham. A fake face to the world.

It had taken an elfin creature of beauty and wit to rip the façade away.

Exposing his heart.

Yanking himself from the fireplace, he strode to the window and pulled the velvet drapery apart. He glared into the dark night. The moon was full and bright in the black sky. He no longer held any anger towards Darcy or his brother. Both of them had been merely his pawns. His tools to get what he wanted. What he thought he wanted. Somewhere along the way, however, the coffin which had seemed to serve him so well over the years had yawned open.

Letting her in.

Yet this wasn’t her fault. Or his brother’s.

He rocked back on his heels.

With everything in him, he wished to go back in time. If he’d treated her with the love he felt, spoke the words inside him, if he’d given himself to her, perhaps he’d have had a chance. Perhaps he’d have been able to woo her from his brother.

But he hadn’t. Instead, he’d blackmailed her and ridiculed her. The small gestures he’d made on her behalf were nothing compared to the pain he’d caused her with his stinging words and cutting put-downs.

He deserved this.

After being the ruthless, cunning bastard he’d been during these years, this was to be his penance. The love he’d felt for Juliana was nothing compared to the all-encompassing passion he felt for Darcy. But he’d ruined it. Before the love had a chance to blossom.

Marcus closed his eyes and leaned his face on the cold windowpane.

He could do one thing in honor of this love, though. He could repay her in one way.

By giving her what she wanted.

The man she loved.



* * *



Matt’s wedding day.

Darcy stared out the penthouse windows and saw the storm clouds rolling in. Another cold, rainy London day. She wondered if Italy was having the same kind of weather. Probably not. The sky wouldn’t dare rain on a La Rocca celebration, now would it? With pots of money at hand, Matt’s marriage would likely go down as the wedding of the year. But it wouldn’t have mattered to her if it was only a small ceremony at the local register’s office. She would have simply been happy to be there.

At least, Matt was marrying for love. At least, she could be happy about that.

Turning away from the window, she looked down at the small pile of her belongings on the couch. Today was the day. Freedom. A new and exciting chapter in her life. A moment to be brave and fearless and…

A lone tear slid down her cheek.

Darcy brushed it away with fierce determination.

She’d done enough crying during the last three days to fill the Thames. But now, it was time to get on with it. Get over Marcus La Rocca. He’d proved for all time he didn’t have the capability of trusting, much less loving.

The front door buzzed. Security coming to tell her to go, she’d bet.

The men on the security team had been kind throughout the last few days. They’d ignored her red eyes when they checked on her. They’d brought her chocolate along with the delivery of groceries. One of them, the blond one, had even patted her on the shoulder once with a look of compassion in his gaze.

But all the kind gestures hadn’t made up for the fact they’d been ruthless about keeping her under wraps. Her new and old mobile phones were taken away. No computers allowed in the penthouse. There was always a man standing by the front door.

How could she blame them? She wasn’t signing their paychecks. No, there was only one man to blame. And since she’d never lay eyes on him ever again, the likelihood of getting the chance to give him a piece of her mind or a punch in the nose was slim. Anyway, she hadn’t put up much of a fight about the security. She’d been too dispirited to do anything more than lie on her bed and mope over what might have been.

The door buzzed once more.

Darcy brushed the past out of her head. It was done. Time to move forward with her new life. She walked to the door and opened it.

“Ms. Moran.” The tall, blond man glanced down at her with pity.

Her spine stiffened. She didn’t need any pity. She was glad she was out of here. She forced a bright smile. “I’m ready.”

Walking to her small pile of stuff, she lifted her backpack over her shoulder and yanked the handle of the rolling suitcase. She was ready to go.

“This is all you’re taking?” His voice filled with incredulity.