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The Vengeful Husband(29)





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 sus­picion of the fact, although he seemed to have a daunting grasp of every other confidential aspect of her life.#p#分页标题#e#



'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 com­pletely 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 fin­gers 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 any­where...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 noth­ing.

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 num­ber 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—'



'How are you, old girl?' Richard cut in warmly. 'Odd you should ring. I was actually thinking of dropping down this—'



'Richard...do you remember telling me that it's possible to find almost any information you want on the Internet?'



Darcy interrupted with scant ceremony. 'Could you do that for me as a favour and fax anything you get?' 'Sure. What kind of information are you after?' 'Anything you can get on an Italian called...Gianluca Raffacani.'



'There's something vaguely familiar about that surname,' Richard commented absently. 'I wonder if he's into horses...'



'I'll be grateful for anything you can send me, but don't tell anyone I've been enquiring,' she warned nervously.



'No problem. Anything wrong down there?' he enquired. 'You sound harassed. What's the connection? Who is this chap?'



'That's what I'm trying to find out. Talk to you soon...thanks, Richard.' Darcy replaced the receiver.



She studied the framed photo of Richard by her bed and gave his grinning cheerful image the thumbs-up sign. To fight Luca she had to find out who and what she was deal­ing with.



No way could she go to Italy! The Folly could not be left empty. And who would feed the hens and Nero, her elderly horse, look after the dogs? Work that the wedding had so far prevented her from carrying out today, she re­called dully. Shedding her late mother's gown, she pulled on her work jeans and an old sweater. She could not bear the idea of leaving her home...