Darcy was more than willing to disappear into thin air all over again. She turned towards the door. 'I think you need to talk without a stranger around,' she said with a rather tremulous smile.
Distinctly shaky after the strain of the scene she had undergone, Darcy shook her head apologetically at Luca's manservant, who was now hovering uncomfortably in the dining room doorway, obviously wondering what was happening and whether or not any of them intended to sit down and eat dinner like civilised people. She had enjoyed a substantial lunch earlier in the day and now she felt pretty queasy.
Poor Luca. Poor Ilaria. Such a shaming secret must have been horrible for the girl to live with for so long. A moment's reckless bitter rebellion over the head of some boy she had clearly been hopelessly infatuated with. As Ilaria matured that secret would have weighed ever more heavily on her conscience, probably causing her to assume a defensive attitude to cover her unease in Luca's presence.
Guilt did that—it ate away at you. Little wonder that Ilaria had avoided Luca's company. She had been too afraid to face up to what she had done and confess. And the instant Ilaria had appreciated that her brother's wife was also the woman Luca had once believed to be a thief, she had jumped to the panic-stricken conclusion that Luca somehow knew that she was the culprit. After all, how could Ilaria ever have guessed that her lordly big brother might have married a woman he still believed to be a thief out of a powerful need to punish her?
And now Luca would finally get that wretched ring back. Could he really believe that any inanimate object, no matter how valuable, precious and rare, was worth so much grief? How did he feel now that he knew he had misjudged her? Gutted, Darcy decided without hesitation. He had looked absolutely gutted when comprehension rolled over him like a drowning tidal wave. His own sister.
Darcy heaved a sigh. Maybe, as Luca had said himself, peace would now break out. Naturally he would have to apologise...in fact a bit of crawling wouldn't come amiss, Darcy thought, beginning to feel rather surprisingly upbeat. Having checked on Zia, she wandered downstairs again and into the dining room.
She sat down at the table, appetite restored, and tucked into her elaborate starter. No, she didn't want Luca to crawl. He was having a tough enough time with Ilaria and his spectacular own goal of misjudgement. She had to be fair. The evidence had been very much stacked against her. And how could he ever have suspected his seventeen-year-old sister of pulling off such a feat?
She was halfway through the main course when Luca appeared.
'Santo cielo...how can you eat at a time like this?' he breathed in a charged tone of incredulity.
'I felt hungry...sorry to be so prosaic,' Darcy muttered, wondering where that rather melodramatic opening was about to take him.
'How's Ilaria?'
'I persuaded her to stay the night. I'm sorry about that...'
'About what?' Conscious that the sight of the cutlery still in her grasp seemed to be an offence of no mean order in his eyes, she abandoned her meal. In fact, in the mix of shadow and dim light in which Luca stood poised, the dark, sombre planes of his unusually pale features lent him an almost lost, lonely sort of aspect.
'About what?' Luca echoed, frowning as if he was struggling to get a grip on himself. 'Aren't you furious with Ilaria?'
'Gosh, no...she was terribly distressed. She's rather young for her age—very...well, emotional,' Darcy selected, striving to be tactful for once in her life.
'Being emotional is not catching...is it? You must be outraged with me,' Luca breathed starkly.
'Well, yes, I was when all this nonsense started—'
'Nonsense?' Luca cut in with ragged stress.
Darcy rose to her feet, wishing she could just run over and put her arms round him, spring him out of this strange and unfamiliar mood he was in, but he looked so incredibly remote now. As if he had lost everything he possessed. But he would strangle the first person who had the bad taste to either mention it or show a single hint of pity or understanding.
'I always knew I didn't take the wretched thing,' she pointed out gently. 'I'm awfully glad it's all cleared up now. And I understand why you were so convinced I was the thief...after all, you didn't know me, did you?'
Luca flinched as if she had punched him in the stomach. He spun his dark head away. 'No...I didn't,' he framed almost hoarsely.
She watched him swallow convulsively.
Feeling utterly helpless, craving the confidence to bridge the frightening gap she could feel opening up between them, Darcy was gripped by a powerful wave of frustration. He was so at a loss; she wanted to hug him the way she hugged Zia when she fell over and hurt herself. But she thought she would crack their tenuous relationship right down the middle if she made such an approach. He was too proud.