The Vengeful Husband Read online

  Tearing the envelope open, Darcy eagerly scanned the brief letter and her bowed shoulders lifted even as she read. ‘He’s not of British birth...and he has experience as a financial advisor—’

  ‘Probably once worked as a bank clerk,’ Karen slotted in, cynically unimpressed by the claim. A childless divorcee, Karen was comfortably off but had little faith in the reliability of the male sex.

  ‘He’s offering references upfront, which is more than anyone else did.’ Darcy’s state of desperation was betrayed by the optimistic look already blossoming in her expressive eyes. ‘And he’s only thirty-one.’

  ‘What nationality?’

  In the act of frowning down at the totally illegible signature, Darcy raised her head again. ‘He doesn’t say. He just states that he is healthy and single and that a temporary position with accommodation included would suit him right now—’

  ‘So he’s unemployed and broke.’

  ‘If he wasn’t unemployed and willing to move in, he wouldn’t be applying, Karen,’ Darcy pointed out gently. ‘It’s a reasonable letter. Since he didn’t know what the job was, he’s sensibly confined himself to giving basic information only.’

  As she paced the confines of Karen’s tiny front room in the gate lodge five days later, Darcy pushed her thick-lensed spectacles up the bridge of her nose, smoothed her hands down over her pleated skirt and twitched at the roll collar of her cotton sweater as if it was choking her.

  He would be here in five minutes. And she hadn’t even managed to speak to the guy yet! Since he hadn’t given her a phone number to contact him, she had had to write back to his London address and, nervous of giving out her own phone number at this stage, she had simply set up an interview and asked him to let her know if the date didn’t suit. He had sent a brief note of confirmation, from which she had finally divined that his christian name appeared to be a surprisingly English-sounding Lucas, but as for his surname, she would defy a handwriting expert to read that swirling scrawl!

  Hearing the roar of a motorbike out on the road, Darcy suppressed her impatience. Lucas was late. Maybe he wasn’t going to show. But a minute later the door burst open. Karen poked her head in, her face filled with excitement. ‘A monster motorbike just drew up...and this absolutely edible hunk of male perfection took off his helmet! It has to be Lucas...and Darcy, he is gorgeous—’

  ‘He’s come on a motorbike?’ Darcy interrupted with a look of astonishment.

  ‘You are so stuffy sometimes,’ Karen censured. ‘And I bet you a fiver you can’t work up the nerve to ask this particular bloke if he’d be prepared to marry you for a fee!’

  Darcy was already painfully aware that she had no choice whatsoever on that count. She had to ask. She was praying that Lucas, whoever he was and whatever he was like, would agree. She didn’t have the time to readvertise. Her back was up against the wall. Yesterday she had received a letter from the company that held the mortgage on Fielding’s Folly. They were threatening to repossess the house and, since she already had a big overdraft, the bank would not help without a guarantee that she would in the near future have the funds to settle her obligations.

  Darcy winced as the doorbell shrilled. Karen bolted to answer it. Bolted—yes, that was the only possible word for her friend’s indecent eagerness to reach the front door. Face wooden and set, Darcy positioned herself by the fireplace. So he was attractive. Attractive men had huge egos. She grimaced. All she wanted was someone ordinary and unobtrusive, but what she wanted she wouldn’t necessarily get.

  ‘Signorina Darcy?’ she heard an accented drawl question in a tone of what sounded like polite surprise.

  ‘No...she’s, er, through here...er, waiting for you,’ Karen stammered with a dismayingly girlish giggle, and the lounge door was thrust wide.

  Blinking rapidly, Darcy was already glued to the spot, a deep frown-line bisecting her brow. That beautiful voice had struck such an eerie chord of familiarity she was transfixed, heart beating so fast she was convinced it might burst. And then mercifully she understood the source of that strange familiarity and shivered, thoroughly spooked. Dear heaven, he was Italian! It was that lyrical accent she had recognised, not the voice.

  A very tall, dark male, sporting sunglasses and sheathed in motorbike leathers, strode into the small room. Involuntarily Darcy simply gaped at him, her every expectation shattered. Black leather accentuated impossibly wide shoulders, narrow hips and long, lean powerful thighs. Indeed the fidelity of fit left little of that overpoweringly masculine physique to the imagination. And the sunglasses lent his dark features an intimidating lack of expression. And yet... and yet as Darcy surveyed him with startled eyes she realised that he shared more than an accent with Zia’s father. He had also been very tall and well-built.

  So what? an irritated voice screeched through her blitzed brain. So you’re meeting another tall, dark Italian...big deal! The silver-tongued sophisticate who had got her pregnant wouldn’t have been caught dead in such clothing. And if she hadn’t had such a guilt complex about her wanton behaviour in Venice, she wouldn’t be feeling this incredibly foolish sense of threatening familiarity, she told herself in complete exasperation.

  ‘Please excuse me for continuing to wear my sunglasses. I have been suffering from eye strain...the light, it hurts my eyes,’ he informed her in a deep, dark drawl that was both well-modulated and unexpectedly quiet.

  ‘Won’t you sit down?’ Darcy invited, with an uncharacteristically weak motion of one hand as she forced herself almost clumsily down into a seat

  But then Darcy was in shock. She had hoped he would be either sensible and serious or weak and biddable. Instead she had been presented with a rampantly macho male who roared up on a motorbike and wore trousers so tight she marvelled that he could stand in them, never mind sit down. With what she believed was termed designer stubble on his aggressive jawline, he looked about as domesticated and well-behaved as a sabre-toothed tiger.

  ‘If you will forgive me for saying so...you look at me rather strangely,’ be remarked, further disconcerting her as he lowered himself down with indolent grace onto the small sofa opposite her. ‘Do I remind you of someone, signorina?’

  Darcy stiffened even more with nervous tension, and she was already sitting rigid-backed in the seat. ‘Not at all,’ she asserted with deflating conviction. ‘Now, since I’m afraid I couldn’t read your signature...what is your full name?’

  ‘Let us leave it at Luca for now. The wording of your ad suggested that the employment on offer could be of a somewhat unusual nature,’ he drawled softly. ‘I would like some details before we go any further.’

  Darcy bristled like a cat stroked the wrong way. She was supposed to be interviewing him, not the other way round!

  ‘After all, you have not given me your real name either,’ he pointed out in offensively smooth continuance.

  Darcy’s eyes opened to their fullest extent. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Before I came down here, I checked you out. Your surname is Fielding, not Darcy, and you do not live here in this cottage; you live in the huge mansion at the top of the driveway,’ he enumerated with unabashed cool. ‘You have gone to some trouble to conceal your own identity. Naturally that is a source of concern to me.’

  Stunned by that little speech, Darcy sprang upright and stared down at him in shaken disbelief, her angry bewilderment unconcealed. ‘You checked me out?’

  He lifted a casual brown hand and slowly removed the sunglasses. ‘The light is dim enough in here...’

  He studied her with a curiously expectant quality of intensity.

  And without warning Darcy found herself staring down into lustrous dark eyes fringed by glossy, spiky black lashes. He had the sort of eyes that packed a powerful punch. Gorgeous, she thought in helpless reaction, brilliant and dark as night, impenetrably deep and unreadable. With the sunglasses on he had looked as if he might be pretty good-looking, without them he zoomed up the scale to stunningly handsome, in spite of t
he fact that he badly needed a shave. And she now quite understood that hint of expectancy he betrayed. This was a guy accustomed to basking in female double takes, appreciative stares and inviting smiles.

  But Darcy tensed and took an instantaneous step back, her retreat only halted by the armchair she had vacated. Yet the tiny twisting sensation of sudden excitement she had experienced still curled up deep in the pit of her taut stomach, and then pierced her like a knife with sudden shame. Her colour heightening, Darcy plotted her path out of the way of the armchair behind her, controlled solely by a need to put as much distance as possible between them.

  Throughout that unchoreographed backing away process of hers, she was tracked by narrowed unflinchingly steady dark eyes. ‘Signorina Fielding—’

  ‘Look, you had no right to check me out...’ Darcy folded her arms in a defensive movement. ‘I guaranteed your privacy. Couldn’t you have respected mine?’

  ‘Not without some idea of what I might be getting into. It’s standard business practice to make enquiries in advance of an interview.’

  Darcy tore her frustrated gaze from his. Antipathy darted through her in a blinding wave. With difficulty, she held onto her ready temper. Possibly the reminder had been a timely one. It was, after all, a business proposition she intended to make. And this Luca might think he was clever, but she already knew he had to be as thick as two short planks, didn’t she? Only a complete idiot would turn up for an interview with a woman unshaven and dressed like a Hell’s Angel. A financial advisor? In his dreams! Conservative apparel went with such employment.

  Bolstered by the belief that he could be no Einstein, and rebuking herself for having been intimidated by something as superficial and unimportant as his physical appearance, Darcy sat down again and linked her small hands tightly together on her lap. ‘Right, let’s get down to business, then...’

  The waiting silence lay thick and heavy like a blanket. Settling back into the sofa in a relaxed sprawl of long, seemingly endless limbs, Luca surveyed her with unutterable tranquillity.

  Her teeth gritted. Wondering just how long that laid-back attitude would last, Darcy lifted her chin to a challenging angle. ‘There was a good reason behind the offbeat ad I placed. But before I explain what that reason is, I should mention certain facts in advance. Should you agree to take the position on offer, you would be well paid even though there is no work involved—’

  ‘No work involved?’

  Darcy was soothed at receiving the exact response she had anticipated in that interruption. ‘No work whatsoever,’ she confirmed. ‘While you were living in my home, your time would be your own, and at the end of your employment—assuming that you fulfil the terms to my satisfaction—I would also give you a generous bonus.’

  ‘So what’s the catch?’ Luca prompted very softly. ‘In return you ask me to do something illegal?’

  A mortified flush stained Darcy’s perfect skin. ‘Of course not,’ she rebutted tautly. “The “catch”, if you choose to call it that, is that you would have to agree to marry me for six months!’

  ‘To...marry you?’ Luca stressed the word with a frown of wondering incredulity as he sat forward on the sofa. ‘The employment you offer is...marriage?’

  ‘Yes. It’s really quite simple. I need a man to go through a wedding ceremony with me and behave like a husband for a minimum of six months,’ Darcy extended, with the frozen aspect of a woman forcing herself to refer to an indecent act.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? That’s my business. I don’t think you require that information to make a decision,’ Darcy responded uncomfortably.

  Lush black lashes semi-screened his dark eyes. ‘I don’t understand... Could you explain it again, signorina,’ he urged, in a rather dazed undertone.

  You certainly couldn’t call him mentally agile, Darcy thought ruefully. Having got over the worst, however, she felt stronger, and all embarrassment had left her. He was still sitting there, and why shouldn’t he be? If he was as single as he had said he was, he stood to earn a great deal for doing nothing. She repeated what she had already said and, convinced that the financial aspect would be the greatest persuader of all, she mentioned the monthly salary she was prepared to offer and then the sizeable bonus she would advance in return for his continuing discretion about their arrangement after they had parted.

  He nodded, and then nodded again more slowly, still focusing with a slight frown on the worn carpet at his feet. Maybe the light was annoying his eyes, Darcy decided, struggling to hold onto her irritation at his torpid reactions. Maybe he was just gobsmacked by the concept of being paid to be bone idle. Or maybe he was so shattered by what she had suggested that he hadn’t yet worked out how to respond.

  ‘I would, of course, require references,’ Darcy continued.

  ‘I could not supply references as a husband...’

  Darcy drew in a deep breath of restraint. ‘I’m referring to character references,’ she said drily.

  ‘If you wanted a husband, why didn’t you place an ad in the personal column?’

  ‘I would have received replies from men interested in a genuine and lasting marriage.’ Darcy sighed. ‘It was wiser just to advertise my requirements as a form of employment—’

  ‘Quiet... domesticated... well-behaved.’

  ‘I don’t want someone who’s going to get under my feet or expect me to wait on him hand and foot. Would you say you were self-sufficient?’

  ‘Si...’

  ‘Well, then, what do you think?’ Darcy demanded impulsively.

  ‘I don’t yet know what I think. I wasn’t expecting this kind of proposal,’ he returned gently. ‘No woman has ever asked me to marry her before.’

  ‘I’m not talking about a proper marriage. Obviously we’d separate after the six months was up and get a divorce. By the way, you would also have to sign a pre-nuptial contract,’ Darcy added, because she needed to safeguard the estate from any claim an estranged husband might legitimately attempt to make. ‘That isn’t negotiable.’

  Luca rose gracefully upright. ‘I believe I would need a greater cash inducement to give up my freedom—’

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ Darcy broke in, her tone one of eager reassurance on that point. If he was prepared to consider her proposition, she was keen to accommodate him. ‘I’m prepared to negotiate. If you agree, I’ ll double the original bonus I offered.’

  Disconcertingly, he didn’t react to that impulsive offer. Darcy flushed then, feeling more than a little foolish.

  Veiled dark eyes surveyed her. ‘I’ll think it over. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘The references?’

  ‘I will present them if I decide to accept the...the position.’ As Luca framed the last two words a flash of shimmering gold illuminated his dark eyes. Amusement at the sheer desperation she had revealed in her desire to reach agreement with him? Darcy squirmed at the suspicion.

  ‘I need an answer very soon. I have no time to waste.’

  ‘I’ll give you an answer tomorrow...’ He strode to the door and then he hesitated, throwing her a questioning look over one broad masculine shoulder. ‘It surprises me that you could not persuade a friend to agree to so temporary an arrangement.’

  Darcy stiffened and coloured. ‘In these particular circumstances, I prefer a stranger.’

  ‘A stranger... I can understand that,’ Luca completed in a honey-soft and smooth drawl.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘SO WHAT sort of impression did Lucas make on you?’ Karen demanded, minutes later.

  ‘It’s not Lucas, it’s Luca... My impression?’ Darcy studied her friend with a frowning air of abstraction. ‘That’s the odd thing. I didn’t really get a proper impression—at least not one I could hang onto for longer than five seconds,’ she found herself admitting in belated recognition of the fact. ‘One minute I thought he was all brawn and no brain, and then the next he would come out with something razor-sharp. And towards the end he was as informative as a bri
ck wall.’

  ‘He didn’t accuse you of dragging him down here on false pretences? He didn’t laugh like a drain? Or even ask if you were pulling his leg?’ It was Karen’s turn to look confused.

  Darcy shook her head reflectively. ‘He was very low-key in his reactions, businesslike in spite of the way he was dressed. That made it easier for me. I didn’t get half as embarrassed as I thought I would.’

  ‘Only you could conduct such a weird and loaded interview with a male that gorgeous and not respond on any more personal a level.’

  ‘That kind of man leaves me cold.’ But Darcy’s cheeks warmed as she recalled that humiliating moment when she had reacted all too personally to the sheer male magnetism of those dark good looks.

  Karen’s keen gaze gleamed. ‘He didn’t leave you stone-cold... did he?’

  Cursing her betrayingly fair skin, Darcy strove to continue meeting her friend’s eyes levelly. ‘Karen—’

  ‘Forget it... I can tell a mile off when you’re about to lie through your teeth!’

  Darcy winced. ‘OK...I noticed that Luca was reasonably fanciable—’

  ‘Reasonably fanciable?’ her friend carolled with extravagant incredulity.

  ‘All right.’ Darcy sighed in rueful surrender. ‘He was spectacular...are you satisfied now?’

  ‘Yes. Your indifference to men seriously worries me. Now at least I know that you’re still in the land of the living.’

  Darcy pulled a wry face. ‘With my level of looks and appeal, indifference is by far the safest bet, believe me.’

  Karen compressed her lips and thought with real loathing of all the people responsible for ensuring Darcy had such a low opinion of her own attractions. Her cold and critical father, her vain and sarcastic stepmother, not to mention the rejections her unlucky friend had suffered from the opposite sex during her awkward and vulnerable teen years. Being jilted at the altar and left to raise her child alone had completed the damage.

  And these days Darcy dressed like a scarecrow and made little effort to socialise. Slowly and surely she was turning into a recluse, although the hours she slaved over that wretched house meant that she didn’t know what free time was, Karen conceded grimly. Anyone else confronted with such an immense and thankless challenge would’ve given up and at least sold the furniture by now, but not Darcy. Darcy would starve sooner than see any more of the Folly’s treasures go to auction.