by Annie West
‘But they were wrong. See?’ Pia undid the bracelet and held it out.
Lucy couldn’t bring herself to touch it. Instead Domenico took it and laid it across his broad palm, revealing the engraved lettering on the back: To my beloved Pia, light of my life. Always, Sandro.
‘I don’t understand.’ Lucy’s head whirled.
Domenico passed the bracelet back.
‘Sandro had commissioned a matching set but only had the necklace the night he was killed. According to the maker, when he came to collect them he decided to have the inscription engraved on the bracelet, but he didn’t want to wait to give the necklace to Pia. He took it and said he’d be back for the second piece. When he didn’t return and the artisan discovered he’d died, he didn’t know what to do with the bracelet. He had no idea of its significance to the case. He thought of removing the inscription and selling it on, but was superstitious enough to think it might bring bad luck.’
‘Why didn’t your brother wait for both pieces?’
‘Because of me.’ It was Pia who spoke. The glow of happiness dimmed and her features were sharp with pain.
‘I wasn’t...well.’ Her eyes met Lucy’s before shifting away. ‘I didn’t know at the time. It wasn’t till after that night, much later, that Domenico arranged for me to get help.’ She swallowed and Lucy felt sympathy surge for the other woman’s obvious pain.
‘I...’ Pia paused and dragged in a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t myself after Taddeo was born. I was...troubled.’ She worked the bracelet on her wrist. ‘I was so miserable I accused Sandro of not caring for me and of infidelity.’
Guilt-filled eyes rose to meet Lucy’s.
Lucy remembered how difficult and moody Pia had been all those years ago. How she hadn’t liked it when Lucy could calm little Taddeo so easily, and how she’d jumped to conclusions when she’d found Lucy and her husband talking together. Poor Sandro had been worried about his wife and son, checking with Lucy about his concerns. He’d been torn between placating his wife and getting help for what Lucy thought could be Pia’s severe depression.
‘At the trial I said things about you and Sandro.’ Pia sucked in a shaky breath. ‘Things I believed at the time, but things that looking back I realise I didn’t know.’
Like stating emphatically that Lucy had been Sandro’s lover, saying under oath she’d found them in compromising positions.
‘It wasn’t till Domenico came to me with his news, and this—’ she looked at her bracelet ‘—that I realised what I’d done.’ She paused. ‘Sandro and I met in spring, you see. For all his money, Sandro courted me with primroses and forget-me-nots. When he ordered this he was trying to remind me of those early days when we were happy. He was bringing the necklace to me that night, not you. It must have fallen from his pocket when he...when he...’
Lucy leaned across and touched the other woman’s hand. ‘Your husband must have loved you very much. It was there in his face whenever he mentioned you.’
Pia’s eyes filled but she smiled. ‘I know that now. But at the time I was so unhappy. That’s why I said those things—’
‘It’s all right, truly.’ Even at eighteen Lucy had understood enough to realise Pia hadn’t deliberately slandered her. She’d been hysterical with grief and misery, falling easily into supporting Bruno’s damning evidence that tied so well with her own imaginings. He’d painted Lucy as an immoral opportunist, no doubt feeding Pia’s worst fears. ‘I’m sure it made no difference to the case.’
‘You think so?’
No. Lucy wasn’t certain. She’d seen the court moved by the beautiful grieving widow. But pity was stronger now than any desire for revenge. Pia’s regret was genuine, as was her joy at rediscovering her husband’s love.
Would Lucy ever know love like that? Her heart squeezed.
‘I know it,’ she murmured.
‘Thank you.’ Pia took her hand. ‘That means a lot.’
A third hand joined theirs. Then Pia’s touch dropped away as she sat back in her seat and Domenico’s fingers threaded through Lucy’s. Warmth spread from his touch. Not the fire of physical desire but something more profound.
Was he congratulating himself on the reconciliation? One step closer to the day he could wash his hands of his obligation to her?
He looked up at the antique clock above the mantelpiece then rose, tugging her to her feet. ‘Come on, ladies. It’s time we left.’
Pia rose and reached for a gossamer-fine wrap. It was left to Lucy to ask, ‘Where are we going?’
‘To the opera, then supper.’ He tucked her hand into his elbow. ‘We have a reservation at Rome’s premier restaurant.’
‘But the press! They’ll see—’
‘They will indeed,’ he murmured. ‘They’ll see that far from shunning you, you’re our guest. It will prime them for more news to come.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘IT’S NOT AS bad as I expected.’
Lucy’s murmured comment made Domenico smile.
He surveyed the ultra modern restaurant that was Rome’s latest A-list haunt and thought of the other women he could have brought here. Women who’d toy with the exquisitely prepared food while making the most of the chance to see and be seen. Who’d have spent the day getting ready to come here.
By contrast he’d had to force Lucy into her glamorous new clothes. She shunned the avid gazes sent their way, concentrating on her food with an unfashionable enjoyment that would endear her to the chef.
‘I’m glad you think having supper with me isn’t too much of a burden.’
Her gaze darted to his face and her lips quirked in the first genuine smile he’d had from her all night. He couldn’t believe how good it felt, seeing that. He’d even wondered, for about half a minute, if he’d done the wrong thing, thrusting her into the limelight again.
Earlier at the opera with Pia, Lucy had stood stiffly as they mingled in the foyer, sipping champagne and chatting with the many acquaintances who’d approached them. The three of them had been a magnet for attention. Yet only he, holding Lucy close, knew what it cost her to appear at ease in the glittering crowd. She’d projected a calm, slightly aloof air that fitted the setting perfectly and she’d held her own with a poise that made him proud.
She truly was a remarkable woman.
‘If you’re fishing for compliments you’re out of luck, Signor Volpe.’ But her eyes sparkled. ‘It’s not you I was worried about. It was everyone else.’
‘You handled them beautifully.’
She laid her spoon down and licked a stray curl of chocolate from her upper lip. Desire twisted in Domenico’s belly, sharp and powerful, and he sucked in his breath.
She aroused him so easily. Each time he had her he wanted her again. Every day he needed more, not less.
How long would it take to have his fill?
‘You handled them beautifully, not me. No one dared say anything outrageous with you beside me. But they wondered what was going on.’
Domenico spread his hands. ‘Of course they wondered. What do we care for that? Tonight is about making it clear the Volpes accept you. That’s why Pia came to the opera. If we champion you, who in society will deny you?’
‘It’s not Roman high society I’m worried about. It’s everyone else. The press, for a start.’ She reached for her water glass and drank deeply. It was the only outward sign that she wasn’t completely at ease.
‘Let me take care of the press, Lucy.’ Strange how he found himself deliberately using her name so often. As if he got pleasure from its taste on his tongue.
‘Don’t you see?’ She leaned forward, face earnest. ‘You can ward them off with your bodyguards. But when I’m on my own it will be different. They’ll bay for my blood even more than before.’
Domenico covered her hand. ‘It will be all right. You just need to be patient. If all turns out as I intend, soon you won’t have to worry about the press.’
The media would have another victim in its sights. Th
ere’d be a spike of interest in Lucy as victim, rather than criminal, but eventually it would die down.
Triumph filled him. After weeks of intense work, they were on the brink of success.
This particular success brought a satisfaction greater than any business coup. Because his pleasure in this was personal.
It would salve his battered conscience, clearing Lucy’s name. The Volpe family would pay its debt by redressing the wrong done her. More specifically, it would be some small recompense for the way he’d rejected her out of hand.
But there was more. He’d been surprised at how tonight’s meeting between Pia and Lucy had affected him. How he’d felt both women’s pain.
He’d always thought Pia over-emotional and needy. Now he realised her belief in Sandro’s betrayal had fed that neediness. She really had loved his brother. Believing Sandro no longer loved her had undermined her fragile self-worth. Now perhaps she could face the world with a little more confidence.
As for Lucy—he watched her watching him from under lowered lashes and his hold tightened possessively. It might have been responsibility, obligation and guilt driving him to clear her name. But he wasn’t just acting out of duty.
He felt good, knowing Lucy would be in a better place when this was over.
In the past he’d confined his philanthropy to large charitable donations. Maybe in future he’d take a more hands-on role. He’d discovered he enjoyed righting wrongs and seeing justice done.
But there was another, more personal dimension to this—an undercurrent that flowed deeper and stronger than any do-gooder intentions.
Domenico stroked his thumb across Lucy’s palm and felt her shiver. Her lips parted. He wanted to kiss her with all the pent up passion he kept in check.
But he preferred privacy for what he had in mind.
He stroked her palm again, this time drawing his finger past her wrist and along her forearm, watching with satisfaction the tiny telltale signs of her pleasure.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
He loved the way her voice dropped to that husky note when she was aroused.
‘Nothing.’
He looked up and her sultry gaze caught him. His heart thudded and urgency filled him.
‘Liar,’ she whispered. ‘I know your game.’
‘Good.’ He drew her from her seat. ‘Then you won’t mind leaving the rest of your dessert.’
She leaned forward so her breath feathered his cheek. ‘Not if you’re offering something better.’ She turned, collected her shimmering evening bag and headed towards the door with a slow, sexy sway that drew every male gaze.
Domenico was torn between appreciation and dog-in-the-manger jealousy that she flaunted herself in front of others.
In mere weeks she’d blossomed from artless innocent to a siren who turned him into a slavering idiot.
She really was remarkable.
Eyes glued to her, he summoned a waiter and had the bill put on his account.
He smiled as she slowed to wait for him at the door.
What more could he want from life? He had the anticipation of success, the satisfied glow that came from redressing past wrongs, and the bonus of Lucy in his bed.
Life was excellent.
* * *
It was over breakfast that news came.
Lucy was enjoying a platter of summer fruit when she heard Domenico on the phone. She looked up as he entered the room. Their eyes met and, as ever, her skin tingled.
‘I see,’ Domenico said into the phone, his eyes dark with secrets. Images of their loving last night surfaced and she felt an unfamiliar blush rise.
Last night had been...phenomenal. She tried to tell herself it was just reaction, having survived the evening without falling in a heap or being accosted as a criminal. But she knew the magic came from far deeper feelings.
The efforts Domenico went to in order to clear her name were amazing. She owed him a debt she could never repay. He’d achieved more in a few short weeks, with his discovery of the jewellery, than the police had. Presumably because they’d been only too ready to accept Bruno’s evidence and blame the outsider—her.
More, he was the one who’d cracked open the brittle shell she’d built to separate herself from the world. It was scary being without it, but wonderful too. These last weeks had been crammed with precious pleasures she’d remember all her life.
She looked away from those penetrating grey eyes.
If only she could feel simply gratitude. But she felt far more. Domenico touched her deep inside. He’d changed her for ever.
‘When did this happen?’ He paused and Lucy’s head jerked up at his tone. ‘Excellent. You’ve done well.’ A smile split his face and Lucy caught her breath.
Domenico put the phone down and sat, looking smug.
‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Even as she spoke something tempered her impatience, an atavistic fear of upsetting the good life they shared. Tension scrolled down her spine, like a premonition of cold, hard change to come.
‘Good news. The best news.’
Yet, unaccountably, Lucy felt that tension eddying deep inside. Slowly she wiped her fingers on a linen napkin.
Domenico raised his eyebrows as if expecting her to burst into speech.
‘The police have taken Bruno Scarlatti in for questioning in the light of new evidence. They’re reviewing the investigation into Sandro’s death.’
Lucy’s heart pounded. ‘New evidence?’
‘Remember Scarlatti had an alibi for the time of Sandro’s death? A colleague who claimed to have been with him on the other side of the palazzo?’
‘How could I forget?’ Lucy clasped her hands together, old bitterness welling.
‘That colleague has come forward, saying he’d got the times wrong. He was with Bruno fifteen minutes earlier rather than at the time of the killing, as he said. There was always forensic evidence Bruno had been in the room but only your word for it he’d been there before Sandro died, not just later.’
‘The witness admitted to lying?’ It seemed too good to be true.
Domenico shrugged. ‘He was young. Bruno was his mentor and friend. He thought he was doing him a favour, giving an alibi for a crime he couldn’t believe Bruno committed.’
‘You know a lot about this.’ Lucy felt strangely disconnected from the news, as if it affected someone else.
‘Rocco tracked the witness down and filled him in on Bruno’s record since then.’
‘He’s got a record?’ That was news.
‘A conviction for assault and a string of complaints. Plus dismissal for questionable behaviour.’
Lucy sat back, her mind awhirl at the implications. ‘You did all this.’ It boggled her mind.
She waited for elation to hit.
‘It was nothing. I had the resources to uncover the truth, that’s all.’
Lucy shook her head, her heartbeat loud as a drum. ‘It’s more than anyone else did.’
‘But I knew the truth. That made it easier.’ He reached out and took her hand. His felt hard and capable. She looked into his eyes and read satisfaction there. The satisfaction of a man who’d solved a puzzle no one else had. The satisfaction of a man who’d achieved justice, no matter how belated. Who’d restored his family honour by redressing the injustice done in their name.
She slid her hand from his grip and laced her fingers together in her lap.
Dazed, she grappled with what he’d told her. She’d be able to reclaim her good name. It was what she’d longed for and fought for all this time.
Yet instead of euphoria, a sense of anticlimax enveloped her. It all seemed too...easy.
‘So you threw resources at it and hey presto, the truth is revealed?’ She couldn’t hide her bitterness. ‘If only the police had done that in the first place—really listened and investigated thoroughly...’ She shook her head, a wave of anger and frustration engulfing her. ‘Five years of my life gone. Five years in hell.’
&nbs
p; When Lucy looked up it was to see Domenico’s grim expression.
‘You’re right. It should never have happened like this. Can you forgive me?’
She frowned. ‘Forgive you? I’m talking about the way the investigators latched on to Bruno’s evidence and didn’t want to hear anything against it because he was one of them, ex-police.’
Domenico’s mouth tightened. ‘If I’d taken time to hear you out instead of assuming your guilt it would have been different.’ His shoulders rose and fell in a massive shrug that spoke of regret and pain.
Suddenly she saw him clearly, right to the shadows in his soul. He expected her condemnation.
So it was true, his actions had been driven by guilt all this time. She sucked in a breath, trying to find calm.
Domenico was many things but, she knew now, he wasn’t responsible for her conviction. That notion had been a sop to her anger and pride in the dark days when she’d needed it most.
She didn’t need it now. She’d held on to anger and cynicism for too long and she didn’t like the woman it had made her.
‘Don’t talk like that.’ Her voice was husky. ‘You’re the man proving my innocence.’
‘But too late. I should have—’
‘No, Domenico.’ She raised her hand. ‘It devastated me when you cut me loose but it didn’t make a difference to the trial. It hurt.’ She faced him squarely, letting him read the truth. ‘But that’s all. No one could blame you for doubting me in the face of the other evidence.’
For a long moment searching grey eyes held hers. ‘You’re some woman, Lucy Knight. Thank you.’
She smiled, though her heart wasn’t in it.
She told herself this was the beginning of the rest of her life, the beginning she’d wanted so long, but with it came sadness that her dad hadn’t survived to see her innocence proven. And welling dismay over what this meant for her and Domenico.
