Distaste burned but maybe she didn’t have the luxury of saying no any more. If she sold her story she’d get enough to start fresh. Hadn’t she earned the right to profit after the terrible price she’d paid?
Maybe if she co-operated they’d leave her alone and she could pretend to be the woman she’d been before.
And pigs might fly. The press would never let her go whilst there was a story to be sold. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, imagining lurid revelations about her attempts to live a normal life. Shocked reactions from neighbours when they discovered a killer living in their midst.
It would never end. Not for years.
She snapped open her eyes and glared as Domenico looked down his aristocratic nose at her.
A silent howl of despair rose. She’d wanted to trust him. She’d begun to open up, to believe he cared.
‘Perhaps I could canvass the other media outlets and see what they’re offering.’
His scowl was a balm to her lacerated feelings. Let him stew!
‘You haven’t already done that? Isn’t that why you spend so long on the computer? Negotiating the best deal?’
‘Actually, no. But of course you won’t believe me.’
He leaned across the table, his eyes flashing daggers. ‘If you haven’t contacted the press, how do they know where you are?’
Lucy shoved her chair back and stood.
‘Perhaps they took an educated guess,’ she purred. ‘Since they knew I was at your palazzo it wouldn’t take much to suppose I’d be at one of your properties. Maybe they’ve written to me at each one. Who knows? Maybe this is the first of a flurry of offers.’ She smiled, injecting saccharine sweetness into her tone. ‘A bidding war. Wouldn’t that be fun?’
He looked as if he wanted to strangle her with his bare hands. They clenched into massive fists before him.
Lucy’s bravado ended as she recalled the stroke of those hands across her body. He’d touched her as if she were the most precious thing on earth.
She’d felt precious, desirable, special.
She forced down welling pain.
‘Here.’ She slowed as she walked past, letting the letter flutter to his lap. ‘See what the opposition is offering. Maybe you’ll increase your bid.’
Lucy strode out of the door before nausea engulfed her.
* * *
‘Excuse me, boss. Have you seen Chiara?’
Domenico looked up from his email to find Rocco at the door, concern etched on his face.
‘Isn’t she with Lucy? They spend half the day together.’
‘Chiara said Miss Lucy couldn’t play today. She said she looked upset.’ He paused and Domenico’s stomach dipped. A finger of guilt slid across his neck as he remembered the pain he’d seen on Lucy’s face when he’d confronted her.
After what they’d shared yesterday, and in light of what they’d almost shared, her anguish had been a knife to his gut. It made him feel like a jerk. Even though he was trying to protect his family, he’d been in the wrong.
Maybe because his anger wasn’t about protecting his nephew but himself? Because he’d overreacted when he’d seen her correspondence as he’d felt his illusions shatter?
Lucy Knight got under his skin as no other woman. He’d lashed out because emotion had overridden his brain.
Certainty had become doubt. But was it because he wanted her for himself or because she was innocent? He circled again and again round the puzzling truths he’d discovered about her.
She had him so confounded he didn’t know what to believe. He’d felt so betrayed this morning, discovering he couldn’t rely on his instincts where she was concerned.
Then he’d read the letter and realised she’d told the truth. The magazine had taken a chance on finding her here.
He’d been boorish and in the wrong. The knowledge didn’t sit well.
‘Chiara didn’t come in for lunch.’ Rocco interrupted his troubled musings.
‘That’s not like her.’ Domenico frowned, anxiety stirring.
‘No. She hasn’t been seen in any of her usual haunts for hours. I’m just about to search for her.’
‘Where’s Lucy?’ Domenico shoved his chair back.
‘She’s already searching.’
* * *
Most of the staff was scouring the shoreline, though no one had voiced their deepest fears, that Chiara had got out of her depth in the water. Domenico strode along the path at the wilderness end of the island, knowing someone had to check the less obvious places. That was how he ran into Lucy. Literally. She catapulted around a curve in the track and into his arms.
Domenico grasped her close. The summer sun lit her hair to gold and he inhaled her sweet fragrance. Yesterday he’d imprinted her body on his memory and now he didn’t want to let her go. Crazy at it seemed, it felt as if she belonged there against him.
‘Please,’ she gasped, her hand splaying against his chest. It trembled. ‘Please, help me.’
‘Lucy?’ He tilted her head up. ‘What is it?’
She was breathless, barely able to talk. Her cheeks were flushed and there was dirt smeared across her cheek as if she’d fallen. Domenico tensed.
‘Is it Chiara?’
She nodded. ‘Up ahead.’ She grabbed his shirt as he made to go. ‘No! Wait.’ She gulped in air and he forced himself to wait till she could speak.
‘You’ll be faster than me. We need rope and a torch. A medical kit too.’
‘The well?’ His heart plunged into a pool of icy fear.
‘No. A sinkhole. I found her hair ribbon on the edge of it and some marbles.’
Domenico’s breath stopped. If she’d been playing too close to the edge and then leaned in...
‘I’ll go and check it out.’
Lucy shook her head, her hands clutching like talons. ‘No! I’ve done that. There’s no sound from below. We need a rope to reach her. Every minute counts. Please, trust me on this.’ He read her desperation.
He thought of the way she’d cared for Chiara as they played together, and her careful nurturing of Taddeo all those years ago.
He couldn’t waste precious time. He had to trust her judgement. A second later he was gone, pounding down the dusty path to the villa.
When he returned, laden with supplies, Lucy had disappeared. He found her half a kilometre on, at the edge of the narrow hole. She was leaning down, talking. As he sprinted to her he realised she was telling a story about a brave princess called Chiara who was rescued in her hour of need.
‘She’s spoken to you?’ He shrugged off the rope looped across his shoulder and put down the medical kit.
Lucy’s face was solemn. ‘No. But I thought if she comes to and hears a familiar voice she won’t be so scared.’ Her mouth was white-rimmed and she blinked hard. Domenico squeezed her shoulder.
‘Thank you, Lucy. That’s a great idea.’ He wasn’t sure he’d have thought of it.
‘Where are the others?’ She looked beyond him.
‘Still at the shore. They’ll be here soon. Chiara’s grandmother will have got the message to them by now.’ He