Hunter mused. ‘Did you insult one of the old women, the ones that look like mean English Bulldogs?’
‘Those old women are my grandmother and great-aunt.’
‘Oh, I am sorry. Well, maybe you won’t be quite so wrinkly when you’re older. All is not lost.’ He paused, then pushed on, ‘So they’re family, are they? The plot thickens.’
Rosa took a sip of wine and felt the warmth spreading out from the throat and through her body. It was warming and delicious and already a little intoxicating.
‘I was sent here in disgrace,’ she said eventually.
‘Your family sent you all the way to Italy? You must have done something pretty unsavoury for that amount of distance to be required.’
She supposed getting pregnant before marriage was pretty disgraceful, her mother at least had enough to say on the matter. Rosa was a disgusting harlot, an ungrateful wretch and as bad as a common streetwalker. The strange thing was, despite having been brought up with her mother’s strict set of moral values, Rosa didn’t feel disgusting or unsavoury, and she couldn’t summon anything but warmth for the small life blossoming inside her.
Uninvited tears sprung to her eyes at the thought of the venom in her mother’s voice as she’d told her she never wanted to see Rosa, or her child, ever again. They’d always had a difficult relationship, but the finality of her mother’s goodbye had hurt Rosa more than she would have imagined.
What had hurt even more had been the look of shock on her father’s face when Rosa had admitted her pregnancy. She and her father had always shared a close and loving relationship. It was her father, not her mother, who had played with her as a child, who often would call her into his study so they could spend hours discussing books. So when he’d been unable to rally on hearing the news that his only daughter was expecting a child out of wedlock Rosa had felt her heart rip in two.
Dipping her head, Rosa quickly blinked away the tears. She would not cry in front of a stranger, not about something that could not be changed.
‘I suppose it was unsavoury,’ she said, smiling sadly.
‘The Di Mercurios were meant to look after you?’ Hunter asked and Rosa was glad of his change of direction.
Rosa shrugged. She didn’t know what their instructions had been, but as soon as she had arrived it had been made clear she was not a welcomed guest.
‘They locked me in my room for a month.’
‘And fed you gruel, no doubt.’
She looked at him sharply, wondering if he was mocking her, but saw the joviality that had filled his eyes earlier had gone.
‘Well, sometimes they treated me to stew and a stale piece of bread.’
‘How generous. No wonder you wanted to escape.’
Rosa looked past her host, out over the dark water and to the night beyond and knew she would have put up with the cruelty if it hadn’t been for the threat of losing her child. On one of her daily walks around the grounds a maid had sidled up to her and whispered, ‘Don’t worry, signorina, the family they have chosen are kind and loving. Your little one will be well looked after.’
The girl had risked a beating for just talking to her and the words had meant to be reassuring, but Rosa had felt her heart fill with dread and known there and then she needed to escape. No one would take her child from her. She would fight with every ounce of strength and determination in her body and nothing would keep them apart.
‘So what is the plan, Rosa Rothwell?’ Hunter asked.
‘I will seek passage to England.’
‘Back to the family that sent you here?’
Rosa grimaced. She had no doubt her mother would pack her straight back to Italy the moment she turned up on the doorstep.
‘I have a good friend who will take me in, I just need to get to her.’
Rosa was aware of Hunter’s eyes scrutinising her. He did it brazenly, as if he didn’t even consider it would make her uncomfortable, or he wasn’t concerned if he did. Roaming eyes taking in her every movement, her every expression, making her feel exposed and as if he knew all of her secrets.
‘Time for bed,’ Hunter said abruptly, standing and draining the dregs of wine from his glass.
Rosa was just about to say she would stay on the terrace a while longer when Hunter’s strong arms whisked her up from her seat and carried her over the threshold into the villa.
‘What are you doing?’ Rosa asked indignantly.
‘Taking you to bed.’
‘Put me down.’
He ignored her, manoeuvring round the furniture in a plushly decorated living room before kicking open the door to a bedroom. Quickly he strode into the room and deposited her on the rather inviting four-poster bed.
‘I might not want to go to sleep,’ Rosa said.
Hunter shrugged. ‘You’re here now.’
Rosa clenched her jaw to stop the flow of uncomplimentary phrases that were trying to escape.
‘Only because...’ Rosa began, then stared in surprise as Hunter left the room, closing the door behind him. It was difficult to have an argument with a man who refused to listen half the time.
Rosa nearly struggled to her feet, thinking she would hop back out on to the terrace just to show she couldn’t be ordered around and sent to bed like a child, but her body was already sinking into the soft mattress and freshly laundered sheets. Tomorrow she would stand up to Lord Hunter, tomorrow she would thank him for his assistance but firmly insist she go her own way from now on. Tonight she was going to enjoy the comforts of Lord Hunter’s guest room and rather welcoming bed.
Thomas tossed and turned, throwing the light sheet from his bed with a growl of frustration. It was nearly dawn yet he hadn’t slept for more than a couple of hours and now he felt groggy and unsettled.
Reaching out to the small table beside his bed he picked up the well-read letter, the real reason for his disturbed night. Every time he read the now-familiar words his conscience collided with his more selfish needs and he came away uncertain as to what course of action to take. And if there was one thing Thomas didn’t like it was uncertainty. With a sigh he sat up in bed and started to read again, wondering if he was just punishing himself or hoping for divine inspiration, a new point of view, knowing the words and the pleas would still be the same as all the other times he’d read it.
My darling son,
I hope you are well and are finding what you need to soothe your soul on your travels. It has been three years and eight months since I last set eyes on you—one thousand three hundred and forty-five days since you left. You must know I don’t blame you for leaving—I actively encouraged you to go—but I miss you every minute of every day that you are gone.
I
