what he might read in her eyes. It seemed...wrong to feel that squiggle of strong reaction deep in her feminine core just looking at this man. Despite his words, he was a total stranger to her.
The hands in question were well-cared-for and there was a heavy gold signet on one finger that looked old and expensive.
He came from money, lots of it. She’d guess, based on his ingrained air of command and that ancient ring, he’d probably been born to it.
But she wasn’t. She didn’t know how she knew, but in that moment she was convinced of it.
Her face, when she’d scrutinised it in the bathroom mirror, had been ordinary. Not beautiful or intriguing. Her hair was lank and a shade somewhere between caramel and dirty blonde that surely was too ordinary to have come out of a bottle? Her hands weren’t scarred or rough, but nor were they manicured. And her only jewellery was a pair of tiny gold stud earrings.
She and Pietro Agosti didn’t match. How could they be married?
If it were true, then it must be his child she carried. The idea sent a tumble of unsettling emotion through her.
‘Signora Agosti.’
Her head jerked up at the sound of the doctor’s voice. She opened her mouth to reject the title he’d given her.
That wasn’t her name, was it? And as for being married...
She shot a sideways glance at the tall man standing beside her bed, utterly unmoving. There was something about his stillness that unnerved her. He was waiting for something.
For her to acknowledge him?
Or for her to declare she couldn’t possibly be his wife?
She frowned, the tightness in her head turning into a thump of pain in time with her quickened pulse.
When she winced the doctor bustled forward, murmuring in Italian beneath his breath as he checked her pulse and got her to lie back.
Yet all the time she was aware of Pietro Agosti looming silently beside her, tall, dark and dauntingly handsome. If the doctors hadn’t assured her she’d recover fully physically, she might have wondered in her confused way if he was the Angel of Death come to take her.
She lifted her head and caught him staring. He didn’t look away and she sank into the surprising warmth of his bright gaze.
Heat flared anew, this time not in her cheeks but deep, deep inside. In those female organs where her tiny embryo of a baby was lodged.
Was this the father?
Emotion sliced through her. Excitement or fear?
She settled for disbelief.
‘You’re sure I’m married to this man?’ It didn’t seem likely. Surely he spent his time with gilded socialites, not au pairs?
The doctor’s eyes rounded and he darted an apologetic look at the taller man.
Was Pietro Agosti so important that no one ever questioned him?
A shiver snaked through her. For some reason she hadn’t a hope of identifying, she baulked at the idea of being at his mercy.
His mercy? Surely that wasn’t how a wife thought of her husband?
‘Signora Agosti.’ The doctor’s reassuring tone broke across her thoughts. ‘There was no doubt about the identification. Your husband was able to describe you in perfect detail before he arrived, right down to your appendix scar.’
Which only meant he was intimately acquainted with her body.
A sizzle of sensation prickled her skin. Was it a remnant of memory? The legacy of intimacy with this man? Or anticipation at the idea of him stroking those big hands across her bare skin sometime in the future?
She sneaked another look up at the sombre man beside her. As if on cue his sculpted lips turned up into a smile that would have been soothing, if it hadn’t been for the shadow that looked like calculation in his eyes.
Her throat was gritty as she swallowed. Her eyelids flickered down as she fought off the headache beginning to beat in time with her pulse. It was all too much to take in.
‘Let me assure you that your husband is most respectable and esteemed—’
‘I think that’s enough for now.’ The deep voice with that sexy, husky edge interrupted the doctor’s encomiums. ‘Molly’s obviously too tired for this tonight. It’s all been a shock. Maybe we should leave her to rest.’
He was going?
Her eyes snapped open as fear hurtled through her.
What if he left and didn’t come back?
What if he left her alone again, like an unclaimed piece of luggage?
What if, tomorrow, this proved to be a dream? If there was no one who knew who she really was?
Reason told her that wouldn’t happen. He’d identified her and the hospital staff would know how to reach this man who was so well-regarded and respectable.
Yet the well of fear that had threatened to suck her down for days swirled anew. She couldn’t face the idea of being abandoned here again.
‘No! Please, don’t go!’
There was a flash of something in those uncanny eyes but this time it looked like sympathy.
‘Perhaps, doctor, you might give us some time alone together? I know there’s paperwork to complete. I’ll see you after Molly and I have spoken.’
‘Of course. Yes, an excellent idea.’ The doctor clearly didn’t mind being dismissed. Which told her he was either glad to hand her over to someone else or that Pietro Agosti was a VIP with considerable influence. The medico nodded to Molly, assured her all would be well and left the room.
Now, alone with the man who said he was her husband, her relief dissipated. But instead of towering over her any longer he reached for a visitor’s chair and sat by the bed.
‘That’s better. Now you don’t have to crane to look up at me.’
His mouth crinkled up at one corner in the smallest of smiles but this time, for reasons she didn’t understand, she felt a tug of response. Her lips twitched and her taut muscles eased a little. It was only now that she realised her shoulders had crept up towards her ears and her hands had curled into taut fists. She looked down and smoothed her hands across the bedspread.
* * *
She looked so damnably pale. Fragile in a way he hadn’t expected, even when he’d heard about her injuries. He’d come immediately, riding a wave of shock and relief at the news that she’d been found.
Something inside Pietro stretched tight and hard, tension twanging like a plucked string. His chest squeezed as he read the pain etched in Molly’s tired eyes.
One
