Well, she was sorry enough herself about that fact, Holly conceded miserably. She had devastated the parents who loved her by giving birth to a baby outside marriage. When she had finally admitted that she was pregnant her father had cried. As long as Holly lived she knew she would never, ever forget the sight of her father crying…or her own sick sense of guilt and bitter shame.
Her eyes swimming with tears at that painful recollection, and lost as she was in her own thoughts, Holly did not even notice that she was approaching a junction. Staring blankly ahead of her, accustomed to the noisy flow of traffic down the main road as a background, she was equally unaware of the lights of a car coming from her right.
The sudden steep drop of the pavement down onto the road took her by surprise and sent the overladen buggy lurching off-balance. As she made a frantic effort to right it, the scream of car tyres striving to brake to a halt alerted her to the danger that she and Timmie were in. In the split-second at her disposal Holly thrust Timmie’s buggy away from her with all her might in the desperate hope that it would carry him out of the car’s path to safety. But her own shaken attempt to make it back up onto the pavement was doomed as her heels hit the kerb and she lost her footing. Falling backwards, she felt a sickening explosion of pain at the base of her skull and then blackness folded in and she knew no more.
Rio Lombardi leapt out of the limousine. ‘Did we hit her?’ he demanded.
‘No!’ Ezio, who could move at the speed of light when required, was already retrieving the buggy and drawing it back from the other side of the road to a safer resting place.
‘I didn’t hit her…I saw her; I was already slowing down. But she walked out into the road without looking and just fell over!’ Rio’s chauffeur exclaimed over the top of the driver’s door, his attention lodged in horror on the still figure lying in the path of the headlights.
‘Call an ambulance…a private one from the foundation hospital; it’ll be faster,’ Rio instructed harshly, his tone of command pronounced to steady his companions.
He crouched down on the road and lifted a limp wrist to feel for a pulse, drawing in a slow deep breath of relief when he found what he sought. Although her skin felt frighteningly cold to his touch, she was alive. ‘She’s not dead…’ Springing upright again, he peeled off his suit jacket and bent down to carefully drape it over her, surveying the face of the unconscious victim for the first time. ‘Dio mio…she’s little more than a child!’
A very pretty child too, Rio found himself conceding, scanning that delicate bone-structure and the mass of bronze-coloured ringlets rioting round her small head, their vibrant colour only serving to accentuate her pallor. ‘What is she doing out with a baby at this hour? Did you see what she did for the baby? She was ready to sacrifice her own life to give it a chance—’
‘She’s probably its mother, boss,’ Ezio suggested, lowering his mobile phone, having made the requested call for immediate medical attendance at the scene. ‘It’s depressing, but kids are giving birth to kids all the time these days.’
Rio found himself strangely reluctant to accept that opinion. After a second, lengthier appraisal, he was prepared to concede that the girl could possibly be seventeen or eighteen years old. But she looked so innocent and untouched, and he had already noticed that she wore no rings. Ezio stooped to retrieve his employer’s jacket.
‘What are you doing?’ Rio demanded.
‘I got your overcoat from the car, boss. It’ll keep her warmer. There’s no point you catching pneumonia.’ Ezio had to pitch his voice higher to be heard above the noisy sobs now emanating from the depths of the covers heaped on the buggy.
‘I’m OK. I wish we could risk moving her into the limo. Giovanni…you’re a family man; comfort the child,’ Rio urged his other bodyguard as he accepted the overcoat from Ezio but chose to lay it gently over the top of his suit jacket to provide an extra layer of warmth for the girl. ‘She’s frozen through.’
‘Timmie…?’ Her head pounding fit to burst, Holly surfaced and with a heroic effort raised her head, reacting to the sound of her son’s cries. Not a pain cry though, only an anxious cry, she recognised in instant relief. ‘My baby?’
Rio gazed down into huge anxious eyes as disconcertingly blue as a Tuscan midsummer sky. ‘Your baby’s fine. Lie still. An ambulance is on its way—’
‘I can’t go to hospital…I’ve got Timmie to take care of!’ Initially bemused by that deep dark drawl with its unexpected liquid foreign accent larding every syllable, Holly was startled when the man dropped down on a level with her and pressed on her shoulder to prevent her from lifting herself higher.
Mouth running dry, she stared up at him just as he turned his arrogant dark head away, presenting her with his bold profile and the impossibly smooth, proud lines of a high cheekbone to address someone else out of her view. ‘Have you contacted the police yet?’
‘No police…please,’ Holly broke in shakily. ‘Are you the bloke that was in the car?’
In silent response, he turned back to nod in confirmation, regarding her with dramatic dark golden eyes which could have turned a saint into a sinner overnight.
Shaken by that abstracted thought, Holly said, ‘We don’t need the police or an ambulance. I’m all right. I tripped and knocked myself out for a second…that’s all—’
‘Have you any family…a boyfriend I can contact on your behalf?’ he prompted, very much as if she hadn’t spoken.
Even though it hurt, she turned her head away in self-protection. ‘Nobody.’
‘There’s got to be somebody. A friend, a relative, surely?’ he persisted.
‘Well, maybe you’re coming down with them but I’ve got nobody,’ she muttered in a voice that wobbled in spite of all her efforts to control it.
Rio studied her in frustration. She wasn’t a Londoner. She had a pronounced country brogue with rounded vowel sounds but he could not place it, although he had a vague recollection of once hearing an exaggerated version of a similar accent in a stage comedy. First things first, he reminded himself. ‘What age are you?’
‘Twenty. I don’t want the police…do you hear me?’ Fear made her strident and she began to sit up in spite of the sick whirling sensation that engulfed her the moment she moved. If she went into hospital, the police would call in the authorities to take charge of Timmie and he would be put in a foster home.
When she swayed backwards, Rio shot a supportive arm round her narrow spine. ‘You must have medical attention. I promise you that you will not be parted from your child.’
‘How? How can you promise that?’ she gasped.
The ambulance pulled in, all flashing lights and efficiency, and the paramedics took over, forcing him into retreat.
‘Timmie!’ Holly exclaimed in panic as she was moved onto the stretcher.
Rio strode forward. ‘I’ll follow you to the hospital with him—’
Holly realised that he was asking her to trust him with her son. ‘I don’t know you—’
‘But we know him.’ For some reason, the paramedic who had spoken chuckled with decided amusement.
