back to the curricle,’ he said as her sobs died down.
‘I don’t know—’ she started to say, but Thomas interrupted her with a shake of his head.
‘I’m not a man who is used to having his requests refused,’ he said in an overly serious tone and felt supremely satisfied when Rosa broke into a smile. It was small and uncertain, but a smile all the same.
Giving her his arm to lean upon, Thomas led her back, placed his arms around her waist and lifted her easily back into the seat.
‘No running off whilst I climb up.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Rosa said as he took his place beside her. ‘I never cry.’
‘Half a day in my company and already you’re breaking habits of a lifetime.’
‘It’s just so frustrating, so completely unfair. Every person who has found out about my predicament has expected me to give my child up. To be thankful for the suggestion that a nice family could raise my baby and no one will ever know.’
The thought had crossed his mind, and although that hadn’t been the question he’d asked, it had been the answer he’d been expecting.
‘So what are you going to do?’
Rosa took a deep breath, raised her chin and straightened her back. ‘I will raise my child myself.’
It was an admirable idea, but not an easy one to fulfil.
As soon as the words had passed her lips Rosa deflated again, her chin dropping closer to her chest and her eyes focused on the ground beneath them as if searching for answers there.
Thomas thought of all the arguments against her plans, thought of all the struggles she would face raising a child alone. It wasn’t so much her practical ability to care for and love a child he doubted, or the fact that she would be raising it without a father—many women raised large families after they were widowed. No, the struggle for Rosa would be how she would be shunned and hounded from society. Right now she might not think she cared about other ladies gossiping and pointing, snubbing her in the street and not inviting her to any of the social events of the year, but Thomas knew too well how lonely solitude could be. It would be a miserable existence.
‘I know,’ Rosa said softly. ‘You don’t have to tell me how difficult it will be. I will be an outcast, even my child might be an outcast, but I believe that love can make up for all of that. And I will love this baby much more than any family paid to take him or her.’
He nodded mutely. Who was he to disagree with her, his choices hadn’t exactly been well thought out or well reasoned these past few years. After his father’s and brother’s deaths he’d more or less fled the country. He’d been halfway to France before he’d even stopped and thought about his decisions. If Rosa wanted to return to England to find a way to raise her child, then he had no business judging her.
* * *
Rosa wondered if he was judging her and then realised she didn’t much care. It was true, she had thought of all the drawbacks to raising her child herself, but every single negative point was outweighed by the overwhelming love she already felt for the small life inside her.
‘Do you think you’ll ever go back?’ Rosa asked, trying to change the focus of their conversation back to Lord Hunter.
‘To England?’ For a few moments he looked off into the distance as if he were deep in thought. ‘I have a mother,’ he said eventually.
Rosa laughed, she couldn’t help herself. ‘We all have mothers.’
Hunter sighed. ‘Mine is particularly loving and understanding.’
‘How awful for you,’ Rosa murmured, thinking of her own mother’s parting words to her. They had not been kind.
‘She’s lonely, rattling round in our big old house, and she’s asked me to go home.’
‘Will you?’
‘She hasn’t asked a single thing of me since...’ He paused for a moment. ‘Since I left England.’
‘You might find you enjoy being back home, surrounded by the people who know and love you.’
Hunter grimaced, as if the idea was completely unpalatable. Rosa wondered if there was something else that made him reluctant to go home. All his talk of restlessness, of wanting to see the world and discover new places, was all very well, but she was astute enough to know it was a pile of lies. Hunter might feel all of that, but it wasn’t the reason he was so unsettled, so reluctant to return home, Rosa could see it in his eyes. Something much bigger was keeping him away.
She was just settling back on to the seat of the curricle, making herself comfortable for the rest of the journey ahead when a movement to the side of the road caught her eye. She leaned forward, peering into the undergrowth to see whether it was some sort of animal or a person loitering where they shouldn’t be.
‘Alt!’ a man shouted in Italian as he jumped from the bushes in front of the curricle. Halt.
Hunter didn’t have many options. It was either rein in the horses or trample the tattily dressed young man.
Rosa felt her heart begin to pound in her chest and she had to keep her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling. She didn’t recognise the man standing in front of the restless horses, but he must be there for her. In her month-long imprisonment in the Di Mercurios’ villa she hadn’t laid eyes on this man, but she had learnt that the Di Mercurio family was vast and the number of young men she could call cousin reached well into double figures. This must surely be some relation come to take her back.
Just as Rosa was about to grab hold of the reins and urge the horses forward she saw the pistol in the man’s hand and paused for a second. Not because of the gun, not really. Of course the man could aim and fire and hit one of them, but hitting a moving target was difficult and she reckoned they had a good chance of getting away without injury to either of them. Rosa paused because of the strip of fabric covering the lower half of the man’s face, as if he didn’t want to be recognised.
‘Don’t move or I will shoot the lady,’ another voice came from behind the curricle.
Rosa spun round and saw three more men similarly attired.
She glanced at Hunter, saw the expressions of irritation and disbelief flit over his face before it settled back to a stony, unreadable façade.
‘Sorry, gentlemen, I don’t speak Italian,’ Hunter said, in an exaggerated, loud voice. ‘English.’
Rosa frowned. She knew he spoke Italian, or at least she thought he did. She opened her mouth to translate for him and got a sharp dig in the ribs from his elbow. Quickly she closed her mouth again and moved a little closer to Hunter. She wasn’t going to succeed in escaping from the Di Mercurios only to be killed by bandits on a dusty Italian road.
‘Denaro!’ the chief bandit shouted, then slowly, working his mouth around the unfamiliar word, ‘Money!’
The three bandits from behind the curricle edged closer.
‘I’m afraid I don’t carry much with me,’
