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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.
Chapter Three (#ubd57f08c-9d83-5f2f-9c3a-fa00c677f409)
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 am keeping as well as can be expected. My friends ask when I will come out of mourning...when I will start to move on. They don’t understand what it is like to lose a husband and a son. I don’t think anyone does, apart from you.
Ever since you left I have tried to be patient, tried to allow you to grieve and come to terms with the uncertain future in your own way. You know I have never pressured you to return, never pushed your responsibilities or the estate’s need for a master. I truly hoped you would find peace on your travels, revel in new experiences and return to me with a renewed passion for life, but three years and eight months is a long time to wait and now I want my son home.
I’m lonely, Thomas. I’m surrounded by friends, by extended family, by servants I have known for half my life, but without you it all seems empty. So I have decided to be selfish. I know you have lost a father and a brother, and I know you’ve needed to come to terms with a possibly cruel and difficult future, but now I ask that you think of me.
Come home to me. Fill the house with laughter once again. Allow yourself to think about the future, to hope. A wife and child might be too much to ask, I know that, but please consider returning home and taking up your birthright.
I live in hope that I might embrace you in my arms one day soon.
Your loving mother
He wanted to put the letter out of his mind, to forget the hurt and loneliness that must have triggered his mother to write in this way after allowing him to fulfil his own wanderlust for nearly four years without a word of protest. She had been the one who’d encouraged him to leave in the first place, who’d urged him to travel and experience a bit of the world so he would have no regrets about his own life. Thomas knew soon he would have to return to England, return to the memories and the half-empty family home. He was not cold-hearted enough to refuse a direct plea from his mother.
A swim, that was what he needed, a bracing and refreshing start to the new day. Maybe then he could find it in himself to start planning the long journey back home. Thomas jumped out of bed, grabbed a towel and tucked it loosely around his waist. He padded barefoot through the villa, resolutely not looking at the closed door to the guest room, and out on to the terrace. Even though the sun’s rays were just beginning to filter over the horizon Thomas could already feel the heat in the air. It would be another scorching day, the type that sometimes made him long for the cool breezes and cloudy skies of England.
It only took him thirty seconds to reach the lake, two more to stretch and brace himself for the icy shock of the water and then he dropped his towel to the ground and dived in. The blackness consumed him immediately and as Thomas glided deeper he could barely make out the shape of his hands a few inches in front of his face. The water skimmed over his skin, washing away the remnants of the restless night and invigorating him for a new day. Forty seconds in and his lungs began burning, but still he glided deeper. Fifty seconds and he felt the tremor in his muscles from lack of air. Sixty seconds and little grey spots began to appear before his eyes. One more pull of his arms, and then another, the ultimate test of his mind’s control over his body. Only when his head began to spin did Thomas relent and kick powerfully to the surface, breaking free of the water and taking in huge gulps of air.
He floated on his back for a while, allowing his body to recover and his breathing to return to normal. As the sun started to rise over the hills and reflect off the water’s surface Thomas began to swim. He took long, leisurely strokes, propelling himself through the water at a moderate speed and focusing on the horizon.
This was his favourite time of day, whilst he was powering through the water he could plan and reflect without any distractions. It was just him, the early morning air and the silent lake.
He swam for about fifteen minutes before turning back, the villa now the size of a model house on the banks of the lake. It was still peaceful, but there were signs of life stirring around the edge of the lake. A farmer’s cart trundled along the dusty track, kicking up a plume of dirt. A young boy chased an eager dog down to the water’s edge and further away to his left the sleepy village was beginning to show signs of activity.
As Thomas reached the edge of the lake he paused, turning to look out over the murky blue water before pulling himself up the old wooden ladder on to the shore.
* * *
It was getting light when Rosa awoke and for a few moments she allowed herself to lie in bed and watch the soft light of dawn streaming in through the windows. She wasn’t a natural early riser—at home she would often indulge in breakfast in bed late in the morning—but these last couple of months she had found herself waking early with an entrenched sensation of nausea that could only be cured by a cold glass of water and something to eat.
Rosa knew she was lucky, many women at her stage of pregnancy spent their days vomiting and confined to their beds. A little early morning nausea was not something that stopped her from getting on with her day at least.
Rising slowly, Rosa straightened her dress, aware of the creases from where she’d slept fully clothed, and patted the loose strands of hair into place. She took a moment to examine her ankle, which had swollen overnight and had a purple hue to the stretched skin. Even placing it lightly on the floor made her wince in pain, but she gritted her teeth and managed to hobble to the door, leaning heavily on furniture as she went.
Outside her bedroom the villa was quiet and Rosa sensed she was alone. Of course Lord Hunter would be an early riser, he was just the type to be cheery at an ungodly time in the morning. Rosa was just about to admit defeat and flop into a chair when she spotted an ornate walking cane leaning up against the wall next to her bedroom door. Hunter must have put it there after he’d bid her goodnight, ready for her to use this morning.
Grasping the carved knob, Rosa tested the cane out, finding she could walk a little better with the extra balance it gave her, although the pain was still there. She would have to remember to thank Lord Hunter for his kindness.
Not wanting to rummage through his cupboards, but desperate for something to eat, Rosa ventured outside on to the terrace. She recalled from the night before the large orange tree overhanging the seating area and her empty stomach growled at the thought of a juicy orange to start the day.
Rosa had to stretch to reach even the lowest branch, but her efforts were rewarded when she began to peel a ripe and fragrant orange and popped the first segment into her mouth. Chewing slowly, she savoured the sweet juice, licking the remnants off her fingers before biting into a second segment. She had to stop herself from wolfing the whole orange down in a few seconds as she peeled the remainder of the skin from the flesh it was so delicious, but somehow she managed to resist the urge. With the first orange gone Rosa stretched up and plucked a second from the branches of the orange tree, grasped hold of her cane again and limped to the edge of the terrace.
As she looked out over the lake, admiring how the sun reflected off the smooth surface making the water look blessed by the gods, her eyes came to rest on the small figure propelling himself towards the villa. He was swimming quickly, but in a way that looked as though it required hardly any effort on his part. As he got closer Rosa realised it was her host, Lord Hunter. She almost laughed—she’d known he would be a morning person, he probably swam a mile first thing every morning whilst she would normally be languishing in bed.
Rosa watched as he approached the shore, mesmerised by the rhythmic movement of his arms and the effortless way he glided through the water. She’d felt the hard muscles of his arms and chest when he’d picked her up yesterday and wondered if this was how he stayed quite so toned.
With a final pull of his arms Hunter reached the small wooden jetty that jutted out from the grounds of the property. Rosa could see his shoulders bobbing up and down as he gripped the ladder and began to pull himself out.
Time slowed and Rosa found she couldn’t look away. Inch by inch Hunter’s body rose from the water, his chest, his abdomen, the water pouring off him and leaving his skin shimmering. Rosa felt the heat begin to rise from her core as her eyes locked on to Hunter’s naked form. Only when he pulled himself fully out of the water did Rosa realise he wasn’t wearing anything at all, but still she couldn’t look away. He stood, indifferent to his nakedness, seemingly unconcerned that anyone might see him, and brushed the water from his skin before picking up a towel and wrapping it around his waist.
Only then did he glance up to the terrace. Rosa knew the moment he saw her, the moment he realised she must have been watching him the entire time. For a fraction of a second his whole body went still, like a wolf catching sight of its prey, then he raised a hand and waved cheerily at her.
She wished she could just disappear, that an earthquake would open up the ground underneath her and she could fall inside. He would think that she had been watching him. Well, she had been watching him, but not purposefully. She wasn’t to know he swam naked, but now she looked like a shameless voyeur.
‘Good morning,’ Hunter said with a smile as he approached the terrace.
‘Good morning,’ Rosa managed to mumble, trying to look anywhere but the expanse of exposed skin at her eye level. He was tanned, wonderfully so, his skin a deep bronze hinting to the length of time he’d spent in warm climes.
‘Did you sleep well?’
How could he ask such a mundane and ordinary question when he was standing there half-naked in front of her?
Forcing herself to look up and meet his eye, Rosa smiled.
‘Very well, thank you.’
Her cheeks were burning so much it felt as though she’d just stepped out of a blacksmith’s forge and her heart was beating so loudly she was sure it could be heard for miles, but if Hunter refused to be embarrassed by his lack of clothing then she would not let her discomfort show.
‘Isn’t the view beautiful first thing in the morning?’
Unbidden, her eyes flicked down to where the towel was tucked around his waist and Rosa heard him utter a low chuckle.
‘I find the early morning light to be the most flattering,’ Rosa said, watching as Hunter’s grin widened.
‘Everything looks even better from the middle of the lake,’ he said, moving a step closer, ‘You should join me next time. A swim can really get the blood pumping at this time of day.’
Rosa was sure he knew exactly what he was doing, no young woman from a good family would feel comfortable standing here talking about the weather and the view with a man she’d just seen emerge naked from the lake, but Hunter was pushing her, seeing how much it would take to make her flee in embarrassment or swoon. Well, she’d never swooned in her life and a little bit of naked flesh wasn’t about to make her run. Even if it was particularly smooth and sculpted flesh.
‘I can think of better ways to exert myself so early in the morning,’ she said with a sweet smile. Without glancing at his face Rosa limped back over to the orange tree and plucked another of the round fruit from the branches. Carefully she began to peel it, worked a segment free and only when she was about to pop it between her lips did she look up and meet Hunter’s eye. ‘Can’t you?’
It was, oh, so satisfying to see him lost for words, his eyes glued on the orange segment as it passed her lips. Allowing herself a small, triumphant smile, Rosa turned and headed back to the villa, her walk of victory only slightly spoiled by the clicking of the cane on the tiles.
Chapter Four (#ubd57f08c-9d83-5f2f-9c3a-fa00c677f409)
‘Last night you were telling me about the disgrace that had your family disowning you,’ Thomas said as he helped Rosa up into the curricle.
‘No,’ Rosa said pointedly, ‘I wasn’t.’
‘Well, we’ve got an hour’s ride to the village of Malcesine, and it will be a terribly dull journey if you sit in silence the whole way.’
Thomas had suggested a day trip to the next sizeable village around the lake when Rosa had talked about seeking a passage back to England. The Di Mercurios would no doubt be searching for their runaway prisoner and there was no point in making it easy for them. In Malcesine they would find the date and time of the next coach leaving for one of the port cities where Rosa would be able to buy a fare home.
‘You could tell me what you’re doing hiding away in Italy,’ Rosa suggested with that sweet smile she used when she was determined to get her own way.
‘What if we play a game?’
‘I’m listening.’
‘We each get three questions. The other has to answer truthfully and fully.’
‘I get to go first?’ Rosa asked.
‘Ask away.’
She sat in silence for a while, watching the countryside passing by and pressing her lips together as she thought. Thomas glanced at her every now and again. Ever since he’d caught her looking at him as he emerged from the lake he’d felt a spark of excitement, a slowly building intrigue at the woman hiding beneath the composed façade. He felt he needed to be close to her, to touch her, to find out what was really going on behind those calm, cool eyes. It wasn’t often Thomas met a woman he could fully engage with intellectually. So many of the debutantes his mother had introduced him to before he’d fled England had seemed to want to appear less intelligent than they actually were, wittering on about the weather or the latest fashion. Admittedly he didn’t know Rosa well, but there was something more to her—something bold, something that refused to back down.
‘Why do you live in Italy?’ Rosa asked eventually.
‘I like it here.’
She shook her head and actually wagged an admonishing finger at him like some disapproving elderly aunt. ‘You’re breaking the rules,’ she said. ‘You said we had to answer truthfully and fully. Why do you live in Italy?’
Thomas broke out into a grin. ‘You caught me. I will try to be more honest,’ he said, trying out a contrite expression and finding it didn’t sit well on his face.
The intensity of her gaze was a little unnerving as she waited for him to speak.
‘The past four years I have travelled as far east as India, as far south as Turkey, stopping at various places for a few weeks, maybe a couple of months. I’ve been here beside the lake for six months, the longest I’ve stayed anywhere. I suppose I feel at peace here, waking up to such beauty every day is humbling. It makes you admit how insignificant your problems are.’
Although he had never set out to be quite so honest Thomas realised it was the truth. He could have settled anywhere, but he’d chosen Lake Garda to make his home at least for a while.
‘Why do you feel the need to move around so much?’
‘Is that question number two?’
Rosa nodded.
‘When I first left England I didn’t know what I wanted to see, I just knew there was a whole world out there waiting for me to discover it. I marvelled at the ancient temples in Greece, climbed an active volcano in Italy, was stalked by a tiger in the jungles of India and spent three glorious weeks floating adrift in a rickety old boat in the Black Sea.’ He paused to see if Rosa looked as though she believed him. It was partly the truth, but it did not explain his need to run from his fate, a strange compulsion to keep moving, as if staying in one place too long might let the disease he was so afraid of catch up with him. ‘Once I started discovering new places I was like a laudanum addict, I needed to see more, experience more. It was like an illness—if I didn’t keep moving on I would become restless and anxious.’
‘So why have you stopped now?’
Thomas pulled on the reins to slow the horses as they rounded a tight bend and considered Rosa’s question. In truth he wasn’t quite sure. The answer he’d given earlier, talking about the humbling beauty of Lake Garda, was true, but he’d visited many beautiful places in the past few years. He wasn’t sure what had made him slow, what had made him start thinking of home, yearning for the green fields and grey skies and all the places he had known as a child.
He thought of the letter from his mother, asking him to return, and knew that even without her plea it wouldn’t have been that long before he boarded a ship and sailed for England. Something was pulling him home, but he wasn’t sure what.
‘I suppose everyone needs a rest now and again.’
‘You’re being flippant again,’ Rosa challenged him.
‘Sorry. I suppose I don’t know. For a while I grew tired of new places, not knowing anyone, never being sure of where I would rest my head from one day to the next.’
‘So will you stay here, in Italy?’
Thomas smiled and shook his head. ‘That’s question number four, Miss Rothwell. You’ve had your turn, now it’s mine.’
Rosa stiffened as if actually nervous about what he would ask, but nodded for him to continue.
‘How many months pregnant are you?’ He hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt and as the shock and hurt flashed across her eyes he cursed his clumsy handling of the question.
‘What makes you think I’m pregnant?’
‘Look how you’re sitting,’ Thomas said softly.
Rosa glanced down and grimaced as she realised one hand rested protectively against her lower abdomen.
‘I suppose it’s natural, a mother’s instinct,’ Thomas said. ‘You’ve had a hand on your abdomen throughout most of the morning, and every so often you will look down fondly when you think I’m not paying attention.’
She nodded, mutely. They continued in silence for nearly ten minutes before Rosa spoke again.
‘Four months, nearly to the day.’
Thomas did a few quick sums in his head, and realised things didn’t quite add up.
