‘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 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