Her Forgotten Lover's Heir

‘Anything’s important, surely?’ She cocked her head, trying to read his still features, then gave up. A smile tugged her mouth wide. ‘I remembered gardening!’

‘Gardening?’ Pietro looked confused.

‘Silly, isn’t it? You’d think I’d remember the big things first, like you. Or our wedding. Or coming to Italy.’ Molly shrugged and sank further into the comfortable seat, revelling in the sun’s warmth out here on the terrace after her time cooped up in hospital.

Slowly he nodded. ‘You don’t remember any of that?’ His voice sounded strained, making her abruptly aware that Pietro had also been through an enormously tough time. Think of having someone you loved disappear without a trace. And then to have her turn up and not remember you!

No wonder he was tense. He’d been through the mill too.

If she’d known him better she’d have reached out and covered his hand with hers. Or smoothed out the faint frown on his wide forehead.

A tremor passed through her, a surge of longing. She wanted so badly to connect with Pietro, to smash through the invisible barrier between them. But she didn’t have the nerve. He was still a stranger after all.

Her smile faded. ‘I’m sorry. I probably raised your hopes. It’s nothing really, not even a clear picture in my head. Just the knowledge that I’m a dreadful gardener. I used to joke and say I had a black thumb, not a green one, because of all the plants I’d inadvertently killed off.’

Excitement raced through her. She hadn’t remembered that last bit at first. The knowledge had come to her as she’d spoken the words. It was like being on a ribbon of road unfolding before her in real time but not knowing what was coming up around the next curve.

Eagerly she concentrated on the idea of tending plants. She tried to conjure a mental picture to go with the words that had popped into her head and the certainty that this really was a memory.

But there was nothing. No matter how hard she tried.

‘That’s marvellous!’ Pietro’s belated enthusiasm almost made up for her failure to form a concrete picture of the past. ‘Didn’t they say your memory would start returning?’ His mouth curved as he stood. It must be a trick of the light that gave his smile a cool edge, as if it didn’t reach up to his eyes.

‘Now, sit here and I’ll get you a cool drink. I don’t want you to overdo it.’

Molly shook her head. ‘No need.’ Tempted as she was to stay, sunning herself in the open air, she had other priorities. ‘What I’d really like is a long, hot shower or maybe a bath.’

At the hospital they’d removed the last bandage and she’d had a quick shower before changing into the clothes Pietro had brought. Yet she felt as if she still smelled of institutional cleanser and the indefinable scent of hospital that had filled her nostrils too long.

‘If you’re sure.’ He stood back so she could rise. ‘But then have a rest, and later we can talk. You need to build up your strength gradually.’

Molly was about to reassure him that she was healthy and that she’d had more rest than she’d liked. But she did feel fatigued. Just from the stress of leaving hospital! The realisation dampened her excitement. How long before she was back to normal?

‘Perhaps you’re right.’

Besides, Pietro wanted to look after her. She shouldn’t throw his concern back in his face.

His solicitousness warmed her. How foolish she’d been when he’d arrived at the hospital, thinking there was something darkly brooding and dangerous about him. He’d just been worried about her.

How much more concerned would he be if he knew she was pregnant?

She needed to tell him and soon. But not yet. According to the hospital, the pregnancy was in the very early stages. Pietro hadn’t mentioned other children so this would be their first. She wanted to choose the right moment to break the news.

Besides, she needed more time to adjust to being Molly Agosti. To get to know her husband and herself. She had so many questions, so many things she needed to understand.

So she didn’t blurt out the news of the baby. She had no idea how he’d react. Would he be thrilled? Maybe they’d been trying for a while. Or would it be unexpected? No, definitely better to wait a little longer before throwing that news at her husband as well. For now they had enough to deal with.

Which was why Molly didn’t demur when Pietro showed her to a gorgeous bedroom, asked again if she needed anything then left, closing the door behind him. For a moment, maybe two, she’d wondered if he’d stay with her, fold her in his arms and take her to bed, not for sex, but for a long overdue cuddle.

Of course she wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t. He was being careful of her boundaries, aware that to her he was a complete unknown.

Yet in her heart of hearts Molly longed for the comfort of his embrace.

She slipped out of her shoes and wriggled her toes in the plush softness of the rug at this end of the room. At the far end the bed sat on a raised plinth with a gorgeous headboard of stylised roses climbing up a metal frame.

Quickly Molly turned away. She was not going to think of Pietro on that broad bed. Or of herself naked and spread-eagled on the counterpane, her fingers gripping the headboard as a tall, dark-haired man settled between her thighs.

Molly choked back a gasp of excitement mingled with shock.

Was that a memory? Heat seared and her mouth tipped up in a grin as she thought of her returning memory beginning in the bedroom. But it wasn’t to be. It was simply a case of wishful thinking.

Yet between her legs a pulse started up and her muscles softened.

Simply from imagining Pietro in bed with her.

How long had it been since they’d had sex? Had they been abstaining for some reason or did she have a naturally sensual nature?

So many questions. So few facts. After she’d showered, she’d begin finding out more. This morning it had been enough to get away from the claustrophobia of the hospital and trust Pietro to bring her home.

Soon she’d get more answers.

Sighing, she crossed the floor and opened a door. Instead of the bathroom she found herself in a dressing room. Molly stopped, eyes widening, as she took in the luxurious space. Customised storage for shoes, bags, boots and hats. A deeply padded day-bed, presumably for reclining on while deciding what to wear. Racks of clothes in a multitude of colours and styles. Her dazed eyes took in a bright sundress and a tailored suit. There were dresses that sparkled and swept low towards the floor and skirts that flared or fell in straight lines.

Slowly she pivoted, surveying the range of feminine clothes it would surely take months and months to wear. Had they, like the clothes she wore, been bought while she’d been in hospital? Was it all on loan while she decided which items she wanted? She’d have to talk with Pietro.

But as she turned she discovered something else. There was no men’s clothing in the space.

Frowning, Molly backed out and returned to the bedroom.

There was another set of doors. But as she turned the handle she discovered they led out onto part of the roof terrace, made private by screens of green foliage that blocked it from the rest of the garden.

Molly turned and crossed the room, her feet silent on the cool floor. She pushed open another door and there was a bathroom, an airy space full of exquisite creamy marble flecked with gold.

Ignoring the call of the sunken tub, and the rain shower big enough for a small crowd, Molly spun round, surveying the bedroom.

No more doors, which meant no walk-in closet for Pietro.

Nor were there any signs of male habitation. There was nothing on the bedside tables, desk or even on the long sofa facing the bed.

Pietro didn’t share this room with her.

Which begged the question—exactly what sort of marriage did they have?

CHAPTER FOUR (#u3cb81c97-661f-5e2b-ba3e-f51fa9d7ef9d)

THE SUN WAS low in the sky as Pietro sat on the roof terrace, pondering his situation.

There were too many chances for failure. At any moment, if Molly’s memory returned, he’d be scuppered. She’d put up so many barriers it would make what he had to do almost impossible.