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for her to declare she couldn’t possibly be his wife?

      She frowned, the tightness in her head turning into a thump of pain in time with her quickened pulse.

      When she winced the doctor bustled forward, murmuring in Italian beneath his breath as he checked her pulse and got her to lie back.

      Yet all the time she was aware of Pietro Agosti looming silently beside her, tall, dark and dauntingly handsome. If the doctors hadn’t assured her she’d recover fully physically, she might have wondered in her confused way if he was the Angel of Death come to take her.

      She lifted her head and caught him staring. He didn’t look away and she sank into the surprising warmth of his bright gaze.

      Heat flared anew, this time not in her cheeks but deep, deep inside. In those female organs where her tiny embryo of a baby was lodged.

      Was this the father?

      Emotion sliced through her. Excitement or fear?

      She settled for disbelief.

      ‘You’re sure I’m married to this man?’ It didn’t seem likely. Surely he spent his time with gilded socialites, not au pairs?

      The doctor’s eyes rounded and he darted an apologetic look at the taller man.

      Was Pietro Agosti so important that no one ever questioned him?

      A shiver snaked through her. For some reason she hadn’t a hope of identifying, she baulked at the idea of being at his mercy.

      His mercy? Surely that wasn’t how a wife thought of her husband?

      ‘Signora Agosti.’ The doctor’s reassuring tone broke across her thoughts. ‘There was no doubt about the identification. Your husband was able to describe you in perfect detail before he arrived, right down to your appendix scar.’

      Which only meant he was intimately acquainted with her body.

      A sizzle of sensation prickled her skin. Was it a remnant of memory? The legacy of intimacy with this man? Or anticipation at the idea of him stroking those big hands across her bare skin sometime in the future?

      She sneaked another look up at the sombre man beside her. As if on cue his sculpted lips turned up into a smile that would have been soothing, if it hadn’t been for the shadow that looked like calculation in his eyes.

      Her throat was gritty as she swallowed. Her eyelids flickered down as she fought off the headache beginning to beat in time with her pulse. It was all too much to take in.

      ‘Let me assure you that your husband is most respectable and esteemed—’

      ‘I think that’s enough for now.’ The deep voice with that sexy, husky edge interrupted the doctor’s encomiums. ‘Molly’s obviously too tired for this tonight. It’s all been a shock. Maybe we should leave her to rest.’

       He was going?

      Her eyes snapped open as fear hurtled through her.

       What if he left and didn’t come back?

       What if he left her alone again, like an unclaimed piece of luggage?

       What if, tomorrow, this proved to be a dream? If there was no one who knew who she really was?

      Reason told her that wouldn’t happen. He’d identified her and the hospital staff would know how to reach this man who was so well-regarded and respectable.

      Yet the well of fear that had threatened to suck her down for days swirled anew. She couldn’t face the idea of being abandoned here again.

      ‘No! Please, don’t go!’

      There was a flash of something in those uncanny eyes but this time it looked like sympathy.

      ‘Perhaps, doctor, you might give us some time alone together? I know there’s paperwork to complete. I’ll see you after Molly and I have spoken.’

      ‘Of course. Yes, an excellent idea.’ The doctor clearly didn’t mind being dismissed. Which told her he was either glad to hand her over to someone else or that Pietro Agosti was a VIP with considerable influence. The medico nodded to Molly, assured her all would be well and left the room.

      Now, alone with the man who said he was her husband, her relief dissipated. But instead of towering over her any longer he reached for a visitor’s chair and sat by the bed.

      ‘That’s better. Now you don’t have to crane to look up at me.’

      His mouth crinkled up at one corner in the smallest of smiles but this time, for reasons she didn’t understand, she felt a tug of response. Her lips twitched and her taut muscles eased a little. It was only now that she realised her shoulders had crept up towards her ears and her hands had curled into taut fists. She looked down and smoothed her hands across the bedspread.

      * * *

      She looked so damnably pale. Fragile in a way he hadn’t expected, even when he’d heard about her injuries. He’d come immediately, riding a wave of shock and relief at the news that she’d been found.

      Something inside Pietro stretched tight and hard, tension twanging like a plucked string. His chest squeezed as he read the pain etched in Molly’s tired eyes.

      One of the things that had attracted him to her was her warm, sunny disposition. Her ready smile and the way her eyes danced. Seeing her so frightened made him want to break something. Preferably the motorbike rider who’d knocked her over. Who, it seemed likely, had targeted her for her bag with its wallet and passport.

      His staff was liaising with the police. If the person responsible was located, he’d pay dearly for his actions.

      Pietro’s jaw tightened at the idea of Molly lying unconscious on the road. Of her waking to the horror of not even knowing her own name.

      The doctor had said her memory loss might partly be due to shock. From the fall? Or from what had happened before she’d come to Rome?

      Icy fingers of guilt gripped his throat.

      Pietro swallowed hard. The accident or assault wasn’t his fault. As for what had happened before...

      ‘I’m glad you found me.’ Solemn eyes held his. ‘It’s...worrying, not knowing who you are.’

      She looked so lost, yet so determined to be brave, downplaying the fear she must feel. A wave of protectiveness washed through him.

      Pietro froze. He’d thought himself immune to feminine vulnerability. He’d been inoculated against it by brutal experience. But the circumstances here were different.

      He reached out to grasp Molly’s hand and reassure her then stopped himself. Better to keep his distance. She looked so frail, her eyes huge in her pale face, watching him warily.

      She noticed the movement but said nothing, though her brow knitted, as if she had catalogued the abortive gesture for future consideration.

      It was a reminder that he needed to be careful how he proceeded. He couldn’t afford to make another mistake.

      ‘I can’t begin to imagine how it feels not to recall anything,’ he admitted. He half-expected her to confess it wasn’t true, that she remembered something, even just the reason she’d left on the spur of the moment for Rome. ‘But you don’t need to worry. I’ll take good care of you.’

      ‘You will?’

      He couldn’t work out if she looked pleased about that or petrified. Did he scare her? He knew his size could be daunting...

      ‘Of course. You can count on me. Everything will be all right, Molly. Just give it time. You don’t need to worry about a thing. I’m trying to contact your sister in Australia, to bring her over to see you.’

      The tightness around the corners of her generous mouth eased and a little colour returned

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