Page 61 of Forgotten Mistress, Secret Love-Child
He’d chased after her…
Heat flooded Carys at the thought of him racing to stop her leaving. Of him realising his mistake.
‘But you didn’t go to the station.’ She’d waited ages for a train.
‘No.’ Penetrating green eyes met hers. ‘That was when I had the accident, speeding along the road after you.’
Dumbfounded, Carys met his shuttered gaze. Guilt replaced the buoyant surge of elation in her veins and she slumped against the balustrade as shock hit her in the knees.
‘Carys!’ Strong arms dragged her up against a familiar, hard torso and she shut her eyes, unwilling to face just yet the dislike which surely must be in his face now.
Did he blame her for the accident?
She did. Guilt seeped through her bones. She clutched him close, reliving the horror she’d experienced when she’d heard about his accident. But this was worse. So much worse.
Alessandro widened his stance, wrapping Carys closer to his pounding chest. Fear spiked at her sudden pallor. He told himself it was shock, expected in the circumstances, but that didn’t ease his concern. He rubbed a hand down her back, willing warmth back into her trembling, chilled form.
It would be OK, he assured himself.
OK? His world had turned upside down!
You were so much in love, both of you. Of course you went to fetch her back.
The words rang in Alessandro’s head, pounding in time with the heavy rush of blood surging through his temples.
No! She had that wrong. Must have.
Yet the words resonated, shocking him with their familiarity.
Love? Romantic love?
He tried to reject the notion, as he’d rejected it all his life. But the emotions Carys evoked lodged deep inside and wouldn’t be removed.
The fact remained that he’d gone after Carys. He’d been wildeyed and desperate if his former housekeeper was to be believed. Though clearly she had a romantic disposition. No doubt her memory embroidered the event.
That wasn’t important. What mattered was knowing if he’d changed his mind because he’d realised he’d been wrong about Carys, or whether he’d decided he didn’t care what she’d done—simply had to have her back.
Either option revealed him as emotional, too strongly affected by his lover to think straight.
He didn’t want to believe it.
Yet here he was, tied in knots because of this same woman. Feeling so much because of her. Even now her fresh cinnamon scent tangled in his senses, a heady distraction.
He thought through the few concrete facts he’d pieced together about her infidelity. He’d come home to find Stefano Manzoni, a man he’d never trusted, accelerating recklessly down the driveway. He’d found Carys with her blouse undone, her hair down and a fresh love bite on her neck. She’d admitted meeting Manzoni in town and letting him bring her home. Then she’d tried to deflect Alessandro’s anger by accusing him instead of infidelity with Carlotta.
What else had there been that he couldn’t recall? Was there any more? Had his accusation been as misguided as her belief he’d planned to marry Carlotta?
That didn’t seem believable. Yet honesty made him face the possibility he’d jumped to conclusions.
Had Alessandro subconsciously waited for Carys to prove it was his money that really attracted her? That she would dump him for a man who could give her more once the going got tough? As his mother had left his father years before, hooking up with a man whose bank account made the Mattani wealth at that time look insipid by comparison.
Had Alessandro primed himself to expect Carys’ betrayal?
He drew a steadying breath, tightening his hold on her, feeling her rapid heartbeat near his, the way her soft form moulded so perfectly to his.
Reluctantly he faced the truth he’d been avoiding.
Despite those few wisps of memory, the gap in his mind was as real as ever. Intimacy with Carys hadn’t restored it. He could no longer kid himself that would happen.
He would never remember that part of his past. Never have his memory as absolute proof about her behaviour. He had only the comments of those, like his housekeeper and Carys, who’d been there.
He had logic.
Above all he had his own gut instinct.
What did they tell him?
Carys felt the heavy thud of Alessandro’s heart, strong and steady, against her. The way he held her, as if welded to her, made her heart sing, but couldn’t blot out her distress.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured at last, clutching his shirt as if to stop him retreating.
‘Pardon?’ He stepped back a fraction so her voice wasn’t muffled against his chest. Carys only just resisted the impulse to burrow back into him, seeking comfort.
‘I’m sorry.’ Finally she lifted her face. ‘If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have crashed. You wouldn’t have…’ Even now the thought of him in a coma paralysed her larynx.
