The Italian's Baby of Passion: The Italian's Secret Baby / One-Night Baby / The Italian's Secret Child

‘She knew who he was, then?’

Scarlet let out a furious gasp and bounced to her feet. The shocking sound of her hand connecting with his face resounded around the room.

She looked from her extended hand to the mark on his lean cheek. The thin white scar stood out lividly against the reddened skin. Her chest heaved with emotion as her eyes met his.

‘You pack quite a punch.’

She had started shaking in reaction. ‘I’m sorry.’ She was deeply ashamed of the loss of control that had made her resort to violence. ‘But you deserved it,’ she added with a glare that dared him to disagree with her.

Roman levered himself from the chair in a fluid elegant motion. He looked down at her from his superior vantage point.

‘Maybe I do.’

Scarlet looked up at him warily through the protective dark mesh of her lashes. This was not the reaction she had expected.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You recall when my mother collapsed at the opening ceremony?’

Scarlet nodded. ‘Of course I do.’ She had not the faintest idea where this was going and, call her a coward, but she didn’t actually want to know.

‘It was because she saw someone she recognised.’

She still didn’t have an inkling. Her smooth brow pleated in a perplexed, wary frown. ‘Who did she recognise?’

‘She saw Sam.’

An image of Sam, the posy of wilting flowers clutched in his hot, sticky hands, flashed into her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

He scanned her face for a moment, his own expression broodingly sombre. ‘I know you don’t. Sam looks exactly the way I did when I was his age. That’s what spooked my mother.’

Scarlet was confused but not suspicious, which later on struck her as ironic in the extreme. ‘Because Sam looks like you?’ Perhaps it was the colouring. Sam did have that Mediterranean glow and the long lashes and, now that she thought about it, at certain angles…

‘Because Sam is my son.’

Scarlet was dramatically unprepared for his revelation, which, when at a later date she went over the conversation that had led to it, made her blind, deaf and very stupid!

She was not conscious then or later of his tensing and moving closer in readiness to catch her as the colour seeped rapidly from her skin, leaving it marble-pale.

‘For God’s sake, sit down.’

Quivering with denial, she kept to her feet. ‘You and Abby?’ She shook her head, feeling sick. ‘You slept with Abby?’ she wailed.

Now why did that make her feel as though she were the tragic victim of some betrayal? The victim here was Roman. What he must have felt like discovering he had a son this way she couldn’t even imagine! Her well-developed sense of empathy sprang into life, as did her guilt.

‘Apparently.’

Considering his admission, he was surprised when she didn’t deliver the obvious comeback. To father a child accidentally was one thing, to forget about it took the crime to another level.

‘She said not, but facts say otherwise,’ he related grimly.

‘That’s ridiculous, you can’t be!’ she cried shrilly. ‘She said he…you—’ she corrected herself.

‘She said what about me?’

Scarlet gave her head a tiny shake; she was having second thoughts about her candour. This was one occasion when the truth was not going to help.

‘I don’t recall exactly.’

‘I’ll settle for inexact.’

Scarlet gave an exasperated sigh; he wasn’t going to leave well alone. She studied his profile. The light fell from behind, highlighting all the hard angles and intriguing hollows of his face.

‘She said the father would have run a million miles if he’d known about the baby.’

Roman flinched.

‘You’re not running.’

‘That’s because she was wrong,’ he breathed grimly. ‘Very wrong.’

Tears formed in Scarlet’s eyes. ‘Why are you saying this?’ she choked, turning her hands palm upwards towards him in an unconscious gesture of appeal. ‘What’s the point?’

‘Point?’ he repeated, looking at her as though she were mad. ‘I have a son.’

‘You don’t want Sam. You can’t. Abby isn’t here to punish so leave us alone.’ Fighting the rising level of panic that made it hard for her to think, she covered her face with her forearm and swallowed a sob.

‘Why would I want to punish the mother of my child? It was my fault.’

Scarlet, who could hear the self-recrimination in his voice, felt so guilty she could hardly look at him. Whatever else Roman was, he was clearly not the moral-free zone that Abby had taken him for.

‘I’m hardly unable to support a son. Presumably she thought I’d contest paternity and couldn’t stomach the idea of the mud-slinging.’ He raked a hand through his dark, sleek hair and fixed Scarlet with an interrogative stare.

She was too stunned by his reading of her late sister’s motives that all she could do was stare at him. He appeared to take her silence as confirmation of his explanation.

Why couldn’t he be the shallow, selfish playboy Abby had taken him for instead of the owner of a very well-developed set of moral principles? She didn’t want to empathise with him, not when he might try and snatch Sam away from her.

She was her nephew’s legal guardian but where would she stand legally if he chose to contest her guardianship?

Scarlet was terrified by the thought of a custody battle. Better to let him carry on thinking the pregnancy had been accidental than allow that to happen. Why tell him the truth when there was nothing to be gained except blackening her sister’s name?

‘Your sister may have been misguided in going it alone.’ This admission seemed to be as close as he was going to get to criticising Abby. ‘But you’ve got to admire her. Most women finding themselves in that situation would have wanted to make me pay.’

‘Abby didn’t want your money.’ Her head lifted and there was a flicker of hope in her eyes. ‘Couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t know?’ she suggested with a sniff as she wiped the moisture from her face. ‘I’m sure it would be a lot more comfortable for you and I wouldn’t say anything to anyone.’ She dabbed a stray tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

‘You expect me to pretend I don’t have a son?’ he grated. ‘Dio!’ he ejaculated rawly. ‘What sort of man do you think I am?’ he demanded, every inch of his powerful frame vibrating at the affront.

Scarlet shook her head in a bemused fashion, unable even at this critical moment not to appreciate just how magnificent in a lean, mean way he looked when he was mad. When he lost his temper he was very much the Mediterranean male, all passion and fire.