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The Colorado Countess
Stephanie Howard


ROYAL AFFAIRA blue-blooded bachelor!The last thing Carrie Dunn had expected when she arrived in the glamorous dukedom of San Rinaldo was to meet a real-life Prince Charming. A small-town American girl, she had been swept off her feet by the charismatic Count Leone Montecrespi and had almost believed that her fairy-tale romance would last a lifetime. But she and Leone were worlds apart–marriage was out of the question. After all, who'd ever heard of a countess from Colorado?Romancing a royal was easy–marriage another affair!







“Miss Carrie Dunn from Colorado, we meet again,” he smiled. (#u9be23e41-834f-5a5e-a56d-952269693226)About the Author (#u8a77ba1a-07f0-5206-97cf-0636f80bdb54)Title Page (#u6766e2c3-ca3b-517d-9af8-affed081b51f)Letter to Reader (#ude90a8a0-ea93-5f5e-a5ca-ed6f836c3fb8)CHAPTER ONE (#u887d6ad7-74b9-549c-9c4a-26349c6f6ff4)CHAPTER TWO (#u049d8b6b-2c21-5e59-a3da-80198698452d)CHAPTER THREE (#u91975cac-e8ae-570e-8f3e-ff48fd3582a9)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“Miss Carrie Dunn from Colorado, we meet again,” he smiled.

Carrie hadn’t a clue what to say or do. “Forgive me,” she said in a polite but firm tone, “but actually I’m wondering what you’re doing here.”

“It’s you who should forgive me.” He held out his hand to her. “Here I am in your home and I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Leone,” he told her. “Leone Montecrespi.”

Their eyes met and he smiled. “We have unfinished business.”

“I wasn’t aware that you and I had any business to finish.”

“Perhaps not, strictly speaking, business.”

Count Leone Alberto Cosimo George di Montecrespi, the heir to the throne of San Rinaldo, simply smiled at her reaction. I’m going to enjoy this, he was thinking. This one’s definitely no pushover. It would make a pleasant change from the easy victories he was used to.


Stephanie Howard was born and brought up in Dundee, Scotland, and educated at the London School of Economics. For ten years she worked as a journalist in London on a variety of women’s magazines, among them Woman’s Own, and was latterly editor of the now-defunct Honey. She has spent many years living and working abroad—in Italy, Malaysia, the Philippines and in the Middle East.




The Colorado Countess

Stephanie Howard







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Dear Reader,

Welcome to ROYAL AFFAIR! By appointment to her loyal readers, Stephanie Howard has created a blue-blooded trilogy of romeos, rebels and royalty. It follows the fortunes of the San Rinaldo royal family: Damiano, the Duke of San Rinaldo, his brother, Count Leone, and their sister, Lady Caterina. Together the three of them are dedicated to their country, people and family. But it takes only one thing to turn their perfectly ordered lives upside down: love!

COUNT LEONE MONTECRESPI, the younger brother of the ruling Duke, is a habitual heartbreaker. A playboy of the old school: love them, leave them and on no account, marry them. But will small-town American girl, Carrie Dunn, be the one to finally get him up the aisle?

LADY CATERINA MONTECRESPI. Leone and Damiano’s baby sister, has sworn off men since her last disastrous encounter with the opposite sex. And Matthew Allenby is hardly the man to change her mind. As far as Caterina is concerned, he’s a crook and a charlatan. Unfortunately he’s also proving irresistible!

The DUKE OF SAN RINALDO, DAMIANO MONTECRESPI, had married Sofia to secure his dukedom and produce an heir. But duty for Sofia is a cold bed partner—she wants Damiano to love her as much as he does their baby son, Alessandro. Is a happy ending to their fairy-tale romance too much to ask for?

Each of these books contains its own stand-alone romance, as well as making up a great trilogy. Follow Leone and Carrie’s tale in The Colorado Countess. In The Lady’s Man, it’s Caterina and Matthew’s turn. And finally, The Duke’s Wife features Sofia and Damiano’s story—not forgetting little baby Alessandro!

Happy Reading!

The Editors








CHAPTER ONE

‘CARRIE DUNN, you’re a lucky devil. I wish I was spending a couple of months in this little paradise!’

Carrie smiled at her friend Louise across the table where they were sitting, right at the very front of the magnificent terrace of the ultra-chic restaurant where they had come for dinner. Then she turned to cast a glance at the magical view spread out before them—a shimmer of lights that seemed to tumble down the hillside, setting out in sharp relief against the starstudded sky the higgledy-piggledy red-tiled roofs of the city, with, off in the distance, the illuminated turrets of the ancient rosy-stoned Palazzo Verde, and, down below, the glistening waters of the little marina, with its fleet of bobbing yachts twinkling like diamonds.

‘No, it’s not bad,’ she consented. ‘I think I’ll manage to put up with it.’ Then, catching Louise’s eye, she threw back her head and laughed. ‘How on earth did a girl from Boulder, Colorado, ever end up in a place like this?’

Both girls, in fact, knew the answer to that one. A bucketful of hard work was what had transported Carrie Dunn, the honey-haired, hazel-eyed elder daughter of a grocery store manager and his wife, to the glitzy little dukedom of San Rinaldo, set like a precious jewel on the edge of the Mediterranean. Though not so long ago it had been just a name to her, a place she’d simply read about in glossy magazines, famous for its wines and its wonderful porcelain, for the rich and famous who came here on holiday and, last but not least, for its colourful ruling family.

For the Montecrespis, the royal residents of the ancient Palazzo Verde—the Duke, Damiano, and his wife, his playboy brother, Count Leone, and their younger sister, Lady Caterina—had a knack of making newspaper headlines. Especially Count Leone, who went through more women than a brigade of Guards. Even Carrie, who didn’t much interest herself with such things, had heard a fair bit about the dashing count and his exploits.

But all the gossip and glamour associated with San Rinaldo were not what had brought Carrie to the sundrenched little dukedom. And she assured her friend now, pulling a face as she did so, ‘Don’t worry, I promise I won’t let it go to my head. You can go back to New York tomorrow with no worries on that score. The only reason I’m here is to work.’

‘Oh, I know it won’t go to your head,’ Louise threw her a frank look. ‘You’re not the type.’ For she knew Carrie well. Then she glanced round her and laughed. ‘But how can you even think of work in a place like this?’

Carrie was about to answer good-humouredly that she always thought of work, but at that moment she was distracted by the sound of raised voices coming from the end of the busy, table-packed terrace. As she turned curiously to look, a frowning waiter was hurrying towards them.

He stopped before their table, wringing his hands as he addressed Carrie.

‘Apologies, signorina, but there’s been a most regrettable error. This table you’re sitting at . . . you should never have been given it. It was already booked, you see. . .’ He glanced wretchedly across his shoulder at the noisy group of young people at the end of the terrace. ‘Your table and the one next to it. . . These people booked them some time ago. I really do apologise, but I’m going to have to move you to another table. . .’

‘And what if we don’t want to move?’

It wasn’t like Carrie to be awkward, but on this occasion she felt she was more than justified.

‘My friend and I are halfway through our meal,’ she protested. ‘I’m afraid it really would be most inconvenient.’

And besides, she was thinking, it rather stuck in her throat to be moved for the convenience of the group of young people in question, who more than likely hadn’t booked the table at all. They were obviously celebrities. They positively oozed self-importance. Her skin prickled as one of them called out now, in English, ‘Come on, waiter! What are we waiting for? Tell them they can go and sit at the back.’

What bad-mannered hooligans! Carrie glared in their direction. ‘Maybe they should go and sit at the back,’ she muttered.

But Louise was trying to persuade her. ‘Let’s just move,’ she was urging. ‘We’ve almost finished anyway and I’d rather avoid the hassle.’

Carrie could feel herself weakening. She knew how Louise hated scenes, and this evening was supposed to be a special treat for her—just to thank her for dropping by on her way back to the States after a business trip to Rome. So, reluctantly, she agreed. ‘Ok,’ she told the waiter—though she was thinking as they were moved to a half-hidden table at the back, I’ll never set foot in this restaurant again!

It was about twenty minutes later, after the two girls had had coffee and Louise had disappeared off to powder her nose, that Carrie decided to call for the bill. And it was as she was signaling to the waiter that, from the corner of her eye, she became aware of a tall figure at the table she had so recently vacated rising to his feet and coming across the terrace. But she did not turn to look at him. She would not honour him with a glance. Pompous, self-important swine, she was thinking.

But then, a moment later, to her total astonishment, she was aware that he had come to stand at her elbow. Then a voice said, ‘Signorina, may I have a word with you?’

Something had jolted inside Carrie even before she looked up. There was something in the voice, with its soft, smoky accent, that sent a shiver of expectation rippling down her spine. Feeling somewhat taken aback at herself, she slowly raised her eyes.

And that was when her heart did a somersault in her chest.

His face was in shadow, so she couldn’t see him clearly—for the lighting here at the back of the terrace was far from bright. But, shadow or not, his effect on her was electric. What a perfectly spectacular-looking guy!

And there was something else as well. Didn’t she know him from somewhere? For there was something a little familiar about the high-cheekboned face, with its amused, sensuous mouth and broad, intelligent brow, the dark-as-midnight eyes that seemed to smoulder with secrets and the curling black hair that fell to just below his ears. She couldn’t think where, but she’d seen him somewhere before.

All this went through Carrie’s head as she hurriedly pulled herself together and responded in a tone that impressed even her with its perfect calmness. ‘A word?’ What could he possibly want to have a word with her about?

The stranger answered that question immediately. ‘I wish to apologise,’ he said.

‘Apologise?’ Carrie blinked at him.

‘For the unfortunate business concerning your table.’

Ah, the table. She had quite forgotten about the table, bowled over as she had been by the sheer seductive power of him. But, now that he had reminded her, she felt her attitude abruptly change. How foolish of her to be so easily seduced by a handsome face! He was one of the band of hooligans who had pinched her table!

She looked back at him, quite recovered, a distinct edge to her voice now. ‘I would have thought,’ she pointed out, ‘that it’s a little late for that.’

‘I agree. It is. But I wanted to apologise, anyway.’

As he spoke, the dark eyes travelled quite openly over her, taking in her slender, feminine figure, currently dressed in a cream top and trousers that showed off the light tan she’d acquired in the few days she’d been here, skimming her heart-shaped face in its frame of cropped blonde hair, pausing to admire the wide hazel eyes, the tip-tilted nose and the soft-lipped mouth—though the latter, at this moment, was set in a disapproving line.

How dare he eye me like that? Carrie was thinking to herself irritably, though his gaze was so direct, his expression so open that it was really a little hard to take offence. And, if she was strictly honest with herself, she would have to admit that he was studying her no more carefully than she was secretly studying him.

He was tall, over six feet, in his early thirties, she guessed, with the lean and supple build of an athlete. Beneath the blue linen jacket his shoulders were broad and muscular, and there was something about the way he stood, on those long legs in their dark blue trousers, that suggested a powerful, restless energy. He really was rather seriously sexy.

No, he wasn’t, she contradicted herself. He was one of those awful hooligans. Some minor celebrity she couldn’t quite put a name to who thought he had the right to behave with total arrogance and who was simply amusing himself by coming over to apologise. No doubt she was supposed to feel deeply privileged and grateful.

Carrie narrowed her eyes as he continued to look at her with that half-amused, half-scrutinising gaze. ‘Well, you’ve apologised now,’ she pointed out in a clipped tone, ‘so I guess you can go back and rejoin your friends.’

‘You’re still angry, I see?’ One dark eyebrow lifted. ‘Well, I can’t really blame you. This is a far inferior table. I guess, if I were in your shoes, I’d be pretty angry too.’

That was patronising. What would he know about being in her shoes? Celebrities like him, whoever he was, were unlikely ever to encounter such disagreeable situations. Instead, they went about creating them for ordinary mortals like her.

She continued to squint at him, trying to put a name to his face. Was he a singer? An actor? Maybe he was in the theatre? For there was definitely something rather classy about him.

But, classy or not, he was making her bristle. She informed him in a cutting tone, ‘I can assure you, if it had been up to me, I’d have refused, point-blank to move to this table. But I’m here with a friend and she didn’t want a fuss. That’s the only reason you and your friends got our table.’

‘I see.’ He smiled. Her disapproval merely amused him, as did her claim that she would have stood up to him. ‘You believe in fighting for your rights, I see? That’s most commendable.’

‘And very necessary, I’d say, when there are so many people. . .’ As she said it she glanced pointedly across the terrace at his friends. ‘So many people about with such little regard for the rights of others.’

Again the dark eyebrows rose and again he smiled at her, and there was something so bright and so beguiling about that smile that Carrie very nearly forgot herself and smiled right back at him. But she resisted and continued to scowl at him as he responded, ‘I see you consider that my friends need teaching some manners. Well, perhaps you have a point. And that’s why I’m here to apologise.’

‘Well, that’s very nice of you.’ Carrie’s tone was barbed with sarcasm. ‘But, as I said, it’s a little late in the day for apologies. And an apology doesn’t change the fact that our dinner was spoiled.’

The stranger continued to watch her with that smouldering dark gaze he had that, though she was trying hard to fight it, was sending pins and needles through her. And Carrie was annoyed at herself, for it was perfectly obvious that he was an expert at reducing women to quivering lumps of jelly. He had that air of a seducer. He would know women well. How to draw them to him and how to please him. From the top of his beautiful head to the tips of his elegant fingertips, one could sense he was something of an expert in that field.

Carrie was considering this judgement and deciding it was another reason to dislike him when he surprised her by asking, ‘Which part of America are you from? I can’t quite manage to pin down your accent.’

Carrie had not expected this—that the conversation would turn personal. ‘Colorado,’ she said curtly, deliberately not elaborating that for the past three years she’d lived and worked in New York and that there was a touch of the Big Apple in her accent as well. If he was trying to hit on her, he’d find he’d fallen on stony ground!

And then, because she was sure it would almost certainly annoy him, for nothing annoyed a minor celebrity more than not being recognised, she added, regarding him levelly, her tone indicating that her interest was minimal, ‘And what about you? Where do you come from?’

He held her gaze for a moment, a smile flitting across his eyes. ‘Me? Oh, I’m just a local,’ he responded. Then, while she digested this, wondering if it was true, for San Rinaldo was not exactly famous for its showbiz celebrities, he continued, ‘Colorado? That’s a part of the States I’ve never visited. But I understand from friends who’ve been there that it’s extremely beautiful.’

‘Yes, it is.’ She eyed him. More condescension, she was thinking. He would have dredged up some friends who’d told him it was beautiful if she’d told him she came from a hole in the ground.

‘You’re a visitor here?’

‘Sort of,’ she answered unhelpfully. Was he trying to win her round now by feigning interest in her humble life?

She peered at him. If only she could think who he was. It was on the tip of her brain. If only she could see him better. If only his features weren’t in shadow all the time.

‘ “Sort of”. And what does that mean?’ He continued to watch her, and she could see that amused smile hovering round his lips. ‘Are you here on holiday? Are you a tourist?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Not exactly?’ He waited for her to elaborate. He was totally unfazed by her hostile lack of co-operation.

Carrie took a deep breath. She might as well tell him, then she could ask him the same question and finally find out who he was.

‘I happen to be here for reasons of work,’ she told him.

He feigned interest. ‘And what kind of work is that?’

‘I’m putting together a book.’

‘A book? That sounds fascinating. May I enquire what kind of book?’

‘A book on Castello porcelain.’ Then she added unnecessarily, for if he really was a local he would surely already know, ‘It’s a locally made porcelain that’s famous throughout the world. Over the centuries it’s graced the tables of every royal family in Europe, not to mention the table at the White House also.’

He was smiling. ‘Ah, so you are capable of stringing more than one sentence together. I was beginning to think you had a serious communication problem.’

Very amusing. But Carrie did not smile back. She’d already been thinking she’d been just a little too forthcoming. It was her enthusiasm for the project that had momentarily got the better of her, for this book she was putting together on Castello porcelain—literally putting together, for she was both writing it and doing the photographs!—was undoubtedly one of the most exciting projects she’d ever worked on. Ever since her New York editor had first OK’d the idea two months ago she had barely been able to think of anything else. And she loved talking about it to anyone who would listen!

But she hadn’t intended to confide her passion to this arrogant dark stranger, who now knew a little too much about her for her liking—especially since she still knew nothing about him!

And it was time to put that right. She regarded him boldly. ‘But enough about me. Tell me something about you. For example, what do you do for a living?’

‘Me?’

He continued to smile at her and did not answer immediately, almost as though he was pondering how to respond. Perhaps he was astonished that she didn’t know. Or insulted—though he did not look it. Rather, he looked intrigued, Carrie decided as she waited, wondering what had prompted this unlikely display of reticence.

‘Now it looks as though you’re the one with the communication problem,’ she pointed out.

He laughed then. ‘Touché!’ Then he smiled. ‘Well, since you ask. . .’

But he never finished the sentence, for at that very moment a man in a dark suit suddenly appeared at his elbow, murmuring something in Italian that Carrie couldn’t understand. Damn! she was thinking as her still unidentified stranger, with a polite nod in her direction, turned away to reply to him. Wouldn’t you just believe it? Talk about bad timing!

‘I’m afraid I have to go.’ He was turning back to look at her. ‘It would appear my presence is required elsewhere.’

Then, surprising her, he held out his hand for a brief handshake. ‘It’s been most interesting meeting you. And again, let me offer you my apologies. I hope your bad experience this evening won’t spoil your stay here.’

And, before she had time to do more than mumble, ‘I’m sure it won’t,’ he was turning sharply on his heel and disappearing into the interior part of the restaurant.

Not, Carrie thought wryly as she watched his departure, that she would have been capable of saying much more anyway. That brief handshake had quite literally galvanised her for a moment. The touch of his skin had seemed to scorch against her. In those brief seconds of contact she’d been aware of a raw vitality that had sent shock waves down to the soles of her feet.

Phew! Whoever he was, this guy was pure dynamite!

She was rather glad to be brought back to earth as the waiter appeared at the next table and she suddenly remembered that he still hadn’t brought her the bill. She waved to catch his attention. ‘My bill, please,’ she called, but he was already coming over.

‘Signorina,’ he smiled. ‘There is no bill.’ He shrugged an expressive shrug. ‘It has already been paid.’

‘Paid?’

‘Yes, signorina.’

‘By whom has it been paid?’ Though Carrie had a sneaking suspicion that she already knew the answer.

The waiter made a gesture as though reluctant to divulge this information. Then he murmured conspiratorially, confirming her suspicion, ‘By the gentleman you were just speaking to a moment ago.’

‘But he had no right to do that!’ Carrie was already rising to her feet indignantly. ‘I’m perfectly capable of paying my own bills!’

And before the waiter could stop her, if indeed he even thought of trying, she was grabbing her bag and steaming across the terrace in the direction her misguided benefactor had taken. Who the devil did he think he was?

There was no sign of him in the inner restaurant, but he couldn’t have gone far. Carrie headed for the door that led to the foyer at the front. And as she pushed the door open she beamed in triumph to herself. He hadn’t escaped her, after all. She’d arrived just in the nick of time!

He was standing by the open door, just about to step out into the street, his back towards her so he couldn’t see her. And on the pavement ahead of him was the man in the dark suit who was now holding open the door of a black limousine which was conveniently parked just a couple of steps away.

Nice, Carrie thought scathingly as she stepped boldly towards her quarry. No wonder he thinks he can behave all high and mighty if this is the way he gets treated all the time!

The thought fired up her anger. In a tight voice, she called out to him, ‘Just a minute, if you don’t mind! I’m afraid I’ve got a bone to pick with you!’ She continued to hurry up to him. ‘About that high-handed gesture of yours. . . that high-handed gesture of paying my bill for me. . .’

Then her voice trailed off. He had turned round to look at her. And, suddenly, Carrie was dying a thousand deaths all in one go. For now, in the much brighter light of the foyer, she had instantly recognised who he was.

How could I have been so stupid? she berated herself sickly, wishing she could just melt into the carpet and disappear. How could I have been so dim as not to recognise him instantly? And much worse, how could I have been so gross as to speak to him the way I just did?

Her heart had stopped inside her, her flesh turned to stone. Me and my big mouth. Now I’m really going to be in trouble! she thought.

But if she was, it was not just yet.

He threw her a look she could not decipher. Then with a small lift of the eyebrow he told her, ‘I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry. Some other time, perhaps. I can’t stop now.’

Then he was turning away, sweeping across the pavement and climbing into the back of the black limousine. And Carrie was still standing there, speechlessly staring at it, when a moment later it purred away.

‘Ah, there you are! The waiter said you’d left. I’m sorry I took such ages. I met someone in the john.’

Carrie turned woodenly to look at Louise who had just appeared at her elbow. Her brain was still spinning inside her head like a top.

‘I met this woman who’s here on holiday and—would you believe it?—she lives just two blocks away from me in Queen’s! Can you imagine? What a coincidence! Anyway, we got talking, and—Hey, Carrie, are you all right?’ Louise paused and peered into the face of her friend who hadn’t heard a single word she’d been saying. ‘You look a bit strange. Has something happened?’

‘I’m not sure what’s happened. I think I’m going mad.’ Carrie gave herself a shake and smiled a wry smile at her friend. ‘I’ve just had a most fascinating encounter myself. And I’m afraid I’ve really put my foot in it.

‘I thought I was speaking to just any old Prince Charming. But I wasn’t. For once, I was speaking to the real thing: She sighed and turned to the open door through which the dark stranger had disappeared. ‘I’m afraid I’ve just made a terrible faux pas. I’ve just insulted Count Leone, the heir to the throne.’

‘Here you are, sir. These are the papers I mentioned. The Duke would be grateful if you would sign them at your earliest convenience.’

‘Just leave them on the table, Pierre.’ Leone turned to glance at his private secretary who had appeared with the usual daily batch of papers to be dealt with. ‘I’ll take a look at them while I’m having breakfast,’ he told him. ‘You can pick them up in about half an hour.’

‘Certainly, sir.’ Pierre nodded deferentially. ‘Will there be anything else for the moment?’

‘Not for the moment, thanks.’ Then, as the other man started to go, he called after him, ‘Oh, by the way, congratulations. I hear you’ve finally fixed the big day. Well, it’s about time the lovely Margherita made an honest man of you, I’d say.’

Pierre smiled a pleased smile. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he responded. ‘We both hope you’ll honour us with your presence at the wedding.’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. You know how I love weddings.’ Leone laughed. ‘Just as long as they’re not mine, of course.’

It was just after seven-thirty at the Palazzo Verde, and Count Leone Alberto Cosimo George di Montecrespi, brother of the ruling Duke and heir to the throne of San Rinaldo, currently dressed in a red silk dressing gown, was in his private apartments getting ready for the day.

And it would be a full day as usual, he was thinking as he drank his coffee. Thank heavens he could rely on Pierre to organise everything.

At that moment his valet appeared from the adjoining dressing room where he’d been laying out Leone’s clothes for the day.

Leone glanced at him. ‘Thanks, Silvestro,’ he told him. Then he enquired good-humouredly, ‘I suppose you’ve heard Pierre’s news? You know about the imminent betrothal?’

‘Yes, sir. I heard about it. And very pleased I was too.’

Leone smiled at the young man. ‘Another romantic, I see. No doubt you’ll shortly be following in his footsteps?’

‘I sincerely hope so, sir. As soon as Anna’s twenty-one—and that’s only eighteen months away.’

Leone shook his head at him. ‘You’re all mad, if you ask me. With so many beautiful, available women in the world, why any man under forty would want to get married is an absolute, total mystery to me.’ And, with a smile, he turned his attention back to the pile of papers.

Not that his attention was entirely on what he was doing as he flicked his way rapidly through the papers, scanning a few lines here and there, scribbling his signature where it was required. For there was a niggling little diversion that had been occupying his thoughts with a fair degree of frequency since yesterday evening. He’d tried to dismiss it from his mind, but it refused to be dismissed, and he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he’d have to do something about it.

Well, why not? he decided. And he smiled at the prospect. A beautiful girl is a beautiful girl, no matter how stroppy she is!

When Pierre returned, he had finished signing the papers. He handed them over. ‘These all seem to be in order.’ Then, sitting back in his seat and draining his coffee-cup, he added, ‘I want you to track down someone for me. A girl. An American. I don’t know her name, but she’s blonde, mid-twenties and extremely beautiful and she’s putting together a book, apparently, on Castello porcelain. Find out who she is and where she’s staying and anything else you can about her.’

‘Is this an urgent matter, sir?’ His secretary’s expression had never altered, though a look of fond amusement had briefly crossed his face. This wasn’t the first time he’d been given such a task.

‘Yes, it is urgent, Pierre.’ Leone laid down his coffee-cup and there was a distinctly determined look in his eyes. ‘This young lady and I have unfinished business.’


CHAPTER TWO

THE house Carrie had rented for her stay in San Rinaldo was about five miles out of Rino, the capital of the little dukedom, up a sun-dappled, twisting, tree-lined road with a spectacular view out over the city.

To be more accurate, she’d rented only part of the house—a marvellous red-tiled eighteenth-century villa. She’d taken the top floor, which was bright and spacious, with its own front door and huge balconies at the front and back. And she was out on the front balcony now, basking in the July sunshine, with a bowl of peaches at her elbow and a notepad on her knee as she sat in one of the comfy cane chairs and worked out her itinerary for the coming week. And it promised to be a busy one, with lots of meetings and appointments. To her enormous satisfaction, though she’d been here less than a week, work was already getting under way.

But that was Carrie’s way. When it came to matters of work, she liked to dive straight in and get on with the job. And that was why, in the space of just three years, she’d gained a reputation for being a top-rank professional.

It was hard to believe, but it really was just three years ago that she had arrived in New York fresh from college with no experience at all of the publishing world, just a lot of ambition and a fistful of good ideas. Plus an infinite supply of determination, of course. For she’d quickly lost count of the publishing-house doors she’d had to knock on before one finally took her on to do a book on Colorado gold—for her native state was once prospector country—and since the success of that book her career had never looked back.

There had followed a book on Amerindian art, then one on New York’s Guggenheim Museum, as well as the steady stream of magazine articles she wrote. But this latest project, the book on Castello porcelain that she had come to San Rinaldo to work on, promised to be the most ambitious so far. This one was going to be really special.

She sat back in her chair now with a smile on her face and gazed for a moment at the peaceful panorama of cypress-clad hills and green-shuttered villas. What a wonderful place. She was going to adore the next three months here. With a sigh of contentment, she reached for a peach.

At that moment there was the sound of a car down below, turning into the gravel driveway of the villa. Carrie munched on her peach, which was sweet and delicious, and turned her attention back to her scribblings. It must be someone for her landlady, a widow who lived below. Signora Rossi frequently had visitors.

She heard a car door slam, then male footsteps crossing the driveway, past the stone steps that led to her balcony. Though she was barely paying attention. She was carefully studying her itinerary, wondering if she hadn’t maybe over-committed herself tomorrow. And she didn’t bother to glance up when, a moment or two later, there was the sound of voices down below her balcony—Signora Rossi and her visitor talking in Italian. So she was totally taken by surprise when suddenly her landlady called out, ‘Signorina Carrie! There’s someone to see you!’

How odd. Frowning a little, Carrie laid down her notepad, got to her feet and stepped to the edge of the balcony. Who on earth could it possibly be? She didn’t know anyone who was likely to come visiting.

She leaned over the balcony. ‘Thank you, Signora Rossi.’

But then she paused. Where was her visitor? And what manner of lightning bolt had apparently struck her landlady? For the poor woman’s eyes were fixed, saucer-sized in their amazement, on the narrow stone stairway that led to Carrie’s veranda.

Curious, Carrie turned to follow the stupefied gaze. Then she blinked, her own eyes transforming into saucers of amazement. For ascending the stone stairway was no less a personage than Count Leone Alberto Cosimo George di Montecrespi, the heir to the throne of San Rinaldo, whom she had so grievously insulted just two days ago.

She felt herself turn pale. Oh, dear heavens! she was thinking. He’s come personally to throw me out of the country!

He had reached the top of the stairs, where he paused now to address her. ‘Miss Carrie Dunn from Colorado, we meet again,’ he smiled. Then he paused and regarded her pale, fixed face. ‘I hope I haven’t caught you at an inconvenient moment?’

‘Not at all. Of course not.’

Carrie hadn’t a clue what to say or do. So she just stood there, utterly immobile, feeling totally foolish in her skimpy pink shorts and strappy T-shirt, wishing that, at least, she were more soberly dressed. Though he was pretty informally attired too, in a pair of cream cotton trousers, an open-neck blue shirt and light canvas shoes. Nevertheless, he was still a count, the brother of the ruler of San Rinaldo and a member of one of the oldest noble families in Europe. Her brain was churning in confusion. Ought she to curtsy to him, or what?

Leone, for his part, was feeling a touch bemused too. She was even lovelier than he had remembered. Slender and graceful, with a natural, unadorned beauty, and a perfectly spectacular pair of legs. He looked into her face with its wide hazel eyes, gentle mouth and tip-tilted nose and was suddenly struck by the strong resemblance she bore to one of the angels in the painted frieze of the family chapel.

That surprising thought made him smile. That angel had always been his favourite.

But his task at the moment was to put this poor angel at her ease. She was standing there, quite rigid, clutching a half-eaten peach and looking as though she believed he was about to devour her.

He glanced around him. ‘What a lovely place. That’s a pretty spectacular view you’ve got.’

‘Yes, it is pretty spectacular.’

Carrie managed to answer him, though her voice sounded strange, as though it belonged to someone else. What was he doing here? she kept asking herself frantically, over and over. It was bizarre. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he might want of her. Though one part of her, in spite of her quite genuine anxiety, felt like laughing out loud at the situation. If only her family, or friend Louise, could see her now, standing here hobnobbing with the heir to the San Rinaldo throne!

Well, not exactly hobnobbing! That thought brought her up sharply. If her family could see her now, they’d think she was a proper wimp! She straightened her spine carefully and lifted up her chin and, suddenly realising she was still clutching her half-eaten peach, laid it carefully on the little table behind her. Then, taking a deep breath and feeling much more in control now, she forced herself to look her visitor straight in the eye.

‘Forgive me,’ she said in a polite but firm tone, ‘but actually I’m wondering what you’re doing here.’ Then, a little amazed but thoroughly pleased with herself for taking this initiative, she held her breath and waited for his answer.

Leone looked at her and smiled. Good for her, he was thinking. He knew from their last confrontation that she didn’t lack spirit, but last time she hadn’t been aware of who he was. This time she clearly was and he’d wondered if her attitude might alter. That little demonstration that it hadn’t made her even more interesting.

‘Actually, it’s you who should forgive me.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘Here I am in your home and I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Leone,’ he told her. ‘Leone Montecrespi.’

Carrie continued to look at him with steady hazel eyes. ‘Yes, I know who you are.’ Reluctantly, she took his hand, for she remembered all too vividly the effect of his handshake at the restaurant.

And it happened again, that jolt of sensation, that sense that suddenly her flesh was burning. Though she managed to control her reaction this time as she added, ‘Last time we met, I confess, I didn’t recognise you.’ She dropped her hand away, ignoring the fierce tingling. ‘The light in the restaurant wasn’t very good.’

Carrie wondered as she said it if that confession was good enough. Perhaps he would expect her to apologise more profusely, possibly even grovel a bit? But grovelling was out. She just wasn’t a groveller. And anyway, she reflected, she’d been perfectly entitled to make the comments she’d made the other night at the restaurant. He and his friends had behaved in a thoroughly arrogant manner.

‘Yes, the light was rather poor.’ Leone’s reaction was simply to smile. Then he let his eyes drift over her for a moment. ‘Now that I can see you properly I realise you’re twice as beautiful as I’d thought.’

‘Really?’ Carrie’s tone was flat and dismissive. Flattery will get you nowhere, it candidly told him. Whatever he’d come for, he wouldn’t butter her up that way—though privately she had to confess that she’d been having similar thoughts about him!

In the warm light of day he looked even more gorgeous, and he was immeasurably more attractive, though she would hardly have thought this possible, than in the photographs she had seen of him in various glossy magazines.

There was a wonderful raw vitality to him that, along with the wild black hair and the eyes that she could see now were the pefect blue of lapis lazuli, projected an aura of shimmering excitement. She felt a rush inside her and quickly suppressed it.

She said, turning away, waving at the group of cane chairs behind her, ‘Would you care to take a seat?’

Beware, she was thinking as a bell rang in her head. It had struck her in the restaurant that he was clearly a bit of a Romeo, but now that she knew who he was she knew also that she’d been right.

In those photographs one saw of him in the glossy magazines he was invariably accompanied by some pouting bimbette—always head-turningly beautiful and never the same one twice. And, though it seemed unlikely—what would he see in a girl like her who, after all, was definitely no bimbette, a very far cry from the type he went for?—it was possible that he had come here with seduction on his mind.

She darted a glance into the smoky blue eyes. Who could tell? Maybe His Highness felt like a change. Maybe he had grown a little bored with his habitual diet and fancied a working American girl instead. Perhaps he had come here to invite her to share the royal bed.

At that thought, to Carrie’s dismay, she felt another rush inside her, as though all her insides had turned to liquid honey. Shame on you, she told herself, and quickly suppressed it. No matter how gorgeous he was, he would have no luck with her. She wasn’t here to provide entertainment for any playboy count!

He was accepting her invitation and crossing the veranda to seat himself in the cane chair where she had been sitting earlier, the one next to the little table with the bowl of peaches. He stretched out his long legs. ‘You asked what I’m doing here.’ Then he held her eyes and smiled. ‘We have unfinished business.’

‘Unfinished business?’

What on earth did he mean by that? Carrie crossed to seat herself on one of the chairs opposite him, careful to arrange her legs at a safe distance from his, her feet crossed neatly at the ankles.

She looked him straight in the eye and raised one questioning eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t aware that you and I had any business to finish.’

‘Perhaps not, strictly speaking, business.’ He simply smiled at her reaction. I’m going to enjoy this, he was thinking. This one’s definitely no pushover. It would make a pleasant change from the easy victories he was used to.

He stretched his legs a little further and leaned back in his seat and watched her. ‘The other evening, you may remember, as I was leaving the restaurant, you came running after me, rather anxious to tell me something. I couldn’t stop at the time, but perhaps you’d like to tell me about it now?’

‘Is that why you’ve come here?’ Carrie frowned as she looked back at him. ‘Just to find out why I came running after you?’

She wasn’t sure if she believed him. At the time, she’d been quite certain that he’d heard perfectly well her angry protests about the bill.

But perhaps not, after all, and perhaps that really was why he’d come—to find out what she’d been saying and, possibly, to chastise her for her rudeness. Perhaps she’d been totally wrong about the seduction bit. Oh, well, she thought, thank heavens for that.

Another thought struck her. He must have gone to a fair bit of trouble in order to track her down like this. She delivered him a dry look. ‘How extraordinarily fastidious of you.’

‘I’m an extraordinarily fastidious chap.’ He smiled a lazy smile and cast a glance at the bowl of peaches at his elbow. ‘What lovely-looking peaches. Do you mind if I have one?’

Then, as she nodded and said, ‘Help yourself,’ he reached out and took one.

Carrie found herself watching his every move with fascination. He had the most beautiful tanned hands, with shapely, sensuous fingers, and there was something about the way he took hold of the peach and held it in the palm of his hand for a moment that made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Somehow, it was all too easy to imagine how it would feel to have those sensuous fingers caressing your naked flesh.

With a flash of horror at herself—what the devil was coming over her?—she pushed that thought away as he returned to their interrupted discourse and elaborated, ‘I like conclusions. I hate to leave things hanging in the air.’

Carrie took a deep breath. ‘Then I’ll tell you why I came running after you.’ Suddenly, she too was rather keen to reach a conclusion, and preferably one that involved him exiting with some rapidity. His presence was doing the most peculiar things to her brain!

Squaring her shoulders, she told him, ‘I was objecting to you paying my bill. There was no need for that. I’m capable of paying my own bills.’

Leone narrowed his eyes. ‘I thought that’s what you were saying. But you seemed so het up I wondered if I was mistaken.’

‘Of course I was het up. You had no business paying my bill for me.’

‘It was a gesture of reparation. Because you lost your table.’

‘Well, it was a gesture I didn’t appreciate. It simply added insult to injury.’ Carrie flushed in remembrance as she said it. For it really was true. She really had felt insulted. ‘I came after you to complain and to insist on paying you back.’

As she spoke she sat forward, intending to stand up. ‘In fact, I’ll take the opportunity to pay you back now.’ Over the past couple of days, the incident had continued to trouble her. How did you pay back a debt to the heir to the throne? Did you just stick some money in an envelope and send it off to the palace? How could you be certain he’d actually received it? She’d been planning on asking someone at the bank what she should do, but now the problem could be easily resolved.

She told him, ‘I’ll go and get the money right this minute.’

But Leone was waving to her to sit down. ‘You can give it to me before I leave.’ He took a bite of his peach. ‘That is, if you insist, which I’d rather you didn’t.’

‘Well, I’m afraid I definitely do.’

Carrie was half out of her chair and half in it. It went against the grain to obey that imperious little wave, for he was clearly far too used to people obeying him, but she had suddenly realised that to go indoors for her purse she would have to step over his outstretched legs. Unless, of course, he moved them, but she couldn’t bank on that.

Feeling a little cowardly, she sat back stiffly in her seat again. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I’ll pay you before you leave.’ That surely shouldn’t be long now, she was silently praying. And there was definitely no danger that she might forget.

There was silence for a moment as Leone sat back and looked at her. The more he discovered about this girl, the more intriguing she became to him. She was different, a type he came across rarely.

‘You’re the independent sort, I see.’ His tone was light as he challenged her. ‘Is this how they teach you to be over in Colorado?’

‘I suppose it must be. It’s certainly how I was taught.’

Carrie wondered if he was laughing at her and decided he probably was. The sort of personal integrity her parents had instilled in her ever since she was very little was something he would find petty and bourgeois and boring. People of his social rank operated differently. They were the sort of people, after all, who went through life thinking nothing of commandeering other people’s restaurant tables!

She tilted her chin at him. ‘I was brought up to respect people, to respect their rights, not to take advantage.’ And as she looked into his eyes she could see quite clearly that he had understood the unspoken message. ‘I was also taught to pay my way and to honour my debts. In short, not to take anything that wasn’t my due.’

Leone regarded her with interest. ‘So, what do you consider to be your due?’

‘What I work for. What I earn by my own efforts.’

She paused and dropped her eyes to her lap for a moment. Was she overdoing it just a little? she wondered, suddenly guilty. She was talking, after all, to one of the idle aristocracy and she had also been taught never to give gratuitous offence.

But Leone did not appear to be offended in the slightest. Instead, he took another bite of his peach and commented, ‘An extremely worthy philosophy of life.’

Not that he meant it, of course, and he could afford to smile indulgently and not care a damn what people like her thought of him. This thought went through Carrie’s head as she looked into the blue eyes, observing to herself what different worlds they came from. Surely neither could ever truly understand the other?

She said, ‘It’s what I was taught and it’s what I believe.’

Leone continued to watch her, the blue eyes oddly unsettling. They had this quality of seeming to pierce beneath her skin. At times he seemed to be laughing at her, at others studying her closely, and somehow the two just didn’t add up.

What was going on in his head and why had he come? For she still wasn’t convinced by the reason he’d given her. But the thing that was making her most uncomfortable of all was the fact that there seemed to be no sign of him leaving!

He crossed his feet at the ankles and tilted his head as he looked at her. ‘So, what are you doing here in decadent old Europe rubbing shoulders with the sort of people I’d have thought you’d run a mile from?’

He was definitely laughing at her now. The blue eyes sparked with devilment. ‘Wouldn’t you have been better off choosing a different subject for your book? Something that kept you safe among the high principles of Colorado?’

Arrogant pig. Carrie looked back at him levelly. ‘Actually, I don’t live in Colorado any more.’

That was just for the record. He didn’t know everything, after all!

‘For the past three years,’ she continued, ‘I’ve lived in New York. So, you see, I have actually ventured out of the safe haven of my home state.’

‘That must have been quite a jolt.’ Leone was still smiling at her amusedly. ‘How on earth do you manage to survive among the sharks of New York?’

‘I just basically put my head down and get on with my job, just as millions of other New Yorkers do. I’ve never had any trouble surviving, as you put it.’ And it was true—she’d made the shift to the Big Apple with no problem. ‘Most New Yorkers, like me, believe in the ethos of hard work.’

‘Back to that old subject again.’ Leone lifted one dark eyebrow. ‘I get the feeling that with you everything comes back to work.’

‘I suppose it does, more or less. Work is a large part of my life.’ And she couldn’t resist adding, whether it offended him or not, ‘No doubt that’s a totally alien concept to you?’

‘Totally.’ Leone took another bite of his peach. ‘I consider my life to be for living.’

Well, she knew what he meant by that! For ‘living’ substitute ‘loving’. In the pursuit of sexual adventures was how Leone Montecrespi spent his time!

She threw him a condescending look. ‘Each to his own, of course. Personally, I prefer a little more substance to my existence.’

‘And who says my life lacks substance? I would say it had substance to spare.’

‘Well, there’s substance and substance, I suppose.’ Carrie shrugged an expressive shrug. ‘As I said before, each to his own.’

‘Each to his own indeed.’ Leone continued to watch her. And though he was smiling there was a dark, probing look in his eyes. ‘Is it really true, then?’ he asked, finishing off his peach and tossing the stone down on the table. ‘Is work the only thing that turns you on?’

Those were not the precise words Carrie herself would have chosen, though she was not at all surprised that he had opted for that wording. It was perfectly clear that he was out to needle her.

She regarded him coolly. ‘I find my work stimulating.’ If he thought he could fluster her, he had another think coming. After three years in New York she didn’t fluster so easily. ‘Most people,’ she added, ‘who have jobs they’re truly involved in would agree, I think, that work gives a lot of satisfaction.’

She didn’t bother to add this time that he no doubt found that an alien concept. It didn’t need saying. They both knew it was true. For though she’d heard he had a job—something to do with Formula One racing cars—it was clearly nothing more than a rich man’s pastime. An undemanding and conveniently part-time pastime that left him plenty of free time for ‘living’.

‘So I’ve heard.’ Leone was enjoying this little skirmish. ‘But a lot of satisfaction is one thing; total satisfaction is quite another. And I’m beginning to suspect that you fall into the latter category.’

‘Are you indeed?’

‘Yes, I am. Am I right?’

Carrie fixed him with a look. Was he asking her about her sex life? Well, she was keeping that to herself—not that there was a great deal to divulge. A couple of mild romances, a few flirtations and not much more. Certainly nothing that would stand comparison with his love life!

She held the deep blue gaze. ‘That’s something you’ll never know.’

‘Top secret, huh?’

‘Just my own private business.’

‘Too bad. I was hoping for some intimate little insight.’

‘Then I’m afraid I must disappoint you.’

‘That’s the worst thing you could do to me.’ He smiled. ‘I can’t bear it when a woman disappoints me.’

Carrie could think of no reply and, really, it was little wonder, for all at once her heart was beating strangely. There was a rapid pulse in her throat and her breathing was fast and shallow. Wrong again, she was thinking. Who said she couldn’t be flustered?

For there’d been an undercurrent in that exchange that had been distinctly sexual and she’d found herself responding with a sudden sense of excitement. But an excitement touched with guilt, for she’d known she shouldn’t be reacting to him like that. Only she’d been unable to stop herself and had had no desire to stop him. As they sat looking at each other now, the air around them seemed to crackle.

Then Leone said, ‘So you’ve come to San Rinaldo looking for satisfaction? Professional satisfaction, I mean, of course.’ The blue eyes flashed. ‘After all, we’ve more or less established that for you that’s the only kind of satisfaction worth pursuing.’

Carrie swallowed hard. How on earth, she was wondering, had the conversation managed to arrive at this loaded point? Though she had a small suspicion that the responsibility was partly hers. For it had somehow grown out of the disapproving noises she’d made regarding his claim that life was for living.

She made a mental note to be more cautious in future. The heir to the throne clearly had no scruples at all about baiting young women who took a disapproving tone with him. Not that that knowledge would actually be of any use to her. She was unlikely ever to meet him again.

Just to think that was a great relief. She straightened her shoulders. And perhaps now she could persuade him to put an end to this meeting.

She looked across at him, though avoiding looking too deeply into his eyes. Those smouldering lapis eyes, she was learning, were dangerous. She smiled a neutral smile. ‘Now that you’ve told me why you came here . . . and now that I’ve had a chance to explain about the other evening. . . it would seem your unfinished business has been completed.’

Well, that was plain enough. As hints went, that one was yacht-sized. Politely, she waited. With any luck he’d make a move now, then she could just give him his money and wave a thankful goodbye.

And he did start to stand up. At least, that was what it looked like. He sat forward in his seat, his hands on the chair arms. ‘You’re right; that particular piece of business has been completed.’

But then, midway, he paused, the smoky blue eyes fixing her. ‘But that wasn’t the only reason I came here,’ he said.

Oh, dear. Carrie stiffened. Had her initial suspicions been right? Was there seduction on the royal mind, after all? She looked into his eyes and felt herself shiver. Now, how was she going to get out of this?

‘Oh?’ she responded, and got ready to defend herself.

Leone was watching her. ‘I promise you you’re going to like this.’

Carrie’s insides twisted. Oh, no, I’m not, she thought.

Then he smiled. ‘I know you’ll like it because it happens to concern your work.’

‘My work?’

‘Yes, your work. I may be able to help you.’

‘Help me?’ She was suspicious. ‘In what way?’ she queried. ‘I really don’t think I need any help.’ She hurried on, assuring him, ‘I’ve already seen Dr Lamberti—he’s the manager at the Castello factory—and we’ve agreed on a programme for doing interviews and photographs, plus all the access I need to the archives. I know enough Italian to decipher most of it, but if I have any problems he’s offered to provide a translator.

‘So, you see,’ she ended, conclusively stamping on his suggestion, ‘I really don’t see how you could possibly help me.’

The very last thing she either needed or wanted was to get tied up with Count Leone!

He had listened without a word and now he shrugged as though in agreement. ‘I guess you’re right,’ he told her. ‘You don’t need my assistance.’ And, to Carrie’s immense relief, he stood up.

Carrie jumped to her feet too. What joy! He was finally leaving! She couldn’t wait to wave him down the stairs to his car.

But, just as he was about to head for those very same stairs, he paused and turned round to face her again. ‘I take it, then,’ he said with an inquisitorial lift of one eyebrow, ‘that you’re unaware of the existence of the Montecrespi dinner service?’

Carrie had very nearly gone walking into him when he had turned round so suddenly, and she’d been about to deliver him a fierce scowl as she stepped back. But now she forgot about scowling and blinked at him instead.

‘On the contrary,’ she informed him. ‘I’m very much aware of the existence of the Montecrespi dinner service.’

Anyone who was even remotely interested in Castello porcelain couldn’t help but know about the fabulous dinner service that had been made to mark the wedding of the first Duke back at the end of the seventeenth century.

She looked at Leone now, wondering what he was getting at. ‘It’s in the Duke’s private collection that’s kept locked up in the Palazzo Verde.’ As she said it she couldn’t disguise the note of longing in her voice, for she had applied to the palace press office for permission to include it in her book and had been greeted with an immediate and categorical refusal.

‘But no one’s allowed to see it, let alone photograph it,’ she added now. For at least there had been that much consolation—that no other member of the public had ever been allowed anywhere near it either.

She kept her eyes fixed on Leone, suddenly curious. ‘Why do you mention it?’ she wanted to know.

‘I just wondered if you’d be interested. . .’

‘Interested? How do you mean, interested?’

‘Interested in including it in this book of yours.’

Carrie’s heart almost stopped. That look in his eyes was the look of someone holding out a bar of candy to a baby. And this was one bar of candy Carrie desperately wanted.

She swallowed and held her breath. ‘But I just told you no one’s allowed to see it. I already tried and they turned me down.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Leone smiled. ‘But you didn’t have me backing you then.’

Carrie was still holding her breath. ‘Meaning?’ she croaked.

‘Meaning that if you had me backing you you might have a different response.’

‘And why should you back me?’

‘Do I need an ulterior motive?’ His smile was pure innocence, but there was a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘Maybe I’d simply like to help you,’ he suggested.

Yes, and cats might kiss canaries. She didn’t believe that for a second. But for now his motives were a separate issue. The issue that concerned Carrie now was much more immediate.

She let out her breath and put to him, ‘Do you really mean it? Would you help me?’

‘I might. And if I do there’s a good chance that I’ll succeed. I have a fair amount of influence with my brother.’

‘If you could, that would be wonderful.’ Carrie wasn’t sure she should be saying this. She had the feeling that some silken noose was about to close around her neck. But how could she respond otherwise? He was offering her a prize she’d dreamed of. ‘I’d really be grateful,’ she heard herself add.

‘Would you? That’s nice to know.’ Leone was still standing over her, looking down at her with eyes as tempting as Satan’s. ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he added, his blue gaze sweeping over her. ‘A woman’s gratitude, I find, is always a most generous thing. And I’m sure I’ll think of a suitable way for you to express yours when the time comes.’

Carrie was about to step back. Suddenly, danger signs were flashing. And she was tempted to blurt out, Forget it! I’ve changed my mind! She could almost feel the silken strands of the noose biting into her neck already.

But, before she could utter a word, Leone was stepping away from her. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he was saying. ‘Thanks for the peach.’

Then he was turning away and hurrying down the stone steps. And Carrie was still standing there, wondering what on earth she’d let herself in for, when a moment later she heard his car drive away.

Four days passed and there was no further word from him.

He’s forgotten, Carrie decided, or else he was never serious in the first place. All of which was to be expected and was probably for the best anyway. Count Leone, she had decided, was as dangerous as a ticking time bomb.

So it looked as though the only reason he’d come to her house was in order to amuse himself for half an hour. How odd, she thought, when he could have been somewhere more exciting, posing for the paparazzi and making headlines for the papers. Well, perhaps he’d just felt like a quiet interlude. No doubt such were the ways of the idle aristocracy!

It was disappointing, of course, about the Montecrespi dinner service. To have been able to include that in her book would have been a major coup and she’d already been picturing it adorning the front cover! Too bad, she thought philosophically; it had been nice to dream for a while—though it had occurred to her that it might be worth having another go herself at trying to get the Duke’s permission.

If I don’t hear from Leone within the week I’ll contact the palace press office again, she told herself. It was worth a try and she had nothing to lose.

At the same time, if she didn’t hear from him she’d send off the money she owed him—for the other day, to her chagrin, it had completely slipped her mind. She’d get a money order from the bank and send it to the palace.

In the meantime she was being kept busy with her work at the Castello factory. Dr Lamberti, who had given her her own little office there, was proving to be enormously helpful and she had already taken a couple of rolls of photographs. Even without the fabulous dinner service she had the makings of a firstclass book.

But the following day she was in for a small shock.

She got home from the factory to find her landlady waiting for her. ‘This is for you,’ Signora Rossi told her, handing her a letter. ‘It was delivered this afternoon by private messenger.’ She pointed to a finely embossed emblem in the corner and gave Carrie a look of bemused admiration. ‘It looks as though it’s come from the Palazzo Verde.’

Carrie hurried up to her bedroom and sat down on the edge of her bed before tearing the envelope open with curious fingers. Then she pulled out the single sheet of cream-coloured vellum, unfolded it carefully and began to read the message, written in a clear, plain hand.

Dear Carrie,

I’ve spoken to my brother on the subject we discussed. Please come to the palace on Friday evening if you wish to pursue the matter further. If not, phone the number at the top of this letter. If I don’t hear from you I shall send a car to pick you up at eight-thirty.

The letter was signed quite simply, ‘Leone.’

Well, how about that? She felt her heart flip over. The playboy count had kept his promise, after all, and it looked as though she was on the point of achieving her goal to include the fabulous Montecrespi dinner service in her book!

She jumped from the bed and let out a whoop of delight. I’ve done it! she told herself. The scoop of a lifetime!

But through her excitement there was another emotion taking hold of her. A very strong sense of apprehension. For she was remembering what Leone had said about the gratitude of women and how he would think of a suitable way for her to express hers.

Well, he’s misjudged badly this time, Carrie told herself firmly. All he’ll get from me is a polite and heartfelt thank-you—and maybe, if he’s good, a bottle of best brandy!

But in spite of her resolution she couldn’t quite conquer the way she kept feeling that familiar rush inside her every time she thought of seeing him again.


CHAPTER THREE

LEONE pushed aside the plastic curtain and stepped under the shower, feeling the cool, needle-fine jets sharp and refreshing against his back. It had been a hot, exhausting day and he had been looking forward to this.

For most of the past nine hours he’d been at the wheel of the team’s racing car, doing lap after gruelling lap round the sun-scorched race circuit as he carried out rigorous tests on the new gearbox they were working on. But although it had been exhausting he felt satisfied, and as he washed the grime from his body he had a feeling of immense satisfaction at a job well done.

This was how Leone spent most of his days, down at the workshop he shared with his five team mates, either working at the drawing board or in the cockpit of one of their cars. And if he’d been able to have his way he’d have been there every day.

Some days, however, his royal duties as the Duke’s brother made that ambition, sadly, impossible. There would be functions to attend or official visitors to receive and, though he tried to keep these engagements to a minimum, inevitably there were days when they intruded. But he always made a point of making up for the lost hours, coming into the workshop at dawn sometimes, at other times staying on till well after midnight. And he made the sacrifice gladly, for he adored his work.

Partly what he loved about it was the privacy and the informality. Only a very trusted few knew about his secret passion and here at the workshop he was safe from the paparazzi. And to the men with whom he worked he was an engineer, not a count. There was no time-wasting protocol. They all just got on with the job.

He turned his face to the shower and let the water splash over his head and shoulders. He had achieved a lot today—in spite, he thought, smiling, of the somewhat distracting thoughts that had kept jumping into his head, surprising him by their insistence and by the way they made him feel. Somehow, these thoughts had simply given him an extra boost.




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