Winter will be over soon and we have new books guaranteed to put a spring in your step! Lose yourself in an absorbing read from Harlequin Presents….

Travel to sophisticated European locations and meet sexy foreign men. In The Greek’s Chosen Wife by Lynne Graham, see what happens when gorgeous Greek Nikolas Angelis decides to make his convenient marriage real. The Mancini Marriage Bargain by Trish Morey is the conclusion of her exciting duet, THE ARRANGED BRIDES—we brought you the first book, Stolen by the Sheikh, last month.

Fly to more distant lands for Sandra Marton’s UNCUT story, The Desert Virgin. Feel the heat as ruthless troubleshooter Cameron Knight rescues innocent ballerina Leanna DeMarco. If you haven’t read an UNCUT story before, watch out—they’re almost too hot to handle!

If you like strong men, you’ll love our new miniseries RUTHLESS. This month in The Billionaire Boss’s Forbidden Mistress by Miranda Lee, a boss expects his new receptionist to fall at his feet, and is surprised to find she’s more of a challenge than he thought. Lucy Monroe’s latest story, Wedding Vow of Revenge, promises scenes of searing passion and a gorgeous hero.

The Royal Marriage by Fiona Hood-Stewart is a classic tale of a young woman who has been promised in marriage to a royal prince. Only she’s determined not to be ruled by him and her declaration of independence begins in the bedroom!

We hope you enjoy reading this month’s selection. Look out for brand-new books next month!

We’ve captured a slice of royal life in our miniseries

Kings, counts, dukes and princes…

Don’t miss these stories of charismatic kings, commanding counts, demanding dukes and playboy princes. Read all about their privileged lives, love affairs…even their scandals!

Let us treat you like a queen—relax and enjoy our regal miniseries.

Look out for more stories in this miniseries—coming soon!

The Royal Marriage
Fiona Hood-Stewart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

All about the author…
Fiona Hood-Stewart

Born in Scotland and brought up internationally, Fiona went to boarding school in Switzerland, and then to several European universities. When Fiona married, she moved to South America where she ran her own design business before turning to fashion, for which she created her own label and opened several boutiques in Brazil and the U.S.

However, like the characters in her novels, Fiona has always been mystically drawn back to Scotland. In fact her family home served as the inspiration for Dunbar in her MIRA novel The Journey Home. She is well acquainted with all the locales that are visited in all her novels, which she infuses with her own life experiences. As she speaks seven languages fluently, Fiona has a unique insight and exposure into customs and lifestyles of foreign countries.

Fiona divides her time between Europe and her ranch in Brazil. She has two sons and travels frequently to Paris, New York and can be seen at the races in Deauville in France, or at Royal Ascot in the U.K.

Fiona credits her mother with putting her on the path to becoming a writer. “My mother always read aloud to me as a child. She didn’t approve of television and I spent many hours with my nose in a book. As a child I read everything I could get my hands on.”

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

AS THE four-by-four SUV raced over a bumpy road in the arid north-eastern Brazilian countryside, HRH Prince Ricardo of Maldoravia asked himself—not for the first time—what had induced him to accept an invitation that could only lead to trouble.

He glanced at the SUV’s driver—a small, wiry individual in designer sunglasses, brown as a nut, with a wide smile and an attitude when it came to dealing with the local police. They seemed to enjoy stopping a car on the road for no apparent purpose other than to check papers, then hum and ha for a while, before sending its occupants on their way. Ricardo then glanced at his watch: three-thirty-five. The intense heat outside had penetrated the interior of the SUV, despite its tinted windows and the air-conditioning, which was on full blast. From his limited Portuguese, he understood the journey would take at least another hour. And that, he realised, could signify anything: time here had a different meaning.

He leaned back and stretched his legs as far as they would go. He must, he concluded wryly, be crazy to have accepted his late father’s old friend’s invitation. Gonzalo Guimaraes and his parent had studied together at Eton and Oxford many years ago, and although their lives had taken very different routes—Ricardo’s father becoming ruler of the small island Principality of Maldoravia in the Mediterranean, and Gonzalo heading back to his vast Brazilian fazenda—the two men had enjoyed a lifelong friendship. And in all those years Ricardo had never known Gonzalo to ask for any favours. Which was what made the request for Ricardo to visit him in his fiefdom all the more intriguing.

They were driving along the coastline now, and the landscape had changed: rolling waves, white sand and scattered coconut trees swayed with samba-like rhythm in the summer breeze. Two skimpily dressed men sat by the roadside, seemingly oblivious to the blazing sun. Another led a packed mule at a gentle pace. Speed was apparently not a factor in this part of the world. At one point Ricardo could see a little bronzed boy of about ten holding up a snake with the hopes of selling it to one of the few passers-by heading along the dust-bitten road.

So, although he had misgivings about the trip, Ricardo was fascinated. It was not the first time he’d visited Brazil—he’d made a brief visit to Rio a few years ago, for Carnival. But what he was seeing here and now was a very different country, one locked in a time warp where not much had changed and where the outside world meant little.

An hour and a half later they turned left down an earth road and the driver pointed to huge gates surrounded by coconut trees. Beyond them Ricardo spied a small bridge. Thick vegetation hid whatever else lay beyond. At the gates several dark-suited guards came out and greeted them. One bowed and, through gold teeth and in broken English, bade him welcome. Then the gates opened electronically and the vehicle proceeded at a more sober pace up a driveway bordered by a vivid mass of multi-coloured hibiscus and bougainvillaea. To the right more coconut trees framed the cerulean ocean. The driveway, Ricardo noted, was in considerably better repair than the highway.

About a mile and a half farther on a sprawling mansion came into view—a maze of whitewashed walls and low-lying red-tiled roofs emerging from a panoply of lush vegetation. It was strangely harmonious, as though the architect had felt entirely in tune with his surroundings.

‘We here,’ Lando, the driver, proclaimed triumphantly as he stamped on the brakes and the SUV came to a standstill. Ricardo smiled thankfully. He wondered why Gonzalo didn’t have a private airstrip, which would have made life a lot easier; he could certainly afford it.

Then servants appeared, doors opened, and as Ricardo exited the vehicle he saw Gonzalo, a man of medium height, brown and wiry—rather like the SUV’s driver—in a short-sleeved white shirt and beige trousers, his thick white hair swept back, coming down some shallow steps to greet him.

‘My friend,’ he said, with a broad smile of greeting, ‘welcome to my home.’

‘Thank you. I’m happy to be here.’ The two men shook hands warmly.

‘I’m sorry we couldn’t send the plane to pick you up in Recife, but there has been a problem with our radar system and in this back-of-beyond place we have to wait two days for the specialist to arrive. Usually my own team can take care of minor problems, but I’m afraid this time it was too complex. Come in out of the heat,’ Gonzalo insisted.

Ricardo obeyed gladly and stepped inside a huge cool marble hall. ‘It certainly is hot out there,’ he remarked.

‘At least forty degrees today,’ Gonzalo agreed, leading the way into a vast living room decorated with modern white sofas, Persian rugs, exotic plants and tasteful antiques. The panoramic view over the ocean was magnificent.

‘You have a beautiful place here,’ Ricardo said, gazing out, impressed. There was something wild and untamed about the landscape—something he couldn’t define but that he found viscerally disturbing.

The two men sat down on the sofas and two uniformed maids materialised with coffee and fruit juice.

‘This fruit is umbu,’ Gonzalo said as Ricardo tasted the refreshing juice. ‘It is typical of the north-east of the country. We have a great variety of fruit here.’

‘Delicious.’ Ricardo was still wondering what it was that had triggered Gonzalo’s urgent message. He was travelling incognito, having left his usual retinue behind in Maldoravia, and he was enjoying the freedom this allowed him. Right now he was content to bide his time. So, instead of showing overt curiosity as to why Gonzalo had summoned him, he sipped his juice and waited. Three years as ruler of the Principality had taught him patience. He had no doubt that all would be revealed in good time.

Several minutes later Gonzalo was conducting him up a wide marble staircase, past walls covered with bright colourful paintings that Gonzalo explained were from local and other South American artists, to a large suite of rooms. There the maids were already unpacking his belongings.

‘I suggest you take a rest,’ Gonzalo said. ‘When it is cooler we can meet for drinks downstairs and chat.’

‘That sounds perfect,’ Ricardo replied.

A few minutes later he was under the shower, enjoying the rush of ice-cold water. When he got out he sleeked back his dark hair and twisted a bath towel around his waist. He was a tall, well-built man. At thirty-three, several years of working out had left him with a trim, sculpted body. His dark brown eyes surveyed the reflection of his finely chiselled face in the bathroom mirror as he debated whether he needed another shave.

Water still trickled down his tanned back as he moved across the marble floor towards French windows and opened the doors. As he stepped out onto the balcony he was met by a pleasant breeze. The scorching heat of earlier in the day had subsided. Leaning on the balustrade, he looked out towards the rolling sand dunes and the bright blue sea, intrigued. From here, the next port of call, he reflected thoughtfully, was Africa. There was clarity and luminosity now that the heat haze had subsided, leaving the coconut trees and the rich vegetation distinct.

Ricardo stretched. He was about to turn back inside and lie down when a movement in the far distance caught his eyes. Shading them from the setting sun, he watched a straight-backed female figure astride a handsome white horse approaching along the beach at a gentle canter. It made a pleasant picture. As she drew closer he could make out her lithe movements, and her long dark hair flowing wildly in the wind. The woman and the animal blended as though they were one.

Ricardo stood glued to the spot, watching as she reined the horse in, then dismounted easily onto the sand and shook her hair back. The horse stood obediently as she removed her jeans and shirt, revealing long bronzed limbs and a perfectly proportioned body encased in a tiny white bikini. Then, like a top model on a Parisian catwalk, she glided towards the water and entered the spray, dipped under a wave and then emerged. He could hear her laughing and calling to the horse. A smile broke on his lips as the animal trotted into the water and together they frolicked. It was a magical scene, unreal. A beautiful deserted landscape, a girl and a horse so in tune with one another. Like something out of a movie.

He wondered who she was. He knew little about Gonzalo’s family—only that he had been a widower for many years. He had never met any of Gonzalo’s children. Certainly he had never heard his own father mention any.

He stood straighter and observed the girl lead the horse out of the water, back to where she’d left her clothes. Even at this distance it was confirmed to him that her figure was almost perfect, and he experienced a rush of raw sexual attraction. Then, throwing her garments up on the horse, the girl leapt into the saddle.

Ricardo drew in his breath as she galloped off into the rich crimson sunset.

‘You must naturally be wondering why I asked you to come here at a moment’s notice,’ Gonzalo remarked as, later, the two men sat on the lushly decorated veranda, which was furnished with dark rattan chairs upholstered with comfortable white cushions, low coffee tables and tropical plants.

It was pleasantly cool now. A gentle breeze blew in from the sea and a delicate crescent moon shone above them at a right angle. Night had fallen quickly due, Ricardo knew, to the proximity of the Equator. Brightly etched stars dotted the inky sky even though it was still early. He could even distinguish the Southern Cross.

‘I must confess to curiosity,’ he said, taking a sip of whisky, studying his host.

‘Then I shall not beat about the bush,’ Gonzalo replied, with a wise, knowing smile that held a touch of sadness. ‘I am an old man, Ricardo, and unfortunately my health is not in the best of shape.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

‘So am I. Not for myself, you understand, but for one that I must leave behind when the time comes to pass on.’

‘I wasn’t aware that you were married.’

‘I’m not now. I have been a widower for many years. I had no children from my first marriage. But years ago I had an affair with a young woman—a young English film star whose movie I financed. We were married in secret, as she didn’t want the publicity to affect her career, but she was killed in a plane crash just two months after our daughter was born.’

Ricardo said nothing, merely crossed one leg over his knee and waited. Some favour was about to be asked, he was sure.

‘Last month my doctors in New York told me that I have less than a year to live. It’s cancer, I’m afraid, and it’s terminal. I have only a few months left.’

‘I’m deeply sorry,’ Ricardo said, truly sad for his father’s old friend. ‘What can I do to help?’

Gonzalo took his time, swivelled his glass in his fingers, then looked Ricardo straight in the eye. ‘Marry my daughter.’

‘Excuse me?’ Ricardo sat straighter. He had expected a request—but hardly this.

‘I would like you to consider marriage to my daughter. A marriage of convenience. It is not unusual in your world. The Maldoravian royal family have always had planned marriages, as far as I can gather.’

‘Maybe, but—’

‘Even your own parents’ marriage was arranged, dear boy. And I gather a marriage of convenience was what your father had planned for you, was it not?’

‘That’s all very well,’ Ricardo countered. ‘But my father is dead and times have changed, Gonzalo. I lead my own life now.’

‘And from all I’ve heard you are enjoying it very thoroughly,’ Gonzalo replied with a touch of dry humour. ‘But you are thirty-three years old, Ricardo, and the succession must be thought of. Is there anyone you would consider as a future wife?’

‘Well, actually, I haven’t got around to thinking of marriage yet,’ Ricardo replied, a picture of Ambrosia, his exotic Mexican mistress, forming in his mind. He had no intention of giving her up, even though marriage would never come into it. ‘There is still time ahead of me.’

‘Perhaps. I am not asking you to change your lifestyle, merely to consider an arrangement that could be advantageous to both parties. After all, you need an heir—and a wife who is both suitable socially and a virgin. Also, it has come to my knowledge,’ Gonzalo added with a speculative look before Ricardo could interrupt, ‘that your uncle Rolando has made some unfortunate deals for the Principality.’

This last was true. But how this knowledge, which had been kept very secret in the family, could have reached Gonzalo was beyond him. Ricardo experienced a twitch of irritation. Time to tread very carefully, he realised, on the alert now.

‘There have been one or two unfortunate incidents,’ he said guardedly, ‘but nothing serious.’

‘No. But I remember your father telling me that it is written in the Maldoravian constitution that until you marry you are still obliged to accept your uncle’s participation in the Principality’s government, aren’t you? And, should you die without issue, he will automatically become ruler. A daunting thought,’ Gonzalo murmured, letting his words sink in.

‘That is true.’ There was an edge of bitterness to Ricardo’s voice. His uncle had been nothing but trouble with his profligate lifestyle. The fact that he was second in line to the throne was subtly brought home to Ricardo by his Cabinet on every possible occasion.

‘What I propose,’ Gonzalo continued smoothly, ‘is a scheme that could help you organise your affairs satisfactorily and help me die in peace.’

‘Gonzalo, I would love to help you, but—’

‘Your father and I used to talk of this sometimes—jokingly, you understand. But now time is of the essence. My daughter, Gabriella, is nineteen. She will inherit my entire fortune—which, though I say it myself, is sizeable. I cannot leave her unprotected. I fear for her future. I would like to know that she will be marrying someone who will respect her and take care of her affairs, as I know you would. There would be many other advantages to the match, of course, but those we can discuss in due course.’

‘I think I had better make it quite clear,’ Ricardo replied coldly ‘that I consider marriage a big step. I do not view it as a business arrangement, and I am afraid that I must therefore decline. If there is anything I can do to help protect your daughter in other ways, then you can count on me. But I’m afraid marriage is out.’

Gonzalo smiled. ‘I expected this reaction. It proves you are truly the kind of man I thought you had grown into. Your father’s son. But enough for now. Let us relax and talk of other matters.’

At that moment the clipped echo of high heels on marble interrupted the conversation. Ricardo turned. Gonzalo’s head flew up and a warm smile lit his eyes.

‘Querida,’ he said, rising, as did Ricardo. ‘Come in and let me introduce you to His Royal Highness Prince Ricardo of Maldoravia.’

He was certainly handsome, even if he was quite old, Gabriella reflected as she glided into the room, eyeing Ricardo askance out of the corner of her eye. But she knew exactly what her father was up to and had no intention of co-operating. Why he had suddenly become fixed on marrying her off to someone when she had very different plans for her future was beyond her. She would let this man know exactly what she thought of the whole scheme. But for now she would play their game, get her own show on the road, and then, when the time came, she would twist her father round her little finger—as she always had.

‘Ricardo—this is my daughter, Gabriella.’

Stopping in front of Ricardo, she extended long, tapered, tanned fingers. ‘Good evening,’ she said coolly. ‘Welcome to the Fazenda Boa Luz.’

‘Good evening.’ Ricardo spontaneously raised her fingers to his lips, recognising Gabriella as the girl he’d seen earlier on the beach. He had rarely beheld a more beautiful young woman. She carried herself with such grace and elegance that it was difficult to believe someone so young could have acquired this kind of poise.

Gabriella sat down gracefully next to her father. Her flimsy white spaghetti-strapped chiffon dress emphasised the delicate curves of her slim, sinuous body. The single diamond at her throat shone against her tanned skin. Her long black hair cascaded silkily to her waist and her large green eyes shone, but her straight, chiselled nose looked almost disdainful as she crossed her legs. The chiffon parted, revealing never-ending limbs. She was a picture of studied elegance.

Ricardo wondered if she knew of her father’s plan. There was a proud, rebellious glint in her eye that reminded him of the rolling waves and untamed natural beauty he’d observed earlier in the day. Another rush of heat gripped him. He took a long sip of whisky and disguised the desire that had sparked within him.

Just as conversation was about to resume, a uniformed servant appeared. ‘There is a call for you from Brasilia in the study, Seu Gonzalo,’ he murmured to his master.

‘Ah, yes. Will you excuse me?’ Gonzalo got up and disappeared through the wide double doors.

Ricardo and Gabriella sat in silence. She made no effort to engage him in conversation, simply smiled at the servant as he placed a flute of champagne before her on the low coffee table.

‘Do you live here all year round?’ Ricardo asked at last, letting his eyes course lazily over her. This girl was far too confident for her own good.

‘No. I travel and study. I was at school in Switzerland until six months ago.’

‘I see. What do you plan to study?’

‘There is no need for you to make polite conversation with me,’ she replied, her gaze haughty. Her English was perfect, except for a slight sexy lilt. ‘I know exactly why you are here and I despise you for it.’ Her eyes blazed suddenly like two glittering emeralds.

‘You do?’ Ricardo raised an amused brow, intrigued by her candour.

‘Yes. You have come here to inspect me, as you might a filly, because Father wants you to marry me. I don’t know why he has taken this idea into his head, but you could have saved yourself the trouble of your journey. I find it rather amusing that you should travel halfway across the world on a fool’s errand.’

‘You don’t say?’ Ricardo’s voice was smoothly sardonic. His brow rose once more and he leaned back against the cushions, preparing to enjoy himself. Both beautiful and amusing. And in need of a sharp lesson. Had he been at home in his palazzo, his retinue would have rolled their eyes, aware of the danger signs. HRH was charming, but when crossed…

‘Yes,’ Gabriella continued obliviously. ‘My advice to you is that you tell him right away that you don’t agree to the plan. It’ll make this so much simpler for all of us.’ She took a long sip of champagne, sat back languidly on the sofa and flicked an invisible speck of dust from the skirt of her dress.

‘Then you will be glad to know that I already have,’ Ricardo replied smoothly, masking his amusement.

‘You did?’ The sophisticated camouflage dropped for a few surprised seconds, and he watched, intrigued, as her pride wobbled and the wind was neatly taken out of her sails.

‘Yes. Like you, I find the whole idea of a planned marriage with a stranger intolerable, and I entirely agree that it is far better to scotch any illusions your father may have right away. I’m glad we both feel the same way,’ he added with a warm smile.

‘Uh, yes, of course. But didn’t you know why he’d asked you to come?’

‘Actually, no. I only learned the reason a few minutes ago. But don’t worry. I made quite sure there could be no doubt as to my reply. I have no desire to get married. Much less to an unknown nineteen-year-old,’ he finished lazily.

Gabriella seethed inwardly. How dared he talk to her like this? She sent him back a bright brittle smile that revealed a row of perfect white teeth. ‘That’s wonderful. I’m so glad we see things eye to eye. Lucky, isn’t it?’

‘Isn’t it? So, you see, now we can relax and you can tell me all about this place. After all, as you so rightly pointed out, I have came all this way on a wild goose chase, and I might as well spend a few days getting to know the region. I’ve never been to this part of Brazil before.’

‘Naturally you must stay,’ Gabriella replied, quickly retrieving her poise, once again the perfect hostess.

This man, she realised uncomfortably, was nothing like the picture she’d created in her imaginative mind. He was neither fat nor ugly, nor did he leer. Well, actually, she’d known that already, from having read about him in glossy magazines. But still. Not only was he devastatingly and disturbingly handsome, but there was something about him that attracted her in a way she’d never experienced before.

And he had the nerve to make it quite clear he wasn’t interested in her!

That had never happened before. Since her early childhood Gabriella Guimaraes had been brought up to consider herself a rare beauty, a wealthy heiress, and a great catch. It came as a disconcerting blow to realise he was watching her rather as he might an amusing puppy. Well, that would not last long, she determined. A glint entered her emerald-tinted eyes as she leaned forward to reach for her glass, making sure she revealed a little more bronzed leg. He might not want to marry her, but she would make damn sure he knew exactly who he was dealing with. Gabriella Guimaraes was used to crooking her finger and watching all the young men she knew crawl, drooling, at her feet. She was not about to see that change.

Prince or no Prince.

CHAPTER TWO

THE horses moved abreast of one another, one white, one chestnut, galloping across the wet sand and kicking up a spray as they raced along the beach towards the setting sun, which was etched like a stark ball of fire on the pink horizon.

Ricardo had spent a pleasant day driving around the estate with Gonzalo. Then they’d returned for a late lunch of ensopado de camarao, a delicious dish of shrimp stew prepared with coconut milk, accompanied by white rice, black beans and farofa—a preparation of manioc flour and butter—and washed down with a Caipirinha—sugar cane alcohol with crushed lime and ice.

Then, after a siesta, Gonzalo had suggested Ricardo and Gabriella take a ride.

‘Take your swimming shorts,’ Gonzalo had said to Ricardo, ‘and you can have a swim—either in the ocean or at the cachoeira. Gabriella will show you. She goes there regularly.’

And now here they were, galloping along the ocean’s edge, the scent of the sea filling their nostrils, a soft wind caressing their skin.

‘Follow me.’ Gabriella twisted around in her saddle and called out suddenly. Then, changing direction, she headed up the beach and galloped inland, towards a tropical landscape of heavy vegetation that reminded him of the rainforest. Soon they were moving at a slower pace along a path through a maze of tropical trees interspersed with glimmers of red sunlight. Ricardo followed, watching the slim figure in the saddle before him, her hair catching the glinting light.

Then, when he least expected it, the thick vegetation gave way and they rode into a clearing. To his surprise Ricardo saw a small natural lake, at the far end of which a waterfall cascaded over stark rocks into silent dark green waters. It was extraordinarily beautiful.

‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Gabriella exclaimed proudly, leaping off her horse. ‘This is where we’ll swim.’

‘It’s amazing,’ Ricardo agreed, following suit and leaving his horse to graze as she had, watching her as once again she slipped off her clothes. He stood a moment appreciating the view: her body was spectacular, bronzed and smooth, her limbs long and lithe, her yellow bikini tiny. Yet there was nothing provocative in her stance. She was graceful and sexy, yet he got the impression she was not fully aware of just how sexy she actually was. He took a deep breath, then removed his own jeans and joined her at the water’s edge.

Gabriella flashed him a quick, challenging smile. ‘Race you to the other side,’ she said, diving expertly in.

With no hesitation Ricardo followed. They were head-to-head when he realised Gabriella was an excellent swimmer. But soon he was several strokes ahead, and waiting for her when she reached the other side.

Her head emerged from the water, hair sleeked back, eyes flashing. Ricardo grinned wickedly as they faced one another. A rush of desire coursed through him as she stood with the water barely reaching her hips, arched, then sank and dipped her head back in the water again, revealing the perfect curve of her small, firm breasts.

‘You’re not a bad swimmer for a prince,’ she remarked with a pout as she straightened up again.

‘What has my being a prince got to do with my swimming abilities?’ He laughed, watching as she waded into even shallower water, her movements emphasising the curves of her exquisite figure.

‘Nothing.’ She shrugged, laughing too. ‘I just thought that a prince would stay in a stuffy palace and be terribly correct. You don’t seem prince-like at all.’

‘Well, I’m glad I’ve restored your faith in princes,’ Ricardo replied, amused. ‘I do that too—being correct and stuffy, I mean—but not right now.’ Instinctively he moved closer to her, the desire to touch her, to feel that delicious skin and that body in his arms overwhelming.

‘I imagined you differently,’ she said, sinking into the water and floating on her back.

‘Really? How?’

‘Well, you are quite old, of course, so I thought you’d be more serious. Hey, I’m going to stand under the waterfall. Want to come?’

‘Why not?’ Together they moved towards the rush of water. ‘Usually I swim naked here,’ she said with a touch of regret. ‘It feels great.’

‘Don’t let me inhibit you.’

She moved from under the spray and looked at him speculatively, her eyes filled with haughty challenge and a touch of doubt. Then she tossed her head and sent him a challenging glare. ‘Okay. Hold on to this for me, will you?’ Wriggling provocatively under the water, which barely covered her breasts, she slipped off the brief bikini and handed it to him. Then, before he could react, she was swimming away—a lissome, bewitching mermaid, playing a nimble game of hide-and-seek in the deep dark waters.

Ricardo watched her, fascinated, desire clouding his reason. Without hesitation he removed his swimming shorts. Tossing them to where Gabriella’s bikini lay, he swam after her, catching her waist and turning her abruptly about.

‘This is a dangerous game you’re playing, little girl,’ he murmured, his voice husky with pent-up desire as he drank in her full parted lips, her challenging yet hesitant eyes, her laughing head thrown back. But as his arms came around her he felt her stiffen, saw her sea-green eyes turn dark with doubt.

But it was too late.

Before she could move he drew her more firmly into his arms, felt the soft curve of her breast meet his hard chest, heard the quick indrawn breath. Instinctively his hands glided down her back. His cupped her firm, beautifully curved bottom and pressed her closer against him, until she felt the hardness of his desire. He saw her lips part in surprise, felt her gesture of restraint, saw the doubt in her eyes and knew he should stop. Instead his lips came down on hers, parting, seeking, provoking a soft yet anxious response as expertly he kissed her.

Gabriella had wanted to provoke him, but this was not at all the reaction she had expected. She had been kissed before—usually at a school dance—but had always found it boring. She was used to being in control, the one who decided when it would begin and when it would end. But now she was out of her league. She had never stood naked in a man’s arms before, and as Ricardo’s hand reached her breast she let out a gasp. She had never meant for anything like this to occur. Yet it was so new, so wonderful, so delicious, so incredibly sensual that all she could do was wind her arms about his neck and feel, letting her body cleave to his. It was an incredible sensation. Never had she been so close to a man. She knew she was the one who had sought the situation and that it was too late to draw back, even had she wanted to.

They kissed again. The movement of the water had brought them back beneath the rushing waterfall. Gabriella gasped as his thumb grazed her taut, aching nipples and her body arched with a new and pounding desire. She let out a tiny cry of delight as he played with her, slowly, expertly, drawing something from deep inside her that she couldn’t describe, it travelled so deep. Then his fingers coursed down, seeking between her thighs, and she drew back, breathless.

‘No,’ she murmured, swallowing, catching her breath and shaking her head as she broke out of his arms.

Their eyes met—his clouded with desire, hers sparkling with new sensations mixed with misgiving.

‘Gabriella, you wanted this,’ Ricardo murmured, reaching his hand out and drawing her back towards him, thinking in the back of his mind that her father obviously had false illusions about her if he believed she was a virgin.

‘I—I… No. We mustn’t.’ She shook her head again, let her fingers course down his chest and let out a sigh.

‘Why not? You were obviously enjoying yourself,’ he said, with a touch of arrogant masculine pride.

‘My father would kill us.’

He looked down into her eyes, drowning there. His hands returned to her breasts and he caught her short gasp. ‘You want this as much as I do. Don’t deny it,’ he muttered, slipping his fingers between her thighs and drawing her back into his arms.

She was delicious, the most delicious woman he had known for years. Only in his very early youth had he experienced the range of sensations that gripped him now. Lifting her legs around his waist, he felt her arms encircle his neck, saw her lips part and her wet skin shining as their shadows reflected in the still water. Her eyes were filled with longing and her breasts peaked with unrepentant longing. It was too much to resist. Guiding himself, he’d prepared to thrust inside her when she let out a sharp cry. Immediately he stopped and withdrew. But, catching her waist, he pulled her back to him.

‘I—I can’t,’ she cried, turning her head away. ‘I’ve never—I…’

‘Why didn’t you tell me that you were a virgin?’ Ricardo asked, his expression dark with anger.

‘I…’ She swallowed, looked away again, then tilted her chin, her proud profile stubborn. She shrugged.

‘I am not in the habit of deflowering virgins,’ he snapped. His hands dropped and he moved away to the wake’s edge. Leaping out, he dressed quickly and mounted his horse. ‘If this is the way you behave with men, I would counsel you to be more careful. One day you may come across someone who isn’t quite as controlled as I am.’ With that he wheeled his horse around, leaving Gabriella standing in the water.

She let out a ragged sigh. What had she been thinking of? She felt a rush of tears surface. It was all so difficult. Her father was determined that she should marry—that she shouldn’t go to model in London, as she wanted to. Her whole life was a mess. And now this man, whom she’d been so determined to reject, was turning out to be the most enticing, attractive being she’d ever met. It wasn’t fair.

Lifting herself out of the water, she sat for a moment on the edge of the pool, then reached shakily for her bikini on the grass. How could she have been so brazen as to take off her clothes in front of him and allow this to happen? She closed her eyes and felt a rush of heat suffuse her face. He must despise her—think that she was an easy lay. Or at the very least a tease, now that he knew she was a virgin.

Slowly Gabriella got up, whistled to Belleza, her horse, threw her clothes up over the saddle and mounted reluctantly. By now Ricardo would be almost back at the house. What would he do? Tell her father? No, probably not. But how would she face him at dinner? It was all so embarrassing. And, to make it worse, the whole thing was her own fault.

Letting out a deep huff, she rode slowly back to the beach and headed for home.

He could hardly leave tonight, Ricardo concluded, but tomorrow morning he would make a reasonable excuse and be on his way. The situation had got out of hand. He should have known she was a child playing with fire, and he blamed his own rush of passion for what had happened. She hadn’t known what she was doing. But it was hard to forget her natural instinctive reaction—the hot, charismatic longing that had vibrated between them. As he showered, Ricardo tried to clear his mind and think reasonably. It was just physical, nothing more, he reminded himself as he dressed for dinner.

Gabriella dressed carefully, choosing a pale blue designer shift that fitted perfectly, all chiffon and lace, bought on her last trip to Milan, and thin, high-heeled satin sandals to match. Instead of leaving her hair loose she brushed it back in a strict ponytail that left her elegant rather than sexy. Diamonds sparkled in her ears. Taking a deep breath, she took a last look in the mirror then headed downstairs to face what would inevitably be an embarrassing encounter.

Ricardo rose as she entered the living room. She glanced at him sideways, unsure of his reaction. But to her surprise he acted as if the afternoon’s interlude had never taken place. Gabriella experienced a rush of gratitude. She let out a tiny sigh of relief and sat next to her father, taking his hand in hers and giving him a hug. It felt secure to be next to him, to know he would always protect her, whatever happened in her life.

‘So, my love,’ Gonzalo said fondly, patting her cheek, ‘did you two have a nice afternoon?’

‘Very pleasant, thank you,’ she answered demurely.

Ricardo watched her, resisting the desire to smile. She was a piece of work, he realised, amused despite his anger at her foolish behaviour. She was very young, and perhaps she had over-estimated herself—had no idea of just how patently sexy she was. He found himself feeling indulgent towards her as she cuddled next to her father, looking much younger despite her sophisticated outfit and the ponytail.

Dinner was announced and they rose. Then suddenly Gonzalo stopped, lifted his hand to his chest.

‘Daddy?’ Gabriella held him, sending Ricardo a panicked look. ‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’ she cried.

Ricardo rushed to the other man’s side, saw his face turn white. ‘We must lie him down on the couch immediately,’ he said, taking Gonzalo’s weight and laying him among the cushions.

‘Daddy, what’s wrong?’ Gabriella cried, grabbing her father’s hand.

Gonazalo’s eyes closed and his breath came fast. Then his lips opened. ‘Promise me,’ he whispered in a weak voice. ‘Give me your hand,’ he said to Ricardo.

Ricardo frowned and took the old man’s hand, felt him place it over Gabriella’s. ‘I am leaving you, little one,’ he whispered. ‘I want you both to promise that you will marry within a month.’

Gabriella’s eyes flew in panic from her father to Ricardo.

‘But you can’t go—you can’t leave me, Papa,’ she cried, panic-stricken, tears pouring down her cheeks.

It was a split-second decision. But as Ricardo looked from father to daughter, saw the anguish in the dying man’s eyes, the lost distress in the girl’s, he knew there was no choice.

‘I promise,’ he said, loud and clear.

‘My Gabinha,’ the old man whispered, his voice weaker by the moment. ‘Answer me.’

‘I—Daddy, don’t leave me,’ Gabriella wept.

‘Promise me, my darling.’

‘I…I promise,’ she whispered, her head falling.

Ricardo watched as Gonzalo let out his last breath and Gabriella, her hair splayed over his chest, wept uncontrollably. A few minutes elapsed before slowly he lifted her and held her silently in his arms, aware that he had just made the biggest commitment—and perhaps the biggest mistake—of his life.

CHAPTER THREE

‘WE CAN’T get married,’ Gabriella insisted, not for the first time. ‘It’s absurd. We were under pressure. Daddy can’t have meant it. He was just—’ She cut herself off and turned away.

It was three weeks now since Gonzalo’s funeral, and they were on Ricardo’s private plane, a G5, flying to the Principality of Maldoravia, which he’d virtually abandoned for the past month. He needed to decide what the next step was. Not an easy task, he reflected, glancing at Gabriella, who had lived through the past weeks’ events in a daze, allowing him to take charge of both her personal and business arrangements.

They had spent several days in the Presidential suite at the Copacabana Palace Hotel in Rio while Ricardo went over all Gonzalo’s personal affairs with the lawyers and trustees appointed to administer them—only to discover that he was bound to Gabriella by the terms of Gonzalo’s will. Sly old dog, he’d clearly known he’d get his way! Gabriella had sat by, barely registering what was happening, too caught up in her grief to care. He’d felt deeply sorry for her, and worried too. Her life had changed at the flick of a switch. It couldn’t be easy, he recognised. She had lost quite a bit of weight too, he noted, eyeing her in the opposite seat and wondering how to get her to eat more than a couple of forkfuls of lettuce. Still, the subject at hand had to be faced.

‘Gabriella, like it or not, we made a promise to a dying man. We must keep our word.’

‘It was emotional blackmail,’ she argued, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. ‘It’s not fair on either of us.’

‘Nevertheless, I would not be a man of honour if I did not keep my word,’ Ricardo said with a sigh. They’d had this discussion several times in the past days.

‘That’s rubbish and you know it. You could very well take care of my affairs and leave it at that.’

‘You read the will yourself,’ he said wearily. ‘You can receive nothing—no income, or any part of your inheritance—until our marriage has taken place. Why not make it easier on yourself? Or is the prospect of marrying me really such a dreadful one?’ He raised a brow and looked at her, an amused gleam flashing in his dark eyes.

‘It’s not you,’ she said looking away. ‘It’s that I don’t want to marry anyone. Not yet, anyway. I’m nineteen. I want to live. Not be tied down by a husband.’

Despite her unflattering words Ricardo sympathised with her, and wished as he had several times over the past few weeks that the dramatic circumstances of Gonzalo’s imminent death hadn’t changed his life and hers. But they had, and it was too late to retract.

‘I understand how you feel,’ he said matter-of-factly, ‘but the fact remains that we have to get married, Gabriella. I gave my word and so did you. There are also the terms of your father’s will. What happens after that is a different matter.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, frowning.

‘Well, what I meant was that we can find a solution for this marriage which will allow us to live together without—how can I put this…?’ He was already regretting his words. ‘Without being a burden on one another.’

‘Perhaps you could explain better,’ she said, her eyes narrowing. ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite get the picture.’

‘No. Well, never mind. I hope to make you very happy,’ he answered quickly.

‘No, you don’t.’ She shook her head vigorously and leaned forward, her eyes ablaze. ‘I know exactly what you want. I’ve seen it over and over with my father’s friends. You want to marry me, make me have a bunch of children, and then, while I sit in your wretched palace, taking care of them, you’ll be off having fun with beautiful sexy girls. Do you think I’m stupid?’ she said, hair flying as she rose and whirled to face him. ‘Do you think that I don’t know how men like you live? That my father was a saint and didn’t have a bunch of mistresses all half his age? Well, I have news for you, Your Royal Highness. I am not going to be subjected to the kind of arrangement you—and obviously my father too—seem to think right for me. I have other plans for my life, and they don’t include becoming a brood mare.’

‘I never said that,’ Ricardo replied, astounded at the onslaught. He’d expected opposition, but hardly this.

‘But you implied it,’ she spat.

‘No, I didn’t,’ he replied through gritted teeth. ‘I happen to take the commitment of marriage very seriously. And neither do I want an unwilling bride.’

‘Then don’t marry me,’ she flashed. ‘It’s as simple as that.’

‘I am responsible for all your affairs now. I have told the trustees of your inheritance that we will marry as agreed. Believe me,’ he added, an edge to his voice, ‘I have as little desire to go through with this damn wedding as you apparently have.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, flopping back in the seat, her eyes still glinting. Crossing her arms angrily, she stared out of the window at the clouds.

‘Gabriella, do not try my patience any further. I have tried to be of as much solace to you as possible over the past weeks. But frankly you are being impossible. Why not try and make the best of the situation? We’ll manage somehow.’

‘Oh? Is that what you think?’ Her eyes blazed again as she let out a ragged breath and her lip trembled. ‘I’ve lost the only man I ever cared for. Life will never be the same without my father. But you can’t understand that, I suppose?’

‘Of course I understand,’ Ricardo replied, his tone softening as he leaned forward to take her hand. ‘I know this has been all very unexpected and traumatic for you. But why not make the best of the situation instead of the worst? This is a marriage of convenience, after all. I’m not asking for more than you’re prepared to give—merely for you to comply with what we have both committed to.’

Gabriella shrugged, swallowed, looked down at his fingers covering hers and suppressed the thrill that rushed up her arm and coursed to the pit of her stomach. How could she tell him that it would be hell to be married to him knowing that he was only doing it for the sake of his word given to a dying man? That he affected her in a way no other man ever had? She shuddered, remembering, as she had more than once over the past weeks, that episode at the waterfall. Slowly she drew her hand away. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Not for too long, I hope,’ he replied dryly. ‘The month comes to an end in five days. Unless we are married by then you will lose your entire inheritance. I have already put the wedding plans in motion. Your gown is being prepared as we speak, and tomorrow we shall have the first rehearsal. There will be a lot of protocol for you to learn in a very short time. After all, this will be a state occasion.’

‘How could you?’ she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. ‘And Papa? He loved me so much—always gave me everything I wanted or asked for. How could he do this to me? Threaten to leave me with nothing if I don’t obey?’

‘He is not leaving you with nothing, merely making sure that you are not taken advantage of,’ Ricardo repeated for the umpteenth time. ‘You are a very wealthy young woman, Gabriella.’

‘That’s a totally ridiculous, outmoded and chauvinistic way of looking at things,’ she exclaimed. ‘And you,’ she added accusingly, ‘you think just the way he did—that because I’m young and a woman I’m incapable of dealing with my own affairs.’

‘Actually, you’re right, I do,’ Ricardo replied coolly, tired of arguing. ‘Have it your own way, Gabriella. But unless you want to remain penniless you had better get used to the idea of being married in three days’ time. Anyway, I have made all the arrangements. The ceremony will take place in the Cathedral of Maldoravia on Thursday afternoon.’

‘And what if I refuse?’

‘Then you’ll have no choice but to go out into the world on your own, without any visible means of support, and I shall inherit your entire fortune,’ he said bluntly, hoping it would have the right effect.

‘Well, that’s fine. If you feel quite happy with that then go ahead. I don’t want the damn money. Take it.’ She jumped up from her seat and glared down at him. ‘I don’t care about the fortune. I’ll go to London and model and make a fortune of my own. I—’

‘Gabriella, have you the slightest notion of how many girls try to model, and what the percentage is of those who actually succeed? Not many, I assure you. Now, sit down and stop carrying on like a spoiled brat.’

‘I am not a spoiled brat,’ she spat. ‘I have rights.’

‘Well, unless you comply with my arrangements—and the terms of your father’s will—as of Saturday morning those rights fly straight out the window,’ he said, in a firm, cold voice that sent shivers down her spine. ‘I assure you, Gabriella, that if you do not behave properly I will not lift one finger to assist you.’

‘Oh! How could you?’ she threw at him, trembling, her hair thrown back and her eyes the colour of emeralds. ‘I hate you, Ricardo. I really loathe and detest you.’

‘Well, that bodes well,’ he muttered, picking up a financial magazine and leaning back in the wide leather seat while Gabriella stomped off to the other end of the plane to nurse her temper.

The following couple of days were filled with activity. From the moment she set foot in Maldoravia Gabriella was taken in hand by personal assistants, servants, and Ricardo’s charming aunt, the Contessa Elizabetta. She barely saw Ricardo, but although she felt rather lost and forlorn, she also could not help being excited at all the preparations taking place. There were fittings for her wedding gown, her trousseau, her going-away outfit—all of which she tried hard to seem uninterested in. But her innate sense of and love for fashion made that difficult.

On Wednesday afternoon she sat with the Contessa and her new personal assistant Sara—an Englishwoman of thirty, who had been hired at the last minute for her efficiency and for the fact that she had worked at Buckingham Palace and at several other royal establishments and knew the ropes. Gabriella had eyed her suspiciously at first, and said that she didn’t need an assistant. But with supreme tact and charm Sara had won her over. Now both the older women exchanged glances and the Contessa raised her brows as Gabriella stared out of the window and for the thousandth time expressed her views.

‘It’s just not fair. I don’t know how he can do it. And to say he’d simply inherit my money and be done with it. I mean, can you imagine?’

‘I think Ricardo is merely trying to help you, my love,’ the Contessa replied soothingly.

‘Well, I don’t care. Sara?’ Gabriella said, turning round to face her assistant, who sat next to the Contessa wearing an elegant beige suit. ‘Don’t you think I could be a success as a model? I mean, look at me. I’m exotic, I’m tall enough, and I have all the right measurements,’ she pleaded.

‘Yes. But, you see, the trend at the moment in London is for sylph-like blondes. I’m afraid you might considered a little too…uh…’ Sara searched for a suitable word ‘…too voluptuous. Perhaps in the future your look will return, and then you could consider it. In the meantime, if we could just go over tonight’s seating arrangements?’ she went on, producing a file and flipping through it. ‘I think you would feel more at ease.’

Gabriella rolled her eyes and flopped into the nearest armchair. ‘You really mean me to marry him, don’t you?’

‘Well, my dear, I don’t see what other solution there is,’ the Contessa said kindly, patting her coiffed silver hair with a bejewelled hand. ‘After all, I can think of worse fates than being married to Ricardo.’

‘I’m glad you can,’ Gabriella muttered under her breath.

‘He’s very handsome—and quite a catch. I can think of all sorts of women who will be wild with jealousy,’ the Contessa replied in an encouraging tone.

‘Ah! You see! I knew it. Other women. That’s precisely what I’m worried about. He says he wants a marriage of convenience,’ Gabriella said, curling her legs under her and leaning further back into the armchair. ‘That means he will have all sorts of horrid mistresses and I shall be left to wither in this—’ she waved her hand expressively ‘—in this dungeon.’

‘I would hardly call the Palazzo Maldoravia a dungeon,’ Sara countered, hiding a smile. ‘Your apartments are equipped with the finest furnishings, and the Jacuzzi works wonderfully. I had it tested myself.’

‘It might as well be a dungeon for all I care,’ Gabriella muttered.

Thursday dawned a beautiful sunny spring day. From the windows of her rooms in the Palazzo, Gabriella looked out at the perfect sky. The Mediterranean glittered clear and blue below, like a magical pond.

And now what was she to do? she wondered, opening the French doors and moving towards the balustrade of the balcony. Her black hair blew in the light morning breeze and the scent of jasmine filled her nostrils. At any other time she would have been enchanted. But right now the idyllic scene was lost on her. For the first time in her life Gabriella Guimaraes had come to the true realisation that she was not in control of the situation—and that, more than anything else, was driving her crazy.

That, and the fact that she was deeply and dangerously attracted to her future husband and damned if she would let him know it. What could be worse, she wondered, than to marry a man you found devastatingly attractive when probably right now he was making love to another woman?

‘Oooh,’ Gabriella seethed, throwing her head back as she clutched the stone parapet and stared at the sky. She would never abase herself, never forgo her pride, never give in to him, never, ever submit to the kind of humiliation she had seen too many women go through.

As her father’s only daughter, she had accompanied him in adult circles from her earliest childhood. Very soon she had seen what too many women’s plights were, had listened to confidences beyond her years and seen men she knew were married parading their beautiful mistresses in full view of society. Why, she would rather live in hell than become one of them! It was absurd. For, although he was always charming, she knew that Ricardo only treated her like that because he was too polite to do otherwise, that deep down she was nothing but a duty, an obligation to be dealt with, another piece of business to be resolved. It was too infuriating. Too humiliating for words.

She turned back towards the room, hands clenched, her well-manicured nails digging into her palms at the thought of Ricardo and his behaviour over the past weeks. He had been wonderful and kind and the best friend anyone could have wished for when her father died. And she appreciated that—was grateful. But that was how he thought of her. A little girl he was sorry for because she was alone in the world. An obligation he had to fulfil.

She had racked her brains to find a solution, had again tried to persuade him to change his mind about the wedding that was to take place later today. But in vain. Ricardo had merely admonished her to pay attention to the protocol that had been instilled into her from the moment she’d stepped foot in the Principality. She sighed, stared out at the sea again, and her shoulders slumped. For the first time in her life she felt defeated. Instead of an excited bride she resembled a young queen preparing to face the gallows.

‘He might as well be a frog,’ she muttered under her breath. But deep down she knew that was not quite true, that it was precisely his undeniable attraction that disturbed her. If she were truthful she would have to admit that she even felt a fondness for the man he had proved himself to be—found his virile presence next to her disturbing yet reassuring. And for some reason she could not feel quite at ease in his company—particularly as flashes of that swim at the waterfall kept haunting her imagination, leaving her weak and wanting in a way she had never experienced previously.

Determined to get a grip on herself, and not allow him to perceive any of her weaknesses, Gabriella turned again back into the room and headed for the shower. There was no use trying to delay things any longer. She would marry him because, for now, there was no other way out. But he would find that he had a wife to be reckoned with.

In his office downstairs in the Palace Ricardo was experiencing his own set of doubts. His councillors were actually pleased that he was embarking on matrimony. They’d often mentioned the succession, and hinted at how providing an heir as soon as possible would eliminate the possibility of his uncle Rolando ever becoming Prince. But Ricardo had no illusions about his marriage. It was not going to be easy. Gabriella had made it plain that she meant to be as uncooperative as possible.

He raised his brows and let out a sigh. If he had not been a man of honour he would most definitely have got out of the duty that Gonzalo had forced upon him. He had even studied all the clauses of the will to see if there was any out. But none had presented itself. There was nothing for it but to bite the bullet and go through with it. He just hoped that Gabriella would behave. He’d had her primed in all the etiquette by his aunt, Contessa Elizabetta, and by the efficient Sara Harvey, whom thankfully she had taken to.

The Contessa was attractive and sympathetic, and had listened to Gabriella’s complaints—at the same time managing to prepare her for what was going to be a state occasion at very short notice. Gossip was rife, he realised ruefully. Everyone wondered if the young girl was pregnant. An amusing assumption under the circumstances, he reflected, pushing away the papers he’d been studying and getting up from behind the huge mahogany desk.

Pregnant. Ricardo almost laughed. There was nothing amorous in their relationship. Far from it. In fact he wondered how they were going to fare in that department. He had never come close to kissing her again, and the day by the waterfall was nothing but a distant memory.

But one that would not quite disappear.

Still, despite that one occasion, Gabriella had kept him at arm’s length. This stuck in his craw. Most women found him devastatingly attractive. But Gabriella had made it plain that she had no desire for any intimacy, and on the few occasions when he’d tried to get things on to a happier footing she had rejected him outright. He grimaced, then glanced at the message from Ambrosia, to which he still hadn’t replied, and rose from behind the desk. He would deal with that problem in due course. Right now it was time to prepare for his wedding—hardly the moment to be ringing his mistress. The future would take care of itself. He could do no more than perform his duty.

The rest was up to fate.

‘Gosh, you’re absolutely beautiful!’ Princess Constanza, Ricardo’s attractive younger sister, had just arrived for the wedding with her husband, the handsome Count Wilhelm of Wiesthun, and their two enchanting young children, who were to be attendants at the ceremony.

Gabriella turned away from the mirror. She was standing still while the designer’s assistants gave the finishing touches to her magnificent yet simple satin wedding dress, a confection from Paris. Despite her unease she smiled at the attractive young woman at the door, and the pretty children.

‘Hello, hello.’ Constanza wafted in, a chestnut-haired woman of twenty-eight in a chic pale pink satin designer suit. She went over and kissed Gabriella on both cheeks. ‘I heard all about what happened. You poor, poor thing. I was so sorry to hear about your father. And now you’re stuck with Ricardo,’ she remarked, grimacing and flopping onto the chintz sofa. ‘He can be perfectly odious—even though he’s a super brother.’

Gabriella eyed her and smiled. ‘Are those your children?’ she asked, watching the two little faces peeking at her from behind the sofa.

‘Yes, little rascals. They’re looking forward to being your attendants. I just hope they’ll behave. Particularly as we weren’t here in time for the rehearsal. Come, children,’ she said, turning and pulling them out, giggling, from their hiding spot. ‘Come and meet your new aunt.’

Gabriella’s face lit up. Like most Brazilians, she adored children. Crouching, she beckoned to the lovely little girl and boy. ‘Hello.’ She reached out her hands to them. ‘Oh, you’re so beautiful,’ she exclaimed, stroking the little girl’s golden curls and smiling at the little boy, who grinned back shyly. They were already dressed, the girl in a pale blue satin bridesmaid’s dress that was a tiny replica of her own, and the boy in a page outfit with velvet knee britches and a lace ruffled shirt.

‘Ricky is three, and named after you know who.’ Constanza rolled her eyes. ‘And this is Anita, who’s four.’

‘What lovely names. Are you really going to help me at my wedding?’ Gabriella asked them in a conspiratorial tone. Both children nodded seriously. ‘I’m counting on you,’ she said, straightening, and took their hands.

At that moment the Contessa hurried in, suitably attired in a rustling blue silk dress and coat. Several rows of large pearls hung about her neck and her ears gleamed with diamonds of the first water. She was followed closely by Sara. ‘Ah, Constanza, there you are. I was worried your plane might be held up due to that storm in Germany. I see all is arranged. Now, Gabriella,’ she said, turning towards her, ‘run downstairs, my love. Ricardo wishes to see you.’

‘But it’s bad luck for the bridegroom to see the bride on their wedding day before the ceremony,’ Constanza exclaimed, sitting up abruptly on the couch. ‘He must know that.’

‘Rubbish,’ her aunt dismissed with a wave of her bejewelled hand.

‘If it was me I wouldn’t go,’ Constanza said, jumping up and straightening the folds of the wedding gown.

‘Oh, who cares? It really doesn’t matter,’ Gabriella muttered.

‘At least take the gown off and slip something else on,’ Constanza urged.

Their eyes met and, despite her desire to remain cool and aloof, Gabriella nodded.

Slipping into the walk-in-closet, she carefully removed the gown and hung it on a hanger, where its train spread out across the thick-piled beige carpet. She swallowed and her eyes filled with tears. At any other time it would have been the gown of her dreams. She turned quickly away and slipped on a pair of sweats and a short T-shirt that revealed her midriff. Serves him right. She sniffed, raising her chin belligerently and making her way down the wide, ornate corridor painted with frescoes and gold leaf. Tough luck if he didn’t approve of her. She was damned if she was going to be everything he wanted.

He’d soon learn.

A knock on the double-panelled gilt door made Ricardo start. He’d been daydreaming for a moment.

‘Come in.’ He turned and faced the door, which a liveried servant was opening.

‘You requested my presence?’ Gabriella said with mock sweetness, thrusting her thumbs into the top of her sweats and standing at an angle, her foot drumming the floor.

Ricardo watched her, half-amused, half-irritated. She certainly did not look like a blushing bride preparing for her wedding, which was to take place within hours. He was about to make a pithy comment about her T-shirt when he realised with a touch of humour that she had done it on purpose, to provoke him. He smiled inwardly. Let the wedding take place. Then he would make very sure she never went around looking like this any more. As his wife it would be utterly inappropriate.

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