Cesare turned to look at Lizzie only when she reached the altar.

Eyes the colour of melted bronze assailed her and she stopped breathing, gripped by the ferocious force of will in that appraisal. He had no doubts, she interpreted. He knew exactly what he was doing, had come to terms with the drawbacks, and was concentrating on the endgame.

She had to do the same, Lizzie told herself urgently. She had to stop trying to personalise their relationship and stop wondering whether or not he would kiss her after they had been pronounced man and wife. Such treacherous thoughts were far removed from businesslike behaviour and utterly inappropriate, she scolded herself in exasperation.

‘You look fantastic,’ Cesare murmured softly as he threaded the wedding band on to her finger, and she followed suit, copying his manoeuvre with less cool and more nerves.

Indeed, Cesare was taken aback by just how fabulous she looked. The effect she had on him was ever so slightly unnerving. It was his libido, he told himself impatiently. As long as he stuck to his rules of never getting tangled in anything that smacked of an emotional connection he would be fine and perfectly happy.

BOUND BY GOLD

Captivated by passion

Lizzie and Chrissie Whitaker: two ordinary girls until they meet two extraordinary men!

But these men are renowned for getting what they want… whatever the cost!

Explosive passion and powerful men astound in Lynne Graham’s fabulous new duet!

Read Lizzie’s story in:

The Billionaire’s Bridal Bargain

April 2015

Lizzie refuses to marry Cesare Sabatino so he can get his hands on her Mediterranean island inheritance.

But no one says ‘no’ to the formidable tycoon and soon Lizzie is going from ‘I don’t’, to ‘I do!’

Read Chrissie’s story in:

The Sheikh’s Secret Babies

May 2015

Chrissie never told her sister who the father of her twin babies was. When the Prince of Marwan storms back into her life determined to claim his heirs, Chrissie is forced to recognise him… as her husband!

The Billionaire’s Bridal Bargain

Lynne Graham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LYNNE GRAHAM was born in Northern Ireland and has been a keen romance reader since her teens. She is very happily married, with an understanding husband who has learned to cook since she started to write! Her five children keep her on her toes. She has a very large dog, which knocks everything over, a very small terrier, which barks a lot, and two cats. When time allows, Lynne is a keen gardener.

Books by Lynne Graham

Mills & Boon® Modern Romance™

The Secret His Mistress Carried

The Dimitrakos Proposition

A Ring to Secure His Heir

Unlocking Her Innocence

The Legacies of Powerful Men

Ravelli’s Defiant Bride

Christakis’s Rebellious Wife

Zarif’s Convenient Queen

A Bride for a Billionaire

A Rich Man’s Whim

The Sheikh’s Prize

The Billionaire’s Trophy

Challenging Dante

Visit the author profile page at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Bound by Gold

Title Page

About the Author

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CESARE SABATINO FLIPPED open the file sent by special delivery and groaned out loud, his darkly handsome features betraying his disbelief.

There were two photos included in the file, one of a nubile blonde teenager called Cristina and the other of her older sister Elisabetta. Was this familial insanity to visit yet another generation? Cesare raked long brown fingers through his luxuriant black hair, frustration pumping through every long lean line of his powerful body. He really didn’t have time for such nonsense in the middle of his working day. What was his father, Goffredo, playing at?

‘What’s up?’ Jonathan, his friend and a director of the Sabatino pharmaceutical empire, asked.

In answer, Cesare tossed the file to the other man. ‘Look at it and weep at the madness that can afflict even one’s seemingly sane relatives,’ he urged.

Frowning, Jonathan glanced through the sparse file and studied the photos. ‘The blonde’s not bad but a bit on the young side. The other one with the woolly hat on looks like a scarecrow. What on earth is the connection between you and some Yorkshire farming family?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Cesare warned him.

Jonathan hitched his well-cut trousers and took a seat. ‘Interesting?’

Cesare grimaced. ‘Only moderately. In the nineteen thirties my family owned a small island called Lionos in the Aegean Sea. Most of my ancestors on my father’s side are buried there. My grandmother, Athene, was born and raised there. But when her father went bust, Lionos was sold to an Italian called Geraldo Luccini.’

Jonathan shrugged. ‘Fortunes rise and fall.’

‘Matters, however, took a turn for the worse when Athene’s brother decided to get the island back into family hands by marrying Luccini’s daughter and then chose to jilt her at the altar.’

The other man raised his brows. ‘Nice...’

‘Her father was so enraged by the slight to his daughter and his family that Lionos was eternally tied up in Geraldo’s exceedingly complex will.’

‘In what way?’

‘The island cannot be sold and the two young women in that file are the current owners of Lionos by inheritance through their mother. The island can only be regained by my family through marriage between a Zirondi and a Luccini descendant and the birth of a child.’

‘You’re not serious?’ Jonathan was amazed.

‘A generation back, my father was serious enough to propose marriage to the mother of those two girls, Francesca, although I would point out that he genuinely fell in love with her. Luckily for us all, however, when he proposed she turned him down and married her farmer instead.’

‘Why luckily?’ Jonathan queried.

‘Francesca didn’t settle for long with the farmer or with any of the men that followed him. Goffredo had a narrow escape,’ Cesare opined, lean, strong face grim, well aware that his laid-back and rather naive father could never have coped with so fickle a wife.

‘So, why has your father sent you that file?’

‘He’s trying to get me interested in the ongoing, “Lionos reclamation project”,’ Cesare said very drily, the slant of his wide, sensual mouth expressing sardonic amusement as he sketched mocking quotations marks in the air.

‘He actually thinks he has a chance of persuading you to consider marriage with one of those two women?’ Jonathan slowly shook his head for neither female appeared to be a show-stopper and Cesare enjoyed the reputation of being a connoisseur of the female sex. ‘Is he crazy?’

‘Always an optimist.’ Cesare sighed. ‘In the same way he never listens when I tell him I haven’t the smallest desire to ever get married.’

‘As a happily married man and father, I have to tell you that you’re missing out.’

Cesare resisted a rude urge to roll his eyes in mockery. He knew that, in spite of the odds, good marriages did exist. His father had one, after all, and evidently Jonathan did too. But Cesare had no faith in true love and happy-ever-after stories, particularly not when his own first love had ditched him to waltz down the aisle with an extremely wealthy man, who referred to himself as being seventy-five years young. Serafina had dutifully proclaimed her love of older men all the way to the graveyard gates and was now a very rich widow, who had been chasing Cesare in the hope of a rematch ever since.

Cesare’s recollections were tinged with supreme scorn. He would never make a mistake like Serafina again. It had been a boy’s mistake, he reminded himself wryly. He was now far less ignorant about the nature of the female sex. He had never yet lavished his wealth on a woman who wasn’t more excited by his money than by anything else he offered. A satisfied smile softened the hard line of his wide, expressive mouth when he thought of his current lover, a gorgeous French fashion model who went to great lengths to please him in bed and out of it. And all without the fatal suffocating commitment of rings or nagging or noisy kids attached. What was not to like? It was true that he was an extremely generous lover but what was money for but enjoyment when you had as much as Cesare now had?

* * *

Cesare was less amused and indeed he tensed when he strolled into his city penthouse that evening to receive the news from his manservant, Primo, that his father had arrived for an unexpected visit.

Goffredo was out on the roof terrace admiring the panoramic view of London when Cesare joined him.

‘To what do I owe the honour?’ he mocked.

His father, always an extrovert in the affection stakes, clasped his son in a hug as if he hadn’t seen the younger man in months rather than mere weeks. ‘I need to talk to you about your grandmother...’

Cesare’s smile immediately faded. ‘What’s wrong?’

Goffredo grimaced. ‘Athene needs a coronary bypass. Hopefully it will relieve her angina.’

Cesare had stilled, a frown line etched between his level ebony brows. ‘She’s seventy-five.’

‘The prognosis for her recovery is excellent,’ his father told him reassuringly. ‘Unfortunately the real problem is my mother’s outlook on life. She thinks she’s too old for surgery. She thinks she’s had her three score years and ten and should be grateful for it.’

‘That’s ridiculous. If necessary, I’ll go and talk some sense into her,’ Cesare said impatiently.

‘She needs something to look forward to...some motivation to make her believe that the pain and stress of surgery will be worthwhile.’

Cesare released his breath in a slow hiss. ‘I hope you’re not talking about Lionos. That’s nothing but a pipe dream.’

Goffredo studied his only son with compressed lips. ‘Since when have you been defeatist about any challenge?’

‘I’m too clever to tilt at windmills,’ Cesare said drily.

‘But surely you have some imagination? Some...what is it you chaps call it now? The ability to think outside the box?’ the older man persisted. ‘Times have changed, Cesare. The world has moved on and when it comes to the island you have a power that I was never blessed with.’

Cesare heaved a sigh and wished he had worked late at the office where pure calm and self-discipline ruled, the very building blocks of his lifestyle. ‘And what power would that be?’ he asked reluctantly.

‘You are incredibly wealthy and the current owners of the island are dirt-poor.’

‘But the will is watertight.’

‘Money could be a great persuader,’ his father reasoned. ‘You don’t want a wife and probably neither of Francesca’s daughters wants a real husband at such a young age. Why can’t you come to some sort of business arrangement with one of them?’

Cesare shook his arrogant dark head. ‘You’re asking me to try and get round the will?’

‘The will has already been minutely appraised by a top inheritance lawyer in Rome. If you can marry one of those girls, you will have the right to visit the island and, what is more important, you will have the right to take your grandmother there,’ Goffredo outlined, clearly expecting his son to be impressed by that revelation.

Instead, Cesare suppressed a groan of impatience. ‘And what’s that worth at the end of the day? It’s not ownership, it’s not getting the island back into the family.’

‘Even a visit after all the years that have passed would be a source of great joy to your grandmother,’ Goffredo pointed out in a tone of reproach.

‘I always understood that visiting the island was against the terms of the will.’

‘Not if a marriage has first taken place. That is a distinction that it took a lawyer to point out. Certainly, if any of us were to visit without that security, Francesca’s daughters would forfeit their inheritance and the island would go to the government by default.’

‘Which would please no one but the government,’ Cesare conceded wryly. ‘Do you really think that a measly visit to the island would mean that much to Nonna?’ he pressed.

‘The right to pay her respects again at her parents’ graves? To see the house where she was born and where she married and first lived with my father? She has many happy memories of Lionos.’

‘But would one short visit satisfy her? It’s my belief that she has always dreamt of living out her life there and that’s out of the question because a child has to be born to fulfil the full terms of the will and grant us the right to put down roots on the island again.’

‘There is a very good chance that clause could be set aside in court as unreasonable. Human rights law has already altered many matters once set in stone,’ Goffredo reasoned with enthusiasm.

‘It’s doubtful,’ Cesare argued. ‘It would take many years and a great deal of money to take it to court and the government would naturally fight any change we sought. The court option won’t work in my lifetime. And what woman is going to marry and have a child with me, to allow me to inherit an uninhabited, undeveloped island? Even if I did offer to buy the island from her once we were married.’

It was his father’s turn to groan. ‘You must know how much of a catch you are, Cesare. Madre di Dio, you’ve been beating the women off with a stick since you were a teenager!’

Cesare dealt him an amused look. ‘And you don’t think it would be a little immoral to conceive a child for such a purpose?’

‘As I’ve already stated,’ Goffredo proclaimed with dignity, ‘I am not suggesting you go that far.’

‘But I couldn’t reclaim the island for the family without going that far,’ Cesare fielded very drily. ‘And if I can’t buy it or gain anything beyond guaranteeing Nonna the right to visit the wretched place one more time, what is the point of approaching some stranger and trying to bribe her?’

‘Is that your last word on the subject?’ his father asked stiffly when the silence dragged.

‘I’m a practical man,’ Cesare murmured wryly. ‘If we could regain the island I could see some point of pursuing this.’

The older man halted on his passage towards the door and turned back to face his son with compressed lips. ‘You could at least approach Francesca’s daughters and see if something could be worked out. You could at least try...’

When his father departed in high dudgeon, Cesare swore long and low in frustration. Goffredo was so temperamental and so easily carried away. He was good at getting bright ideas but not so smooth with the follow-up or the fallout. His son, on the other hand, never let emotion or sentiment cloud his judgement and rarely got excited about anything.

Even so, Cesare did break into a sweat when he thought about his grandmother’s need for surgery and her lack of interest in having it. In his opinion, Athene was probably bored and convinced that life had no further interesting challenges to offer. She was also probably a little frightened of the surgical procedure as well. His grandmother was such a strong and courageous woman that people frequently failed to recognise that she had her fears and weaknesses just like everyone else.

Cesare’s own mother had died on the day he was born and Goffredo’s Greek mother, Athene, had come to her widowed son’s rescue. While Goffredo had grieved and struggled to build up his first business and establish some security, Athene had taken charge of raising Cesare. Even before he’d started school he had been playing chess, reading and doing advanced maths for enjoyment. His grandmother had been quick to recognise her grandson’s prodigious intellectual gifts. Unlike his father, she had not been intimidated by his genius IQ and against a background of loving support Athene had given Cesare every opportunity to flourish and develop at his own pace. He owed his nonna a great deal and she was still the only woman in the world whom Cesare had ever truly cared about. But then he had never been an emotional man, had never been able to understand or feel truly comfortable around more demonstrative personalities. He was astute, level-headed and controlled in every field of his life yet he had a soft spot in his heart for his grandmother that he would not have admitted to a living soul.

A business arrangement, Cesare ruminated broodingly, flicking open the file again. There was no prospect of him approaching the teenager but the plain young woman in the woolly hat and old coat? Could he even contemplate such a gross and unsavoury lowering of his high standards? He was conservative in his tastes and not an easy man to please but if the prize was great enough, he was clever enough to compromise and adapt, wasn’t he? Aware that very few people were cleverer than he was, Cesare contemplated the startling idea of getting married and grimaced with distaste at the threat of being forced to live in such close contact with another human being.

* * *

‘You should’ve sent Hero off to the knackers when I told you to!’ Brian Whitaker bit out in disgust. ‘Instead you’ve kept him eating his head off in that stable. How can we afford that with the cost of feed what it is?’

‘Chrissie’s very fond of Hero. She’s coming home from uni next week and I wanted her to have the chance to say goodbye.’ Lizzie kept her voice low rather than risk stoking her father’s already irascible temper. The older man was standing by the kitchen table, his trembling hands—the most visible symptom of the Parkinson’s disease that had ravaged his once strong body—braced on the chair back as he glowered at his daughter, his gaunt, weathered face grim with censure.

‘And if you do that, she’ll weep and she’ll wail and she’ll try to talk you out of it again. What’s the point of that? You tried to sell him and there were no takers,’ he reminded her with biting impatience. ‘You’re a bloody useless farmer, Lizzie!’

‘That horse charity across the valley may have a space coming up this week,’ Lizzie told him, barely even flinching from her father’s scorn because his dissatisfaction was so familiar to her. ‘I was hoping for the best.’

‘Since when has hoping for the best paid the bills?’ Brian demanded with withering contempt. ‘Chrissie should be home here helping you, not wasting her time studying!’

Lizzie compressed her lips, wincing at the idea that her kid sister should also sacrifice her education to their daily struggle for survival against an ever-increasing tide of debt. The farm was failing but it had been failing for a long time. Unfortunately her father had never approved of Chrissie’s desire to go to university. His world stopped at the borders of the farm and he had very little interest in anything beyond it. Lizzie understood his reasoning because her world had shrunk to the same boundaries once she had left school at sixteen.

At the same time, though, she adored the kid sister she had struggled to protect throughout their dysfunctional childhood and was willing to take a lot of grief from her father if it meant that the younger woman could enjoy the youthful freedom and opportunities that she herself had been denied. In fact Lizzie had been as proud as any mother when Chrissie had won a place to study Literature at Oxford. Although she missed Chrissie, she would not have wished her own life of back-breaking toil and isolation on anyone she loved.

As Lizzie dug her feet back into her muddy boots a small low-slung shaggy dog, whose oddly proportioned body reflected his very mixed ancestry, greeted her at the back door with his feeding bowl in his mouth.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Archie...I forgot about you,’ Lizzie groaned, climbing out of the boots again to trudge back across the kitchen floor and fill the dog bowl. While she mentally listed all the many, many tasks she had yet to accomplish she heard the reassuring roar of a football game playing on the television in the room next door and some of the tension eased from her slight shoulders. Watching some sport and forgetting his aches and pains for a little while would put her father in a better mood.

Her father was a difficult man, but then his life had always been challenging. In his case hard work and commitment to the farm had failed to pay off. He had taken on the farm tenancy at a young age and had always had to work alone. Her late mother, Francesca, had only lasted a few years as a farmer’s wife before running off with a man she deemed to have more favourable prospects. Soured by the divorce that followed, Brian Whitaker had not remarried. When Lizzie was twelve, Francesca had died suddenly and her father had been landed with the responsibility of two daughters who were practically strangers to him. The older man had done his best even though he could never resist an opportunity to remind Lizzie that she would never be the strong capable son he had wanted and needed to help him on the farm. He had barely passed fifty when ill health had handicapped him and prevented him from doing physical work.

Lizzie knew she was a disappointment to the older man but then she was used to falling short of other people’s expectations. Her mother had longed for a more outgoing, fun-loving child than shy, socially awkward Lizzie had proved to be. Her father had wanted a son, not a daughter. Even her fiancé had left her for a woman who seemed to be a far more successful farmer’s wife than Lizzie could ever have hoped to be. Sadly, Lizzie had become accustomed to not measuring up and had learned to simply get on with the job at hand rather than dwell on her own deficiencies.

She started her day off with the easy task of feeding the hens and gathering the eggs. Then she fed Hero, whose feed she was buying solely from her earnings from working Saturday nights behind the bar of the village pub. She didn’t earn a wage at home for her labour. How could she take a wage out of the kitty every week when the rising overdraft at the bank was a constant worry? Household bills, feed and fuel costs were necessities that had to come out of that overdraft and she was dreading the arrival of yet another warning letter from the bank.

She loaded the slurry tank to spray the meadow field before her father could complain about how far behind she was with the spring schedule. Archie leapt into the tractor cab with her and sat panting by her side. He still wore the old leather collar punched with his name that he had arrived with. When she had found him wandering the fields, hungry and bedraggled, Lizzie had reckoned he had been dumped at the side of the road and, sadly, nobody had ever come looking for him. She suspected that his formerly expensive collar revealed that he had once been a much-loved pet, possibly abandoned because his elderly owner had passed away.

When he’d first arrived, he had hung out with their aging sheepdog, Shep, and had demonstrated a surprising talent for picking up Shep’s skills so that when Shep had died even Brian Whitaker had acknowledged that Archie could make himself useful round the farm. Lizzie, on the other hand, utterly adored Archie. He curled up at her feet in bed at night and allowed himself to be cuddled whenever she was low.

She was driving back to the yard to refill the slurry tank when she saw a long, sleek, glossy black car filtering off the main road into the farm lane. Her brow furrowed at the sight. She couldn’t picture anyone coming in a car that big and expensive to buy the free-range eggs she sold. Parking the tractor by the fence, she climbed out with Archie below one arm, stooping to let her pet down.

That was Cesare’s first glimpse of Lizzie. She glanced up as she unbent and the limo slowed to ease past the tractor. He saw that though she might dress like a bag lady she had skin as translucent as the finest porcelain and eyes the colour of prized jade. He breathed in deep and slow.

His driver got out of the car only to come under immediate attack by what was clearly a vicious dog but which more closely resembled a scruffy fur muff on short legs. As the woman captured the dog to restrain it and before his driver could open the door for him Cesare sprang out and instantly the offensive stench of the farm yard assaulted his fastidious nostrils. His intense concentration trained on his quarry, he simply held his breath while lazily wondering if she smelt as well. When his father had said the Whitaker family was dirt-poor he had clearly not been joking. The farmhouse bore no resemblance to a picturesque country cottage with roses round the door. The rain guttering sagged, the windows needed replacing and the paint was peeling off the front door.

‘Are you looking for directions?’ Lizzie asked as the tall black-haired male emerged in a fluid shift of long limbs from the rear seat.

Cesare straightened and straight away focused on her pouty pink mouth. That was three unexpected pluses in a row, he acknowledged in surprise. Lizzie Whitaker had great skin, beautiful eyes and a mouth that made a man think of sinning, and Cesare had few inhibitions when it came to the sins of sexual pleasure. Indeed, his hot-blooded nature and need for regular sex were the two traits he deemed potential weaknesses, he acknowledged wryly.

‘Directions?’ he queried, disconcerted by the disruptive drift of his own thoughts, anathema to his self-discipline. In spite of his exasperation, his mind continued to pick up on the fact that Lizzie Whitaker was small, possibly only a few inches over five feet tall, and seemingly slender below the wholly dreadful worn and stained green jacket and baggy workman’s overalls she wore beneath. The woolly hat pulled low on her brow made her eyes look enormous as she stared up at him much as if he’d stepped out of a spaceship in front of her.

One glance at the stranger had reduced Lizzie to gaping in an almost spellbound moment out of time. He was simply...stunning from his luxuriant black hair to his dark-as-bitter-chocolate deep-set eyes and strong, uncompromisingly masculine jawline. In truth she had never ever seen a more dazzling man and that disconcertingly intimate thought froze her in place like a tongue-tied schoolgirl.

‘I assumed you were lost,’ Lizzie explained weakly, finding it a challenge to fill her lungs with oxygen while he looked directly at her with eyes that, even lit by the weak spring sunshine, shifted to a glorious shade of bronzed gold. For a split second, she felt as if she were drowning and she shook her head slightly, struggling to think straight and act normally, her colour rising steadily as she fought the unfamiliar lassitude engulfing her.

‘No, I’m not lost... This is the Whitaker farm?’

‘Yes, I’m Lizzie Whitaker...’

Only the British could take a pretty name like Elisabetta and shorten it to something so commonplace, Cesare decided irritably. ‘I’m Cesare Sabatino.’

Her jade eyes widened. His foreign-sounding name was meaningless to her ears because she barely recognised a syllable of it. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that...’

His beautifully sensual mouth quirked. ‘You don’t speak Italian?’

‘The odd word, not much. Are you Italian?’ Lizzie asked, feeling awkward as soon as she realised that he somehow knew that her mother had been of Italian extraction. Francesca had actually planned to raise her daughters to be bilingual but Brian Whitaker had objected vehemently to the practice as soon as his children began using words he couldn’t understand and from that point on English had become the only language in their home.

‘Sì, I’m Italian,’ Cesare confirmed, sliding a lean brown hand into his jacket to withdraw a business card and present it to her. The extraordinary grace of his every physical gesture also ensnared her attention and she had to force her gaze down to the card.

Unfortunately, his name was no more comprehensible to Lizzie when she saw it printed. ‘Your name’s Caesar,’ she pronounced with some satisfaction.

A muscle tugged at the corner of his unsmiling mouth. ‘Not Caesar. We’re not in ancient Rome. It’s Chay-zar-ray,’ he sounded out with perfect diction, his exotic accent underlining every syllable with a honeyed mellifluence that spiralled sinuously round her to create the strangest sense of dislocation.

‘Chay-zar-ray,’ she repeated politely while thinking that it was a heck of a fussy mouthful for a first name and that Caesar would have been much more straightforward. ‘And you’re here because...?’

Cesare stiffened, innate aggression powering him at that facetious tone. He was not accustomed to being prompted to get to the point faster and as if the dog had a sensor tracking his mood it began growling soft and low. ‘May we go indoors to discuss that?’

Bemused by the effect he was having on her and fiercely irritated by his take-charge manner, Lizzie lifted her chin. ‘Couldn’t we just talk here? This is the middle of my working day,’ she told him truthfully.

Cesare gritted his perfect white teeth and shifted almost imperceptibly closer. The dog loosed a warning snarl and clamped his teeth to the corner of his cashmere overcoat, pulling at it. Cesare sent a winging glance down at the offending animal.

‘Archie, no!’ Lizzie intervened. ‘I’m afraid he’s very protective of me.’

Archie tugged and tugged at the corner of the overcoat and failed to shift Cesare an inch further away from his quarry. To the best of his ability Cesare ignored the entire canine assault.

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Archie!’ Lizzie finally exclaimed, crouching down to physically detach the dog’s jaw from the expensive cloth, noting in dismay that a small tear had been inflicted and cherishing little hope that the damage would not be noted.

Whoever he was, Cesare Sabatino wore clothing that looked incredibly expensive and fitted too well to be anything other than individually designed for its wearer. He wore a faultlessly tailored black suit below the coat and his highly polished shoes were marred only by the skiff of mud that continually covered the yard at damp times of the year. He looked like a high-powered businessman, tycoon or some such thing. Why on earth was such a man coming to visit the farm?

‘Are you from our bank?’ Lizzie asked abruptly.

‘No. I am a businessman,’ Cesare admitted calmly.

‘You’re here to see my father for some reason?’ Lizzie prompted apprehensively.

‘No...I’m here to see you,’ Cesare framed succinctly as she scrambled upright clutching the still-growling dog to her chest.

‘Me?’ Lizzie exclaimed in astonishment, her gaze colliding with glittering eyes that gleamed like highly polished gold, enhanced by the thick black velvet fringe of his long lashes. Below her clothes, her nipples pinched almost painfully tight and a flare of sudden heat darted down into her pelvis, making her feel extremely uncomfortable. ‘Why on earth would you want to see me? Oh, come indoors, if you must,’ she completed wearily. ‘But I warn you, it’s a mess.’

Trudging to the side of the house, Lizzie kicked off her boots and thrust the door open on the untidy kitchen.

Cesare’s nostrils flared as he scanned the cluttered room, taking in the pile of dishes heaped in the sink and the remains of someone’s meal still lying on the pine table. Well, he certainly wouldn’t be marrying her for her housekeeping skills, he reflected grimly as the dog slunk below the table to continue growling unabated and his reluctant hostess removed her coat and yanked off her woolly hat before hurriedly clearing the table and yanking out a chair for him.

‘Coffee...or tea?’ Lizzie enquired.

Cesare’s entire attention was still locked to the wealth of silver-coloured silky hair that, freed from the woolly hat, now tumbled round her shoulders. It was gorgeous in spite of the odd murky brown tips of colour that damaged the effect. Dip-dying, he thought dimly, vaguely recalling the phrase being used by one of his team who had showed up at the office one day with ludicrously colourful half-blonde, half-pink locks. He blinked, black lashes long as fly swats momentarily concealing his bemused gaze.

‘Coffee,’ he replied, feeling that he was being very brave and polite in the face of the messy kitchen and standards of hygiene that he suspected might be much lower than he was used to receiving.

In a graceful movement, he doffed his coat and draped it across the back of a chair. Lizzie filled the kettle at the sink and put it on the hotplate on the ancient coal-fired cooking range while taking in the full effect of her visitor’s snazzy appearance. He looked like a city slicker who belonged on a glossy magazine cover, the sort of publication that showed how fashion-conscious men should dress. To a woman used to men wearing dirty, often unkempt clothing suitable for outdoor work, he had all the appeal of a fantasy. He really was physically beautiful in every possible way and so unfamiliar was she with that level of male magnetism that she was challenged to drag her eyes from his lean, powerful figure.

Dredging her thoughts from the weird sticking point they had reached, she went to the door of the lounge. A businessman, she reminded herself doggedly. Successful businessmen—and he looked very successful—were cold-blooded, calculating individuals, ready to do anything for profit and divorced from sentiment. He certainly emanated that arrogant vibe with his polished image that was so totally inappropriate for a male visiting a working farm. ‘Dad? We have a visitor. Do you want tea?’

‘A visitor?’ Brian Whitaker rose with a frown from his chair and came with shuffling, poorly balanced steps into the kitchen.

Lizzie removed mugs from the cupboard while the two men introduced themselves.

‘I’m here about the island that Lizzie and her sister inherited from your late wife,’ Cesare explained calmly.

The silence of astonishment engulfed his companions. Lizzie studied him wide-eyed while her father turned his head towards him in a frowning attitude of incredulity.

‘It’s a rubbish inheritance...nothing but a bad joke!’ Lizzie’s father contended in a burst of unrestrained bitterness. ‘It stands to reason that an inheritance you can’t use or sell is worthless... What use is that to anyone? So, that’s why you’re here? Another fool chasing the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?’

‘Dad!’ Lizzie exclaimed in consternation at the older man’s blatant scorn.

She wished she had guessed why the Italian had come to visit and scolded herself for not immediately making the association between his nationality and the legacy left to her and Chrissie by their mother. Over the years the island that couldn’t be sold had been a source of much bitterness in her family, particularly when money was in such short supply. She lifted the kettle off the range and hastily made the drinks while she wondered what on earth Cesare hoped to achieve by visiting them.

‘I’ll put your tea in the lounge, Dad,’ she said, keen to remove her father from the dialogue, afraid of what he might say in his blunt and challenging way.

Brian Whitaker stole a glance at the Italian’s shuttered dark face, not displeased by the effect of having had his say. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. After all, the only reason he could be here is that he’s coming a-courting!’ he completed with a derisive laugh that sent a hot tide of colour flaring below Lizzie’s pale skin. ‘Good luck to you! Lizzie was ditched by the neighbour a couple of years ago and she hasn’t been out on a date since then!’

CHAPTER TWO

LIZZIE WANTED THE tiled floor to open up and swallow her where she stood. Being humiliated in front of a stranger felt even more painful than the snide comments and pitying appraisals from the village locals that had followed the ending of her engagement to Andrew Brook two years earlier. A month later, Andrew had married Esther, who had already been pregnant with their son. She stiffened her facial muscles, made the tea and the coffee and even contrived to politely ask if the visitor took sugar.

Wide, sensual mouth set in a grim line, Cesare surveyed Lizzie’s rigid back view, noting the narrow cut of her waist and the slender, delicate curves merely hinted at by the overalls. Her father had been cruel taking her down like that in front of an audience. Not a date since, though? He was astonished because, unflattering as her clothing was, Cesare had immediately recognised that she was a beauty. Not perhaps a conventional beauty, he was willing to admit, not the kind of beauty that set the world on fire but certainly the type that should make the average male look more than once. What was wrong with the local men?

‘Sorry about Dad,’ Lizzie apologised in a brittle voice, setting the coffee down carefully on the table in front of him, catching the evocative scent of some citrusy cologne as she briefly leant closer and stiffening as a result of the sudden warmth pooling in her pelvis. Never had anyone made her feel more uncomfortable in her own home.

‘You don’t need to apologise, cara,’ Cesare parried.

‘But I should explain. My parents resented the will—personally, I never think about it. Unfortunately, the island was a sore point in our lives when I was a child because money was tight.’

‘Have you ever visited Lionos?’

‘No, I’ve never had the opportunity. Mum went once with one of her boyfriends and stayed for a week. She wasn’t too impressed,’ Lizzie revealed ruefully while she scanned his lean, strong face, taking in the high cheekbones, straight nose and hard, masculine mouth before involuntarily sliding her gaze upward again to take another sweep of those absolutely devastating dark golden eyes of his. ‘I think Mum was expecting luxury but I believe the accommodation was more basic.’

‘The will endowed the island with a trust and I understand a caretaker and his family live nearby to maintain the property.’

Lizzie cocked her head to one side, her shattered nerves slowly stabilising at his lack of comment about her father’s outburst. Pale, silky hair slid across her cheekbone and Cesare looked up into those wide hazel-green eyes framed with soft honey-brown lashes, and suddenly he was aware of the heavy pulse of heat at his groin and the muscles in his broad shoulders pulled taut as ropes as he resisted that sirens’ call of lust with all his might.

‘Yes. But the trust only covers maintenance costs, not improvements, and I understand that the house is still firmly stuck in the thirties. Mum also assumed that the caretaker would cook and clean for them but instead the man and his wife told her that they weren’t servants and she had to look after herself,’ Lizzie volunteered wryly. ‘All in all she found it a very expensive jaunt by the time they’d paid someone to take them out to the island and deliver food while they were there.’

‘Naturally you want to know what I’m doing here,’ Cesare murmured smoothly.

‘Well, I don’t think you’ve come a-courting,’ Lizzie fielded with a shrug that dismissed her father’s gibe but completely failed to hide her discomfiture at that crack.

‘Not in the conventional sense,’ Cesare agreed, lean fingers flexing round the mug of coffee. It was barely drinkable but he doubted if she expended much concern when it came to the domestic front, which was hardly surprising when it was obvious that she was struggling to keep the farm afloat single-handedly. She was leaning back against the cooking range with defensively folded arms, trying to appear relaxed but visibly as tense as a bow string. ‘But I do think we might be able to come to a business arrangement.’

Lizzie frowned, dragging her wandering gaze from his lean, extravagantly handsome features with a slight rise of colour, scolding herself for her lack of concentration, questioning what it was about him that kept her looking back at him again and again, long after curiosity should have been satisfied. ‘A business arrangement?’

‘I don’t think your sister enters this as she’s still a teenager. Obviously as co-owner of the island, you would have to confer with her, but I’m willing to offer you a substantial amount of money to go through a marriage ceremony with me.’

Her lashes fluttered in shock because he had knocked her for six. Inexplicably, his cool sophistication and smooth delivery made the fantastic proposition he had just made seem almost workaday and acceptable. ‘Seriously? Just a marriage ceremony? But what would you get out of that?’

Cesare told her about his grandmother’s deep attachment to the island and her approaching surgery. As she listened, Lizzie nodded slowly, strangely touched by the softer tone he couldn’t help employing when talking about the old lady. His screened gaze and the faint hint of flush along his spectacular cheekbones encouraged her scrutiny to linger with helpless curiosity. He was not quite as cold and tough as he seemed on the surface, she acknowledged in surprise. But she could see that he was very uncomfortable with showing emotion.

‘Isn’t circumventing the will against the law?’ she prompted in a small voice.

‘I wasn’t planning to publicise the fact. For the sake of appearances we would have to pretend that the marriage was the real deal for a few months at least.’

‘And the “having a child” bit? Where does that come in?’ Lizzie could not resist asking.

‘Whether it comes into our arrangement or not is up to you. I will pay generously for the right to take my grandmother to the island for a visit and if we were to contrive to meet the full terms of the will, you and your sister would stand to collect a couple of million pounds, at the very least, from selling Lionos to me,’ he spelt out quietly. ‘I am an extremely wealthy man and I will pay a high price to bring the island back into my family.’

Millions? Lizzie’s mouth ran dry and she lost colour, eyes dropping to focus on the long, lean brown fingers gracefully coiled round the mug of coffee. For a split second she saw her every hope and dream fulfilled by ill-gotten gains. Her father could give up the farm tenancy, and she and Chrissie could buy him a house in the village where he would be able to go to the pub quizzes he loved and meet up with his cronies. Chrissie would be able to chuck in her two part-time jobs, concentrate on her studies and pay off her student loans. Being freed from the burden of the farm would enable Lizzie to go and train for a job she would enjoy. Archie could get some professional grooming and a new collar and live on the very best pet food...

It became an increasingly stupid dream and she reddened with mortification, hands clenching by her side as she suppressed her wild imaginings in shame at how susceptible she had been when tempted by the equivalent of a lottery win.

‘I couldn’t have a child with a stranger...or bring a child into the world for such a purpose,’ she confided. ‘But if it’s any consolation, just for a minute there I wished I was the sort of woman who could.’

‘Think it over,’ Cesare suggested, having registered without surprise that the suggestion of oodles of cash had finally fully engaged her in their discussion. He rose fluidly upright and tapped the business card he had left on the table top. ‘My cell number.’

He was very big, possibly a foot taller than she was, with broad shoulders, narrow hips and long, powerful legs.

‘Yes, well, there’s a lot to think over,’ she muttered uneasily.

He reached for his coat and turned back to her, dark eyes bright and shimmering as topaz in sunshine. ‘There are two options and either will bring in a profit for you.’

‘You definitely talk like a businessman,’ she remarked, unimpressed by the statement, ashamed of her temporary dive into a fantasy land where every sheep had a proverbial golden fleece. Could it really be that easy to go from being a decent person to a mercenary one? she was asking herself worriedly.

‘I am trying to negotiate a business arrangement,’ he pointed out drily.

‘Was it your father who once asked my mother to marry him?’ Lizzie could not stop herself from enquiring. ‘Or was that someone from another branch of your family?’

Cesare came to a halt. ‘No, that was my father and it wasn’t a business proposal. He fell hard for your mother and they were engaged when she came over here on holiday. Having met your father, however, she preferred him,’ he advanced without any expression at all.

But Lizzie recognised the unspoken disapproval in the hard bones of his lean, strong face and she flushed because her mother had been decidedly changeable in her affections and there was no denying the fact. Predictably, Francesca had never admitted that she had actually got engaged to their father’s predecessor. But then every man that came along had been the love of Francesca’s life until either he revealed his true character or someone else seized her interest. Her mother had always moved on without a backward glance, never once pausing to try and work on a relationship or considering the cost of such continual upheaval in the lives of her two young children.

‘I’m afraid I’m not a sentimental man,’ Cesare imparted. ‘I’m innately practical in every way. Why shouldn’t you make what you can of your inheritance for your family’s benefit?’

‘Because it just doesn’t seem right,’ Lizzie confided uncertainly. ‘It’s not what my great-grandfather intended either when he drew up that will.’

‘No, he wanted revenge because my grandmother’s brother jilted his daughter at the altar. My great-uncle was in the wrong but plunging the island into legal limbo simply to keep it out of my family’s hands was no more justifiable,’ Cesare countered with complete assurance. ‘It’s been that way for nearly eighty years but I believe that we have the power to change that.’

‘The ethics involved aren’t something I’ve ever thought about,’ Lizzie admitted, resisting the urge to confess that the island still seemed no more real to her than that fabled pot of gold at the end of the rainbow that her father had mentioned.

Cesare smiled with sudden brilliance, amused by her honesty and her lack of pretence.

His smile almost blinded her, illuminating his lean, darkly handsome face, and she wanted so badly to touch him for a disconcerting moment that she clenched her hands into fists to restrain herself. She was deeply disturbed by the effect he had on her. Indeed, she feared it because she recognised her reaction for the fierce physical attraction that it was. And nobody knew better than Francesca Whitaker’s daughter how dangerous giving rein to such mindless responses could be for it had propelled her mother into one disastrous relationship after another.

In the smouldering silence, beautiful, dark golden eyes fringed with velvet black held hers and she trembled, fighting reactions she had never experienced so powerfully before.

‘My offer’s on the table and I’m willing to negotiate with you. Discuss it with your sister and your father but urge them to keep the matter confidential,’ Cesare advised smoothly, staring down into her upturned face, attention lingering on the lush contours of her lips as he wondered what she would taste like. ‘We could go the full distance on this... I find you appealing.’

And with that deeply unsettling comment, Cesare Sabatino swung on his heel and strode back out to the limousine sitting ready to depart. The driver leapt out to throw open the door for his passenger and Cesare lowered his proud dark head and climbed in.

Appealing? Lizzie pushed her hair back off her brow and caught her surprised reflection in the small age-spotted mirror on the wall. He was really saying that he could go to bed with her and conceive a child with her if she was willing: that was what he meant by the word appealing. Her face flamed. She was not willing. She also knew the difference between right and wrong. She knew that more money didn’t necessarily mean more happiness and that a child was usually better off with a mother and a father.

Yet the image of the tiny boy she had glimpsed cradled in her former fiancé’s arms after the child’s christening in the church had pierced Lizzie with a pain greater than that inflicted by Andrew’s infidelity. Lizzie had always wanted a baby and ached at the sight of infants. When Andrew had left her for Esther, she had envied Esther for her son, not her husband. What did that say about her? That she was as cold at heart and frigid as Andrew had once accused her of being? Even remembering that hurtful indictment, Lizzie winced and felt less than other women, knowing that she had been tried and found wanting by a young man who had only wanted a warm and loving wife. Lizzie knew that, in choosing Esther, Andrew had made the right decision for them both. Yet Lizzie had loved Andrew too in her way.

Her eyes stung with moisture, her fingers toying with the ends of the brown-tinted hair that Andrew had persuaded her to dye. The dye was growing out, a reminder of how foolish a woman could be when she tried to change herself to please a man...

But where on earth had her strong maternal instinct come from? Certainly not from her volatile mother, who in the grip of her wild infatuations had always focused her energies on the man in her life. Lizzie had not been surprised to learn of the impetuous way Francesca had evidently ditched Cesare’s father to marry Lizzie’s father instead. Hard Yorkshire winters and life on a shoestring, however, had dimmed Brian Whitaker’s appeal for her mother and within weeks of Chrissie’s birth Francesca had run off with a man who had turned out to be a drunk. His successor had been more interested in spending Francesca’s recent legacy following the death of her Italian parents than in Francesca herself. Her third lover had been repeatedly unfaithful. And the fourth, who married her, had been violent.

Lizzie had always found it very hard to trust men after living through her mother’s grim roll call of destructive relationships. She had struggled to protect the sister five years her junior from the constant fallout of moving home and changing schools, striving to ensure that her sibling could still enjoy her childhood and wasn’t forced to grow up as quickly as Lizzie had. Almost all the happy moments in Lizzie’s life had occurred when Chrissie was young and Lizzie had the comfort of knowing that her love and care was both wanted and needed by her sibling. When her sister left home to go to university it had opened a vast hole in Lizzie’s life. Archie had partially filled that hole, a reality that made her grin and shrug off her deep and troubled thoughts with the acknowledgement that it was time to get back to work and concentrate on what really mattered.

* * *

‘Marry him and stop making such a production out of it!’ Brian Whitaker snapped at his daughter angrily. ‘We don’t have any other choice. The rent is going up and the bank’s on the brink of calling in our loan!’

‘It’s not that simple, Dad,’ Lizzie began to argue again.

But the older man wasn’t listening. He hadn’t listened to a word his daughter had said since the letter from the bank had delivered its lethal warning. ‘Simple would have been you marrying Andrew. He would have taken on the tenancy. I could still have lived here. Everyone would have been happy but could you pull it off?’ he derided. ‘No, you had to play fast and loose with him, wanting to wait to get married!’

‘I wanted to get to know him properly, not rush in. I wanted our marriage to last,’ Lizzie protested.

‘You might as well have parcelled him up for Esther and handed him over. Andrew was our one chance to keep this place afloat and you threw him away,’ he condemned bitterly. ‘Now you’re mouthing off about all the reasons why you can’t marry a man and have a child just to improve all our lives!’

‘A lot of women wouldn’t want to do it!’ It was Lizzie’s parting shot, tossed over her shoulder as she stomped back into the yard with Archie dancing at her heels. A week had passed since Cesare Sabatino’s visit and her father had reasoned and condemned and outright ranted at her every day for her reluctance to accept Cesare’s proposal.

Hopefully, Chrissie would not be singing the same tune, Lizzie reflected ruefully as she drove her father’s ancient, battered Land Rover Defender down the lane to collect her sister off the train. She had told Chrissie all about Cesare’s visit on the phone and her sibling had urged her to follow her conscience and refuse to pay heed to her father’s grievances.

That was, however, proving a much more major challenge than she had expected, Lizzie acknowledged heavily. Almost insurmountable problems were forming ahead of her like a string of dangerous obstacles. They could not afford to pay a higher rent when the tenancy came up for renewal and that reality would render them homeless. They could not even afford to live if the bank demanded that the loan be repaid as they were threatening to do. And where would they live, if the worst came to the worst? Her father had no savings. Yes, it was all very well following her conscience, Lizzie conceded wretchedly, but right now it was no good at all as a blueprint for economic survival.

Sadly, the stress of the constant arguments and anxiety was taking the edge off Lizzie’s usual happy anticipation at the prospect of having her sister home for a couple of days. Chrissie, pale silver hair caught up in a sensible ponytail, blue eyes sparkling with affection, was waiting outside the station, two big cases by her side and a bulging rucksack on her slender shoulders.

‘My goodness, you’ve brought back a lot of luggage...but it’s not the end of term,’ Lizzie remarked in bewilderment, thinking out loud while Chrissie concentrated on giving her a fierce hug of welcome.

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ her sibling confessed. ‘And I’m going to ask you all over again—why have you still not had your hair dyed back to normal?’

‘I haven’t had the time...or the cash,’ Lizzie muttered, hoisting a heavy case and propelling it across to the Land Rover.

‘No, you’re still punishing yourself for not marrying Andrew.’

‘They’re teaching you psychology now on your English course?’ Lizzie teased.

Luggage stowed, Lizzie drove back home. ‘I should warn you...Dad’s on the warpath.’

‘He wants you to marry the Italian and make our fortunes, right?’ Chrissie groaned in despair. ‘Dear old Dad, what a dinosaur he is. He tried to pressure you into marrying Andrew for the sake of the farm and now he’s trying to serve you up on the altar of that stupid island! Well, you don’t need to worry, you’re not going to come under any pressure from me on that score. We’ve lived all our lives without the excitement of being rich and what you don’t have, you don’t miss!’

In spite of her stress level, Lizzie managed to smile. After an unrelieved overdose of her father’s reproaches, Chrissie, with her positive outlook, was like a little ray of sunshine. ‘You’re right,’ she agreed even though she knew that her kid sister was not very grounded. Chrissie had always been a dreamer, the creative one with the fluffy romantic and idealistic ideas.

In fact, while she watched Chrissie hurtle across the yard to pet her elderly pony, Hero, and feed him an apple from her pocket, her heart sank from so bald a reminder of her sister’s tendency to always look on the bright side even if there wasn’t one. Didn’t Chrissie appreciate that if they lost their home, Hero would be one of the first sacrifices?

‘I’ve got a surprise for you...’ Chrissie told her, almost skipping back to Lizzie’s side to help her unload her luggage. ‘I’m home for good!’

Lizzie turned incredulous eyes on the younger woman. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m dropping out of uni...I’m coming home,’ Chrissie proffered, her soft mouth set in an unusually firm and purposeful line. ‘Even with the two jobs and the student loan, I can hardly afford to eat and my overdraft is massive, Lizzie. I’m fed up with it, especially when I know you’re slogging away here every hour God gives and still barely scratching a living. I’m going to get a job and help you whenever I can. I’m all grown up now—it’s past time I pulled my weight on the home front.’

Shock was reverberating through Lizzie, closely followed by dismay. Much as she missed her sister, the very last thing she wanted was to see Chrissie throw away her education to come home and vegetate. In any case, it was a moot point that they would even have a home to offer her sibling in a few weeks’ time. ‘I didn’t realise that you were having such a struggle.’

‘I didn’t want you worrying,’ Chrissie confided. ‘But I’ve learned a lot. I’d no idea it cost so much just to live. I can’t possibly work any more hours, though. I’ve already had a warning from my tutor about my standard of work slipping... I’m so tired I’m falling asleep in lectures.’

And that was the moment when Lizzie reached her decision. What security her family had was vanishing fast but it was within her power to change everything for the better. How could she stand by and simply do nothing for her family while their lives fell apart? At the very least she should go through with the wedding to enable Cesare to take his grandmother back to the island for a visit. Whatever he paid her for that service would surely settle their outstanding bills and enable her to find a rental property in the village. But how could she go further than that? How could she have a child with him so that he could legally buy Lionos and resolve all her family’s financial problems?

The answer came to Lizzie in a blinding flash of light and she could barely credit that she had not seen the solution sooner. Cesare had said he was very practical and the answer she came up with would not only make the threat of intimacy with a stranger unnecessary but would also be a supremely sensible approach. Suddenly the sensation of weighty responsibility and dread on her shoulders and spine evaporated and she straightened, even cracking a brief smile at the heady prospect of finally being in full control of her life again.

‘You’re going back to university on Sunday, young lady,’ Lizzie told her kid sister firmly. ‘You will quit your part-time jobs and concentrate on your studies. I will ensure that you manage.’

‘You can’t marry the guy, Lizzie!’ Chrissie gasped in horror. ‘You simply can’t!’

Lizzie thought fast and breathed in deep before she sat down at the kitchen table. ‘Let me be honest with you. I’ve spent eight years working round the clock on this farm. I’ve had no time for friends and I’ve had very little social life. I have no decent clothes or jewellery and I don’t even know how to put on make-up properly.’

‘But that doesn’t mean you have to give way to Dad and make a sacrifice of yourself.’

‘Has it occurred to you that maybe I want to marry Cesare and have a child? He’s a very handsome man and you know how much I’ve always wanted a baby. I also would like to have enough money not to worry myself sick every time a bill comes through the letter box!’ Lizzie declared, her heart-shaped face taut with vehement composure as she watched Chrissie frown and suddenly look unsure of her ground.

‘I’m deadly serious,’ Lizzie continued with dogged determination. ‘I want to marry Cesare. It’s the best thing for all of us and, believe me, I’m not the sacrificial type.’

‘I never thought...I never dreamt...’ Bemused and uncertain of such an explanation from the big sister she had always loved and admired, Chrissie shook her head, frowning at her sibling. ‘Are you sure, Lizzie? Have you really thought this through?’

No, Lizzie hadn’t thought it all through and was determined not to run the risk of doing so before she had tied the official knot. Whatever happened she was going to marry Cesare Sabatino and miraculously sort out her own and her father’s and Chrissie’s problems. No other action now made sense. So, it would be scary and would entail deception—well, she would get braver and she would learn some new skills. My goodness, hadn’t she just told a barefaced lie to the sister she loved?

She walked into her bedroom and lifted the business card Cesare had left behind. Before she could take fright, she tapped out the number on her mobile phone and then studied the blank message space.

* * *

Will agree to marry you. Talk about the rest when we next meet.

Cesare blinked down at the text and then glanced across the dinner table at Celine, whose sleek blonde perfection had entranced him for longer than most women managed. In his mind’s eye, however, he was no longer seeing the French fashion model, he was seeing a slender platinum blonde with luminous green eyes surrounded by soft brown lashes. Surprise was cutting through his satisfaction, perhaps because he had had the weirdest conviction that Lizzie Whitaker would say no to the temptation of the cash he had offered. He wondered why he had thought that, why he had assumed she would be different from any other woman.

Women liked money and he liked women: it was a fair exchange in which neither of them need feel used or abused. Hadn’t he learned that a long time ago? Athene would be able to return to her childhood home for a visit at the very least. Was Lizzie Whitaker planning to meet the full terms of the will? Raw anticipation of an entirely different kind infiltrated Cesare and he frowned, bewildered by the flood of undisciplined hormones smashing his self-control to pieces. He was thinking about Lizzie Whitaker, only thinking about her and he was as aroused as a teenager contemplating sex for the first time.

‘You seem distracted,’ Celine remarked tentatively.

Cesare studied her without an iota of his usual lust, exasperated by the games his body was playing with his usually very well-disciplined brain. ‘A business deal,’ he proffered truthfully.

Goffredo would be overjoyed at the news of the upcoming wedding while Cesare was simply stunned at the prospect of getting married, whether it was a business arrangement or not. Married! The delicious food on his plate ebbed in appeal. Dense black lashes screened his gaze. It was rare for him to take a night off and somehow Lizzie Whitaker had contrived to kill any notion he had had of relaxing with Celine. What was it about her that unsettled him? After all she was a pretty standard gold-digger, willing to do virtually anything to enrich herself, and how could he criticise her for that reality when he had baited the hook?

CHAPTER THREE

‘I DON’T KNOW what the arrangements are likely to be,’ Lizzie told her father while she paced the kitchen, a slim figure clad in jeans and a sweater and workmanlike boots. ‘Look, I’ve got a few things to check outside. I might as well keep busy until Cesare arrives.’

‘What sort of a name is that he has?’ Brian Whitaker scoffed.

Lizzie dealt the older man an impatient glance as she put on her jacket because he had no excuse to be needling her or disparaging Cesare. But everything, she told herself in an urgent little pep talk, was good in her world. Chrissie had returned to university and soon she and her father would no longer need to worry about rent rises and bank debts they couldn’t cover. ‘It’s an Italian name, just like mine and Chrissie’s and Mum’s and it’s completely normal. Let’s not forget that Cesare is about to wave a magic wand over our lives.’

‘Even the Garden of Eden had the serpent,’ her father countered with a curl of his lip and his usual determination to have the last word.

Lizzie drank in the fresh air with relief and walked to the stone wall bounding the yard to check the sheep in the field. Lambing hadn’t started yet but it wouldn’t be long before it did. If she had to leave home before then, Andrew would probably take the ewes, she was reasoning in the detached state of mind she had forged to keep herself calm since she had sent that text to Cesare. There were no successes without losses, no gains without costs and consequences. In the middle of that sobering reflection while she watched the lane for a car arriving, she heard a noise in the sky and she flung her head back in the fading light to look up.

A helicopter was coming in over the valley. As she watched it circled the top of the hill and swooped down low to come closer and then noisily hover. For a split second, Lizzie was frozen to the spot, unable to believe that the helicopter was actually planning to land in a field with stock in it. The craft’s powerful lights splayed over the flock of fast-scattering sheep, which ran in a total panic down the hill. Lizzie ran for the gate, Archie at her heels, and flew over it like a high jumper while shouting instructions to her dog to retrieve the flock.

Heart pounding, she ran down the hill at breakneck speed but was still not fast enough to prevent the sheep from scrambling in a frantic escape over the wall at the foot and streaming across the next field towards the river. Sick with apprehension, she clambered over the wall and ran even faster while watching as Archie herded the frightened ewes away from the water’s edge. The noise from the helicopter unluckily intensified at that point because the pilot was taking off again and the sheep herded close together and then took off terrified again in all directions.

Someone shouted her name and she was relieved to see Andrew Brook racing down the hill to join her. Struggling desperately to catch her breath, while wondering anxiously where Archie had disappeared to, she hurried on towards the riverbank to see if any of the animals had gone into the water. Andrew got there first and she saw him stooping down in the mud over something, whistling for his sheepdog. One of the sheep had got hurt in the commotion, she assumed, hurrying down to join him.

‘I’m so sorry, Lizzie. He’s hurt. He was too little to handle them in a panic like that,’ Andrew told her.

Lizzie looked down in horror at the small prone body lying in the mud: it was Archie and he was whimpering. She knelt in the mud. ‘Oh, no...’

‘I think it’s only his leg that’s broken but there could be internal injuries. He was trodden on,’ Andrew, a stocky dark-haired man in his late twenties, reminded her.

‘That crazy helicopter pilot! Are people insane?’ Lizzie gasped, stricken, while Andrew, always resourceful, broke a small branch off a nearby tree, cut it to size with the knife in his pocket and splinted it to Archie’s leg, wrapping it in place with twine.

‘Nobody should land in a field with animals in it,’ Andrew agreed. As Lizzie comforted her pet with a trembling hand he unfurled his mobile phone. ‘We’d better get him to the vet. I’ll ring ahead to warn Danny.’

Andrew’s dog had retrieved the sheep and on the walk back uphill they were returned to the field from which they had fled. Lizzie was in shock and wildly dishevelled by the breakneck pace of her downhill marathon, sweat breaking on her brow, tears trickling down her cheeks as she held Archie’s small, shivering body as gently as she could to her chest. Back in the yard, Lizzie went straight to the Land Rover and settled Archie on the front passenger seat.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Andrew announced. ‘I know how you feel about that daft dog.’

‘Thanks but I can manage,’ Lizzie assured him with a warm smile that acknowledged how comfortable she could still feel with her former boyfriend.

‘That’s the ex-fiancé—Andrew Brook, our neighbour,’ Brian Whitaker informed Cesare, who was stationed beside him outside the back door of the cottage. ‘They grew up together. I always thought they’d make a match of it but then he met Esther and married her instead.’

Cesare told himself that he had no desire for that information. He was already irritated that Lizzie hadn’t been waiting to greet him—didn’t she appreciate what a busy man he was? Now watching her smile beguilingly up at her ex-boyfriend, who was an attractive, stalwart six-footer, he was even less impressed. When she looked at the other man like that and squeezed his arm with easy intimacy it made him wonder why they had broken up and that dart of inappropriate curiosity set his even white teeth on edge, sending another wave of annoyance crashing through him.

‘Lizzie!’ her father called as Andrew strode back home across the couple of fields that separated their properties.

Lizzie turned her head and focused in bewilderment on the tall, darkly handsome male poised by her father’s side. Her heartbeat suddenly thudded like a crack of doom in her ears and her throat tightened. Sheathed in an immaculate grey pinstripe business suit worn with a white shirt and scarlet tie, Cesare looked very much at odds with his surroundings but he still contrived to take her breath away and leave her mind briefly as blank as white paper. ‘Good grief, when did you arrive? I didn’t see a car.’

‘I came in a helicopter...’

Lizzie, the Land Rover keys clenched tightly in one hand, froze. She blinked in fleeting bewilderment and then headed towards Cesare in a sudden movement, rage boiling up through the cracks of anxiety and concern for her dog and her flock. ‘You’re the bloody idiot who let a helicopter land in a field full of stock?’ she raked at him incredulously.

In all his life, nobody had ever addressed Cesare with such insolence. A faint frown line etched between his ebony brows, he stared at her as if he couldn’t quite believe his ears. Indeed he was much more concerned with the reality that, in spite of her awareness of his visit, his bride-to-be still looked as though she had strayed in from a hostel for the homeless. A streak of dirt marred one cheekbone and her clothes were caked in mud and displaying damp patches. But when he glanced higher and saw the luminous colour in her cheeks that accentuated her hazel-green eyes and the contrast of that tumbling mane of admittedly messy white-blonde hair, he registered in some astonishment that even had she been wearing a bin liner it would not have dampened her physical appeal on his terms. His usual high standards, it seemed, were slipping.

‘What’s the problem?’ Cesare enquired with perfect cool, reasoning that some sort of cultural misunderstanding could have provoked her sudden aggressive outburst.

‘The problem is...’

‘Don’t shout at me,’ Cesare sliced in softly. ‘I am not hard of hearing.’

‘Your pilot landed that helicopter in a field full of sheep...and he should be shot for it!’ Lizzie framed rawly. ‘They were so terrified they fled. All of them are pregnant, only days off lambing. If any of them miscarry after that crazed stampede, I’ll be holding you responsible!’

For a fraction of a second, Cesare recalled the pilot striving to persuade him to land a couple of fields away but the prospect of a time-wasting muddy trek to the cottage had exasperated him and he had insisted on being set down as close as possible to his destination. ‘The mistake was mine, not the pilot’s. I chose the landing spot,’ Cesare admitted, startling her with that confession. ‘I know nothing about farming or the care of animals. Naturally I will compensate you and your father for any loss of income that results.’

‘Well, the man can’t say fairer than that,’ Brian Whitaker cut in, sending his furious daughter a warning glance. ‘Let that be the end of it.’

‘Archie was hurt!’ Lizzie protested fierily, shooting Cesare a seething look that warned him that even admitting his mistake was insufficient to soothe her. ‘The flock trampled him at the river. I’m taking him to the vet now for emergency treatment and I haven’t got the time...or the patience...to deal with you!’

Cesare watched in disbelief as his future bride unlocked the rusty vehicle several feet away and began to climb in.

‘You’ve done it now. She treats that stupid dog like her firstborn!’ Brian Whitaker muttered impatiently and retreated back indoors, bowing out of the situation.

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