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THE BRIDES OF BELLA ROSA

Romance, rivalry and a family reunited.

Lisa Firenze and Luca Casali: for years their sibling rivalry has disturbed the quiet, sleepy Italian town of Monta Correnti, and their two feuding restaurants have divided the market square.

Now, as the keys to the restaurants are handed down to Lisa and Luca’s children, will history repeat itself? Can the next generation undo its parents’ mistakes, reunite the families and ultimately join the two restaurants?

Or are there more secrets to be revealed…?

The doors to the restaurants are open, so take your seats and look out for secrets, scandal and surprises on the menu!

Turn to page 5 for Diana Palmer’s secret recipe for the Bella Rosa sauce!

Beauty and the Reclusive Prince

By

Raye Morgan

Executive: Expecting Tiny Twins

By

Barbara Hannay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Beauty and the Reclusive Prince

By

Raye Morgan

Mills & Boon® Romance reader-favourite Diana Palmer would like to share her secret tomato sauce recipe with you. Diana grows her own herbs and tomatoes and she and her husband love to cook with them. Enjoy!

Tomato Sauce

Begin with a nice basket of organically grown plum tomatoes (about 1.2 kg) or equivalent cans of organic plum tomatoes, and a nice big bunch of fresh black basil. Wash tomatoes and cut into quarters.

Put 2-3 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil into a pan; add 3-4 cloves chopped garlic. When garlic softens throw in the tomatoes. Simmer until tomatoes begin to soften, add a big handful (about 12 large leaves) of torn basil leaves. Salt and pepper to taste.

Simmer sauce until tomatoes soften and slowly bring to the boil. Turn off heat and run sauce through a sieve or food mill for a smooth consistency. Or leave in the bits for a rough and ready pasta sauce.

When cool, add the Bella Rosa secret ingredient—1 teaspoon of orange-infused olive oil and 1 teaspoon grated orange zest.

The sauce can be used alone, or as a base.

THE BRIDES OF BELLA ROSA

Romance, rivalry and a family reunited.

This month Isabella Casali welcomes you to Monta Correnti in:

BEAUTY AND THE RECLUSIVE PRINCE by Raye Morgan

And follow Lizzie Green through the tears and triumph of motherhood in:

EXECUTIVE: EXPECTING TINY TWINS by Barbara Hannay

Rebel Valentino Casali returns this June:

MIRACLE FOR THE GIRL NEXT DOOR by Rebecca Winters

Join Jackie Patterson for the wedding of the year on a hot July day:

THE BRIDESMAID’S SECRET by Fiona Harper

Lassos at the ready for rugged rancher Alex Casali in August:

THE COWBOY’S ADOPTED DAUGHTER by Patricia Thayer

Autumn can’t dampen the sparks flying in the kitchen for Scarlett Gibson:

PASSIONATE CHEF, ICE QUEEN BOSS by Jennie Adams

October sees Angelo Casali escape from New York:

STAR-CROSSED SWEETHEARTS by Jackie Braun

And as Christmas approaches in November cosy up with Cristiano Casali in:

FIREFIGHTER’S DOORSTEP BABY by Barbara McMahon

CHAPTER ONE

“ENOUGH!”

Isabella Casali’s cry was snatched right out of her mouth by the gust of wind that tore at her thick dark hair and slapped it back against her face. What a night she’d picked to go sneaking onto royal property. The moon had been riding a crest of silky clouds when she’d started out from the village. Now the sky had turned black and the moon was playing hide and seek, taking away her light just when she’d stepped on forbidden territory. Where had this sudden storm come from, anyway?

“Bad luck,” she whispered to herself, squinting against another gust of wind. “I’ve got reams of it.”

She knew she ought to turn and head for home, but she couldn’t go back without finding what she’d come for—not after all she’d done to work up the nerve to come in the first place.

The grounds of the local prince’s palazzo were famously said to be the stomping grounds for all sorts of supernatural creatures. She’d discounted it before, thought it was nothing but old wives’ tales. But now that she’d come here and seen for herself, she was beginning to get the shivers just like everyone else. Every gust of wind, every snapping twig, every moan from the trees made her jump and turn to see what was behind her.

“You’d better hope the prince doesn’t catch you.”

Those words had made her smile when Susa, her restaurant’s vintage pastry chef, had uttered them like an aging Cassandra just before Isabella had left for this adventure. Susa often had wise advice, but this time Isabella was sure she was off the beam. What had Susa said again?

“They say he patrols the grounds himself, looking for young women who stray into his woods…”

“Oh, Susa, please,” she’d scoffed. “They’ve said the same thing about every prince who’s lived in that old moldy castle for the last hundred years. The royal Rossi family has never been a very friendly bunch, from what I’ve heard. When you don’t get out and mix with the citizens, you’re bound to get a bad reputation.”

She’d chuckled at the time, completely unconcerned, even though the royal grounds were the last place she wanted to venture onto anyway. Given a choice, she would have stayed home with a good book.

“But it’s mostly because they’re such a mystery,” she continued, thinking it over. “I’ll bet they’re very nice people once you get to know them.”

Susa raised her eyebrows and looked superior. “We’ll see how nice you think he is when he has you locked up in his dungeon.”

“Susa!” Isabella was reluctant enough to go on this mission without the older woman raising more reasons why she should just stay home.

“Besides, Papa has been sneaking in there to collect the Monta Rosa Basil we need for years and, as far as I know, he’s never seen a royal person there yet. I don’t believe a word of it.”

Her father, Luca Casali, had discovered the almost magical properties of this fine herb years before and it had transformed his cuisine from average Italian fare into something so special people came from miles around just to get a bowl of exquisitely cooked pasta topped with the steaming tomato-based sauce Luca had come up with.

The special recipe and the herb were a closely held family secret. Only a few knew that the delicious flavor came from a plant that could be found only on a hillside located on the estate of the royal Rossi family in Monta Correnti.

For years, her father had gone once a month to collect the herb. Now he was ill and could no longer make the trip. It was up to Isabella to take up the mantle as herb-gatherer, reluctant as she might be. She’d decided she might have less risk of being caught at it if she went at night. She was a little nervous, but fairly confident. After all, her father had never had a problem. She told herself calmly that she would do just fine.

But that was before the storm came up, and the moon disappeared, and the wind began to whip at her. Right now, every scary rumor seemed highly plausible and she was definitely looking over her shoulder for marauding royalty.

Earlier, when the sun was still shining, she’d thought it might be interesting to meet the prince.

“What’s he like, really?” she’d asked Susa. “When he’s not enticing young women into his bedroom, at any rate.”

Susa shrugged. “I don’t know much about him. Only that his young wife died years ago and he’s been sort of a recluse ever since.”

“Oh.” Isabella thought she’d heard something about that a long time ago, but she didn’t remember any details. “How sad.”

“They say she died under mysterious circumstances,” the woman added ominously.

“Are there any other kind in your world?” Isabella shot back.

Susa gave her a superior look and turned away, but at the same time Isabella was remembering what Noni Braccini, the restaurant cook who had taught her most of what she knew about Italian cooking when she was a young girl, used to say.

“Nothing good could happen in a place like that.” She would point a wrinkled finger toward where the old, crumbling palazzo stood and mutter, “Bats.”

Isabella would look at her, nonplussed. “Bats?”

She would nod wisely. “Bats. You don’t want bats in your hair.”

Isabella would find herself smoothing down her own wild tresses and agreeing quickly, with a shudder. “No, no, indeed. I don’t want bats in my hair.”

And that was about all she knew about the prince in the castle. Of course, there was the fact that the essential herb grew on a hillside on castle grounds.

Noni had died long since, but Susa was still around to give dire warnings, and she’d said matter-of-factly as Isabella was going out the door, “When I was a girl, it was common knowledge that the Rossi prince was a vampire.”

“What?” Isabella had laughed aloud at that one. “Susa, that’s crazy!”

“He was the grandfather of this one.” The older woman had shrugged. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Isabella had laughed all the way to her car, but she wasn’t laughing now. It wasn’t just what Susa had said in warning. There were plenty of other old stories swirling in her head. Her childhood had been full of them—tales told in the dark at girlfriend sleepovers, stories of black-beards who captured women and held them within the castle walls—vampires who roamed the night looking for beautiful victims with virgin throats—seducers with dark, glittering eyes, who lured innocent girls into their sumptuous bedrooms. Suddenly they all seemed too plausible. She was half regretting that she’d come to this frightening place at all, and half angry with herself for being such a wimp.

“Come on,” she muttered to herself encouragingly. “Just a bit further and we’ll get this done.”

After all, how bad could it be? Even if she did run into the prince, he couldn’t possibly be as wicked as Susa had painted him. In fact, she remembered seeing him once, years ago, when she was a teenager. She’d been visiting a hot springs resort area a few hours from the village and someone had pointed him out. She’d thought him incredibly handsome at the time—and incredibly arrogant-looking.

“The old royalty are all like that,” her friend had said. “They think they’re better than the rest of us. It’s best r and she would find the hillside where the special basil grew, pick enough to fill the canvas bag she’d brought along, and head for home. Of course, it would help if she could see more than three feet in front of her with this stupid flashlight that kept blinking off.

“Oh!”

Her foot slipped and she almost tumbled down the hill. At least the problem with the flashlight was solved. It did tumble down the hill, and over a ledge, and into the river. Even above the noise of the wind, she could hear the splash.

Isabella wasn’t one to swear, but she was working up to it tonight. What a disaster. What had she been thinking when she’d decided to come here all alone in the middle of the night? She’d known she was just asking for trouble.

“I just wasn’t made for this cloak-and-dagger stuff,” she muttered to herself as she tried to climb higher on the hill. All she wanted was to find the herbs and get out of here. She hated doing this. She dreaded getting caught by guards…or the prince. Or attacked by vampires—whichever came first.

The wind slashed through the tops of the trees, howling like a banshee. Lightning flashed, and in that same moment she looked up and saw a figure all in black atop a huge horse, racing down on her.

Time stopped. Fear clutched at her heart like a vise. This was too much. The dark, the wind, the sight of danger crashing toward her—had she taken a wrong turn somewhere? Suddenly, everything was upside down and she was terrified. Without a pause, she screamed at the top of her lungs. The sounds echoed through the valley, louder and louder, as lightning cracked and thunder rolled.

That lifetime of scary stories had set her up to think the worst. Every story flashed through her soul in an instant. She was shaking now, panic taking over, and she turned to run.

She heard him shout. Her heart was in her throat. She was dashing off blindly, startled as a cornered deer, and she heard him coming up behind her. The hoofbeats sounded like thunder striking stone, and his shout was angry.

She was in big trouble. He was going to catch her. She couldn’t let that happen! She had to run faster…faster…

She couldn’t run fast enough and she couldn’t get her breath. Her foot slipped, wrenching her balance out from under her. She started to slide down the steep hill. Crying out, she reached to catch herself on a bush, but it pulled right out of the ground. Suddenly, she was tumbling toward the river.

She hit the water with a splash that sent a spray in all directions. She gasped as the icy water took her in. Now she was going to drown!

But she barely had time to reach for the surface before the strong arms of the man in black had caught hold of her and she was pulled instantly from the racing water.

He had her. Stunned by the cold, shocked by what was happening, she couldn’t find her bearings. Disoriented in the moment, she realized dimly that she was being carried toward the horse, but she was a bystander, watching helplessly, as though from afar. For now, it seemed there was nothing she could do to resist.

Later, she was mortified as she remembered this scene. How could she have succumbed so quickly to the overwhelming sense of his strength like that? She’d just suffered a shock, of course, and that had pretty much knocked her silly, but still…As she remembered just how much the feel of his strong, muscular arms seemed to paralyze her reactions, she could do nothing but groan aloud in frustration. How could she have been such a ninny?

But in the moment, she was spellbound. The moon came out from behind the clouds, turning the landscape silver. Trying to look up at his face, all she could see was his strong chin, and the smooth, tight cords of his sculptured neck. And still, she couldn’t seem to make a move.

This was crazy. He was just a man. Nothing supernatural at all. Just a man. A man who had no right to carry her this way. She had to assert herself, had to let him know what he was dealing with. But before she could get a word out, she found herself thrown up onto the horse and the creature who’d captured her was rising to mount behind her.

And finally, with a lot of effort, she found her voice.

“Hey, wait a minute!” she cried. “You can’t do this. Let me go!”

Maybe he didn’t hear her. The wind was making a riot in the tops of the trees. At any rate, he didn’t answer, and in seconds the horse was galloping toward the ancient, forbidding structure looming at the top of the hill, and she was going along for the ride. She hung on for dear life. She could hardly breathe. She heard the hoofs clattering on the cobblestones as they neared the entrance. Huge lanterns lit the entryway. And then they came to a halt and he had dismounted and pulled her down as well.

She swayed. For a moment, she was confused and couldn’t find her footing. His hands gripped her shoulders from behind, holding her steady. She turned, wanting to see his face, but he kept it from her.

“This way,” he said, taking her by the hand and leading her up to the huge wooden door.

“No,” she said, but her voice was weak and she found herself following along where he led, even though her soggy running suit was sticking to her legs, the heavy jacket flapping against her torso, the running shoes sloshing with every step. She was a mess. She hated to think what her hair looked like.

Somewhere on the grounds, a pair of dogs began to howl. Or was it wolves? Her heart was thumping so hard she could hardly tell. The roll of distant thunder added to the menace in the air. The lanterns made eerie shadows and her gaze rose to take in the sinister spikes at the top of the castle wall.

She shuddered. Was she dreaming? Or had she ventured by mistake into one of this area’s old-fashioned legends? Was she on her way to the dungeon, as Susa had warned? And if this was a story, was this man who’d scared her and then saved her the hero or the villain?

“Both,” said a little voice inside her.

She shook her head. It didn’t matter right now. She needed him. She had no one else to turn to.

The front door creaked open as they approached. She caught a glimpse of a man as old and craggy as the walls, his features exaggerated by the lighting. A wizard? She shrank back against her companion, automatically turning to him for protection despite everything. He hesitated for a moment, then put his arm around her shoulders and let her curl herself up against him. After a second or two, his arm actually tightened around her.

Isabella was still too dazed to know what was really going on. She was wet, she was cold, she was in the courtyard of a forbidden palazzo, and a man she had momentarily thought might be a vampire—well, just for a second or two—now had his arm around her. What was more, his arm felt darn good, as did the rest of him. In fact, she didn’t think she’d seen a man in a long time that appealed to her senses quite as much as this scary and yet comforting man did right now.

She’d pretty much decided men and romance and things of that nature weren’t going to be a part of her life. Too much trouble, not worth the effort. And here she was, responding to this scary man like a cat to cream. Maybe she was just an adrenaline junky after all.

“We’re almost there,” he told her helpfully.

That surprised her. Were vampires usually this considerate? She didn’t think so. But maybe he was just calming her fears to make her more amenable to manipulation. Or maybe she’d seen too many horror movies in her time.

She sighed and closed her eyes, wishing she could get orientated. She wasn’t used to feeling so helpless, as though her muscles couldn’t really respond. But maybe that was because her mind didn’t seem to be working at all. She was so tired. Maybe when she opened her eyes, this would all fade away and she would be home in her own bed…

Prince Maximilliano Di Rossi looked down at the woman who was clinging to him and frowned. He was surprised that she’d turned to him for protection the way she had, but he was also surprised at his own reaction to her move. His first impulse was to pull away, to reject all contact. That was his way, the style he’d been living with for the last ten years. The only people he allowed near him were those who had always been closest to him, a few people who had known him since childhood—since before the accident. He never had other visitors. He’d been stepping out of character even to bring her here.

But something in the easy, open way she’d clung to him had stirred old memories. She was shivering and turning toward him as a lover would. Something deep inside him hungered for this. It had been so long since he’d held a woman in his arms, since he’d felt that warmth, that contrast between his own hard body and the soft, rounded responsiveness of a woman. He’d thought he might never feel it again. And yet, here it was, like a gift out of the blue.

But not for long. He knew she’d been trying to see his face and he’d been keeping it averted. Once she really saw him in full light, any instincts for touching him in any way would dry up like summer rain on a hot pavement.

With a cynical twist of his wide mouth, he turned and led her into the palazzo through the tall, heavy wood door. Their footsteps echoed down the long empty hallways. Someone coughed. He looked up. There stood his man, Renzo, in his nightclothes and dressing gown, and wearing what appeared to be a pair of aging woodchucks on his feet. He looked sleepy and ridiculous, but definitely alarmed at the same time.

“Nice slippers,” he commented wryly, cocking an eyebrow.

“Thank you, sir,” Renzo responded, shuffling his feet and looking slightly abashed.

Max paused for a moment. He knew he could very easily hand over this piece of womanly baggage to the individual who had been his combination valet, butler, and personal assistant most of his life. Hand her over and turn his back and walk away and never give her another thought. He knew very well that Renzo would take care of everything discreetly and efficiently. Doing just that would fit the pattern of his life, the way things were done around here. He made a move as though to do it. He could see that Renzo expected it. How easy it would be to follow through.

And then he glanced down at the woman. She was still turning to him for refuge. She’d reached for him, given herself into the comfort of his arm, pressed her beautiful young body against his as though she was trusting that he would keep her safe. Something moved inside him—and that was dangerous. Just looking down into her gorgeous thick, tangled hair, he could feel his emotions stirring in a way he didn’t need.

And still, he didn’t leave.

Later he told himself it was nothing more than a typical impulse of the male role of guardian, the same he might have had for a puppy or a kitten that needed his attention. Despite his background, despite his guilty past, the urge to safeguard those smaller and more vulnerable rose in him and he’d followed his instincts.

But for once, he wasn’t convinced. No, there was something about this woman—something threatening. He knew he should walk away and leave her to Renzo to deal with.

But he didn’t do that.

Looking up, he shook his head at his man. “I’ll handle this,” he said, shedding his long black cloak and dropping it on a chair along the side of the room. He was going to see to her himself.

At the same time he realized what this meant. He was going to be forced to go against habit and his recent tradition. He was going to have to do something he almost never did these days. He was going to have to turn and let her see his face.

Renzo looked alarmed. “But, sir—” he began.

The prince cut him off. “Notify Marcello that I would like him to join us in the Blue Room,” he said.

Renzo blinked. “Excuse me, sir, but I think the doctor is asleep…”

“Then wake him,” Max said crisply. “I want him to take a look at this young lady. She’s had a fall.”

“Oh, my goodness,” Renzo said faintly, but he didn’t leave the room. Instead, he cleared his throat as though to say more, but Max wasn’t listening. He was steeling himself for the moment that was about to come.

He knew his hesitation would seem strange to others. Most would let anyone see their face at any time. After all, it was the side they showed to the world, the representation of just who they were.

But he wasn’t like everyone else. His face was scarred, horribly damaged and ugly to see. It couldn’t represent him, because he wasn’t like that inside. But it was all he had, and therefore it was something he avoided showing to strangers.

To turn and let her see his face would be a serious step for him. Still, he was going to do it. He was impatient with himself for even wavering. It was time he got over this weakness. He would turn and let her see just what she was dealing with. And he would hold his gaze steady so that he would be forced to take in every ounce of the shock and horror in her eyes. It was best to stay real.

“Come this way,” he told her brusquely, turning to stride down the hall. She almost ran to keep up, holding onto his hand as though she would be lost if she let go. The huge portraits that lined their path were a blur, as were the long, aging tapestries that hung from the walls. He swept her into a room lined with heavy blue velvet drapes. The embers of a dying fire were smoldering in the large stone fireplace.

“Sit down,” he said, gesturing toward an antique Grecian couch. “My cousin Marcello is a physician. I want him to take a look at you.”

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head and looking down at herself. Everything about her seemed to be dripping. “I’m filthy and muddy and wet. I’ll ruin the upholstery.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said shortly.

She raised her dark gaze and cocked her head to the side, trying to see more than the left half of his face. Was he joking? This was one of the most sumptuously embellished rooms she’d ever been in. Not what she was used to, but most people she knew didn’t do much decorating in velvet and gold leaf.

“Of course it matters,” she responded, beginning to feel some of her usual fire returning. “I may not look like much right now, but I’ve got manners. I know how to act in polite company.”

“Polite company?” He gave a little grunt, not even sure himself if it were partly a laugh or not. “Is that what you’re expecting? We’ll have to see if we can muster some up for you.”

He was pacing about the room in a restless way and she turned to keep him in her line of vision. She was pretty sure she knew who he was by now. After all, she’d seen him all those years ago at the hot springs. If only she could get a full view of his face she would know for sure, but he seemed to have a talent for keeping in the shadows.

“You’re making me dizzy,” she said, reaching out to steady herself with a hand on the back of an overstuffed chair.

He grunted again, but he didn’t stop moving. She watched nervously, wondering what he was planning to do with her. Luckily, he didn’t seem inclined to lock her in a cell, so Susa was wrong there, but she supposed he could call the police and have her arrested if he wanted to. This was his castle and she didn’t belong here.

She watched and waited. She liked the way he moved. There was a controlled, animal strength to him, and every action, every turn, presented with a certain masculine grace. And yet there was the sense of something more to him, something hidden, something leashed and waiting. He was new to her, unpredictable. Once again she realized that she was in a presence she didn’t know how to handle. That made her heart thump.

Stopping to look out into the hall, he muttered something she couldn’t quite make out, but it sounded slightly obscene.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, tensing as though to be ready to run for it.

He started to turn toward her, then stopped. “My cousin is taking his own sweet time about it,” he said evenly. “I’d like to get this over with.”

“So would I,” she said, her tone heartfelt. “Listen, why don’t I just go and—?”

“No,” he ordered firmly, glancing at her sideways. “You stay right where you are.”

That put her back up a bit and sparked a sense of rebellion in her soul.

“Much as I appreciate your warm and welcoming hospitality,” she began with a touch of sarcasm, taking a step toward the door, “I think it’s time—”

“No.”

He took a step closer and his hand shot out and circled her wrist. “You’re staying right here until I permit you to go.”

“Oh, I am, am I?” Her lower lip jutted out and she pulled hard on his hold but he wasn’t letting go. “Your rules are on the medieval side, you know. These days one doesn’t take orders from another person unless they are being paid money.”

He pulled her closer, his face half turned her way. “Is that what you’re after?” he asked harshly. “Is it money you want?”

“What?” She stared up at him, shocked by the very concept. “No, no, of course not.”

“Then what do you want here?” he demanded.

She swallowed hard. Somehow this didn’t seem to be a good segue into asking for monthly access to his hillside. “N…nothing,” she stammered.

“Liar.”

She gasped. He was right but she didn’t like hearing it. “You…you wouldn’t understand,” she stammered senselessly. “But I meant you no harm.”

He gave a sharp tug to her wrist, pulling her up close. “Harm.” He said it as though it were a pointless word. “All the harm’s been done years ago,” he added softly.

She winced at the bitterness in his voice. It was clear something about his life just wasn’t going well. The gloomy, bleak atmosphere was only reinforced by his dark attitude. Negative people usually turned her off but there was a lot more here than a bad mood. She felt it like a vibration in the air, and her heart began to beat just a bit harder.

He felt her pulse quicken under his hold on her wrist and he knew what he had to do. Slowly, very deliberately, he turned and faced her, the light from the lamps and the fire exposing his horrible scars.

Was it pride that kept him from showing this to anyone who didn’t know him intimately? Was it conceit, arrogance, egoism? Was it really that hard to think that his face, which had once been considered quite handsome, was now so repellent, people turned away rather than be forced to look at him?

It was probably all those things. But he’d known from the start there was something deeper and harder to face than that. He knew very well there was a large measure of guilt mixed into his motivations. His scars were retribution for his sins, but, even more painful, they were his own fault. That was the hardest thing to live with.

He’d spent years now, hidden away, traveling in limousines with tinted windows, moving anonymously from one house to another. It was a strange, lonely existence, and he was sick of it. But in order to change things, he would have to get used to people seeing his face, and he wasn’t sure he could do it. Or that he deserved to.

But tonight, he wasn’t going to dodge anything. It was high time he accepted his fate and learned to live with it. He was going to stare directly into her huge blue eyes and read every scrap of emotion that was mirrored there. No more avoidance. His jaw tightened and he steeled himself. And then he presented himself to her, scars and all.

Her eyes widened as she took in the totality of his face. The shock was there. He tensed, waiting for the disgust, the wince, the hand to the mouth, the flood of pity, the eyes darting away, looking anywhere but at him. He’d seen it before.

The only mystery was—why did he still let it bother him? It was time to harden himself to it. And so he stood his ground and met her gaze.

But things weren’t going quite as he’d expected. The quality of her surprise was somehow different from what he was used to. No curtain of instant distance appeared, no revulsion, no reserve tainted her manner.

Instead of dread, instead of a cold drawing away in repugnance, a warm, curious light came into her eyes. Rather than pull away, she was coming closer. He watched in astonishment as she actually cocked her head to the side, then reached out for him.

He didn’t move as she edged closer and touched his face, her fingertips moving lightly over the scar, tracing its path down his cheek and into the corner of his wide mouth.

“Oh,” she said, letting it out in a long sigh.

But there was no pity. Maybe there was a hint of sorrow. But other than that, only a touch of confusion along with much interest and curiosity. It seemed almost as though she’d found a wonderful piece of statuary with a tragic flaw that deserved a little exploring. And she felt no inhibitions in doing exactly that.

CHAPTER TWO

ISABELLA was moving in a haze of unreality, as though she really had stepped into a fairy tale. She saw the jagged, fascinating scars, the tragic flaw that split his face in two and made her heart ache with compassion, but there was so much beside that. There was power and presence in the man, and, even more, there was overwhelming beauty in him. His shirt was open, exposing the tanned skin of a hard, sculptured chest, and his wonderful male heat filled her with a strange sense of longing that scared her more than anything else had—and at the same time it tugged at her with an impossible attraction.

He reached out as though to steady her, his hands gentle yet firm on her shoulders, and she felt herself melt into his touch, wanted to lean closer yet. She had a sudden, wild desire to press her lips to the pulse she could see beating hard at the base of his throat. She stared at it, irresistibly drawn.

But she recoiled in time, shocked at her own impulses. What next—was she going to offer herself to the man outright? She gasped softly, then began to think she ought to pull away. Ought to—but couldn’t quite summon up the will.

Max couldn’t have been more amazed if she had kissed him. The moment crystallized in time, her body arched toward his, her fingertips on his face, his heart pounding, his gaze locked on hers. Something twisted in his chest and he realized he was holding his breath. He was feeling something new and strange and he didn’t like it at all. But she’d touched him. No woman had done that since the accident. No woman had wanted to. That lit a fire inside him he hadn’t known he was capable of feeling. Whatever else this young woman was, she was unique in a way he’d never seen before. She didn’t make him feel like a freak. He savored the moment.

And in the same instant he became aware that Renzo had come into the room at last and was now lurching forward as though he was prepared to push this woman back away from his prince. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion. And it all seemed to be so very beside the point, but it had to be dealt with, and so he did.

Turning to block Renzo’s ridiculous protective lunge with the position of his body, he pulled the young woman up against him and out of Renzo’s reach. Looking down, he sank into the clouds in her dark eyes, searching for the mysteries they might contain. She seemed to hold worlds he’d never visited deep inside her. Those worlds were suddenly the most interesting places he’d ever had a glimpse of. He suddenly found it very hard to pull away from her gaze. Or maybe, the truth was, he didn’t want to.

Who was she? Where had she come from? Should he get away from her as fast as he could—or should he find a way to keep her here? He knew what his instincts were telling him. But he knew from experience that his instincts could lie.

Renzo still hung at his shoulder. “Sir…”

It took Max a moment to respond. He was still looking deep into the young woman’s eyes. “I thought I told you to get Marcello,” he said without turning.

“But, sir…” Renzo was blinking rapidly, obviously upset by this strange behavior.

“Go.”

Renzo averted his gaze, bowed deeply, and gave in. “Very well, sir.” Turning on his heel, he left the room.

And at the same time Max’s sister, Angela, appeared in the opening. She took in the scene and her eyebrows arched even higher than usual.

“Well, Max,” she said, starting into the room at last. “Who’s this?”

The sound of her voice snapped them both to attention as though a spell had been broken. They turned to look at her. She came closer, circling and gazing with wonder at the two of them.

“Where on earth did you find her?”

Max drew in a sharp breath and stepped away from Isabella as though she’d suddenly grown too hot to touch. She reached out to steady herself against the back of the couch, not sure if she was reacting to general dizziness, or to the man himself. She was still in a muddle, but at least her head was clear enough by now to fully understand whom she was dealing with. After all, if you trespassed on a prince’s property, you were likely to run into the prince at some point. And maybe even a princess or two.

“I found her wandering around down by the river,” this particular prince was saying. “The dogs were loose and I was afraid they might attack her.” He made a gesture and looked down at Isabella, still swaying next to the couch, then back at his sister. “I must have startled her. She fell down the hill.”

Angela nodded, looking her over, then glanced sharply at Max. “Right into the water, I see.”

“Yes.”

“And you…you rescued her?”

His hands curled around the back of a chair and gripped so hard his knuckles were white. “Yes, Angela. I rescued her.” He turned to stare at his sister with a measure of hostility.

“I see.” She stared back, but looked away first, looking Isabella over again. “That still doesn’t tell me who she is.”

He turned to look at her, too, his large dark eyes dispassionate. All sense of a special tension between them seemed to have melted away.

“True,” Max agreed. “Nor what she was doing on the property.” He hesitated, then added, almost to himself, “And so close to the river.”

Isabella drew herself up. Now that she was coming back down to earth, she was getting tired of being treated like a rather stupid child and talked about as though it didn’t matter if she understood or not. For one trembling moment, she’d actually thought she and this man had a special connection of sorts, something quick and searing that was going to change her life. But now she could see that she’d been fooling herself—as usual.

First he’d terrified her, then beguiled her with his tenderness and his scarred face. Now he was acting as if she were a wet cat who shouldn’t have been let inside. The disappointment she felt was real. She noticed he was avoiding her gaze again, turning his head so that the scarred side was hidden by shadows. Her chin rose and she looked at them both defiantly, her pride returning.

“My name is Isabella Casali. I help my father Luca run the restaurant in the square. Rosa? Perhaps you’ve eaten there.”

Angela gave a careless shrug. Dressed in a flowing robe, she’d obviously been preparing for bed when the sounds of Isabella’s arrival had drawn her back downstairs. In her midthirties, she had a cool, blonde beauty that was slightly marred by just a touch too much arrogance for comfort.

“I know it though we’ve never eaten there.” Her smile was perfunctory. “We will have to try your food someday.”

Isabella was surprised. Everyone ate at Rosa. “You’ve never had anything from our restaurant?” Isabella asked, incredulous.

“No.”

She looked from the handsome woman to the incredible man. Despite her newfound annoyance with him, she had to admit he was a striking figure with the sort of presence that demanded more than simple respect. Tall and muscular in a slender way that bespoke strength along with graceful movement, he was the sort of man you couldn’t take your eyes off once you’d seen him. And that scar…she’d never seen anything like it before.

“Perhaps my aunt’s restaurant, Sorella, is more to your liking,” she commented. “She has things that are very international and trendy. It’s right next door to Rosa.”

He shook his head. “We have our own cooks,” he said simply. “We don’t eat in restaurants.”

Her head went back. That certainly put her in her place.

“Oh,” she said faintly. “Of course.”

“I’m sure we can make an exception,” Angela said with a wave of her hand, giving her brother a look as though to remind him to be polite to the little people. “To complete the introductions, this is Prince Maximilliano Di Rossi, who owns this palazzo, and I am his sister, Angela. If you live in Monta Correnti, I’m sure you know that.”

Isabella didn’t answer. It took a moment to get all this in focus. Of course, she’d known there was a Rossi prince living here in the castle from time to time, but, except for stories and the one sighting at the springs, she’d never actually given him much thought. He wasn’t a regular presence in the village or around the countryside, so if she’d ever known his name, she’d forgotten it long since.

When she’d been young, there had been a Prince Bartholomew who had lived here. If she remembered correctly, he’d had a beautiful film-star wife who had seldom come here with him, and three teenaged children who had come occasionally. She’d seen them every now and then, but they were years older than she was and she hadn’t paid much attention. The family hadn’t mixed with their neighbors then, either, and no one knew much about them. The castle on the top of the steep hill was dark and imposing and pretty scary-looking, which was part of the reason legends about strange goings-on there were rife. People tended to give it a wide berth.

She thought now that Prince Bartholomew must have been this prince’s father.

“And that brings us back to the question of why you were on the grounds,” Max said coolly. “Since you live here in the area, I’m sure you understand that you were trespassing.”

Isabella’s chin rose again and she looked at him defiantly. “Yes, I know that.”

He shrugged extravagantly, a clear response to her bravado. “And so…?” he asked, pinning her down with his direct gaze.

She drew her breath in sharply. She was caught, wasn’t she? What could she do but tell him the truth?

That meant talking about the unique basil that grew on his hillside, and she really didn’t want to do that. Very few people knew the identity of their special ingredient and they had kept it that way to discourage copycat trouble.

“If I could patent the Monta Rosa Basil, I would do so,” her father was always muttering. “Just don’t talk about it to others. We don’t want anyone to know where we get it. If others started to use it, we would be in big trouble.”

“No one else would make sauces as good as yours, even with the basil,” Isabella would respond loyally.

“Bah,” he would say. “It’s our secret. Without it, we’re doomed.”

So she didn’t want to tell the Rossi family what she’d come for. But now, she felt she had to. Besides, there was very little chance that they would care or tell other chefs anything about it. So she tried to explain. “I…I came because I had to. You see, there is a certain herb that only seems to grow on the southern-facing hill above your river.” She shrugged, all innocence. At least, she hoped it was coming off that way. “I need it for our signature recipe at the restaurant.”

“You need it?” Angela sniffed. “That’s stealing, you know.”

Isabella frowned. How could she explain to them that stealing from the prince’s estate was considered a time-honored tradition in the village?

“I wouldn’t call it that exactly,” she hedged, but Max gave a cold laugh, dismissing her excuse out of hand.

“What would you call it, then?” he demanded.

She shrugged again, searching for a proper term. “Sharing?”

She looked at him hopefully. He looked right into her eyes and suddenly a hint of that connection that had sparked between them before was hovering there, just out of reach.

“Sharing?” he repeated softly.

She nodded, searching his eyes for signs that the coldness in his gaze might melt if she said the right things, but there wasn’t much there to give her hope.

“Doesn’t that require the consent of those ‘shared’ with?”

“I…well, you could give your consent,” she suggested. “If only you would.” She was still held by those huge dark eyes. Her heart was beating quickly again, as though something were happening here. But nothing was. No, she was sure of it. Nothing at all.

“Never,” he said flatly, his gaze as cool as ever. “Never,” he said more softly. “The river is too dangerous.”

She stared up at him, captivated by the impression of energy she sensed from him. It felt as though he had a certain sort of power trapped and controlled inside him, just waiting for a release. What would it take to free him? Could she do it? Did she dare try?

When Angela’s voice, saying goodnight, snapped her out of her reverie again, she had to shake herself and wonder just how long it had lasted. For some reason, she felt almost as though she knew him now. Almost as though they had always known each other. Not friends, exactly. Maybe lovers? Her breath caught in her throat at that brazen thought.

But Max was hardly thinking along those lines himself. He obviously wanted to get on with it. “If you’ll just take a seat,” he began impatiently, but his sister, halfway out of the room, turned back and let out a rude exclamation.

“She’s soggy,” she stated flatly.

Exactly what Isabella had said herself, but somehow the way this woman said it carried a bit of a sting. She bit her lip. Why was she letting these people play with her emotions like this? She was out of place here, in way above her head. She needed to leave. Quickly, she spun on her heel and started for the door.

“I’ll just get out of your way,” she snapped, glancing at the prince as she tried to pass him. “I should be getting home anyway…”

His hand shot out and curled around her upper arm. “Not until Marcello takes a look,” he said, pulling her a bit too close. She gasped softly, then shook her head, ready to object. But the prince’s sister beat her to the punch.

“As you can see, her condition is unacceptable,” Angela said briskly. “We need to get her cleaned up before she sees Marcello.” She made a face in her brother’s direction. “It will only take a moment. I’ll run her under a quick shower and have her back here in no time.”

She gestured toward Isabella as she might have toward a servant. “Come along with me,” she ordered.

Rebellion rose in Isabella’s throat. She was beginning to feel like Eliza Doolittle in My Fair Lady. Shades of the little peasant girl being cleaned up and prepared to meet with her betters. No, thanks. She didn’t really care for that role. It didn’t suit her. She’d considered the options and decided against it.

She was regaining her bearings and beginning to feel a bit foolish. She’d been caught red-handed, so to speak, and deserved to get a little guff for it. But this was getting out of hand. After all, if the man didn’t want her on his property, why didn’t he just let her go? Why had he forced her to come back here to the house? She was certainly in a wet, bedraggled condition, but still…

“Why don’t I just go?” she began, turning toward the door again.

“You have no choice in the matter,” the prince said calmly. “For the good of all, you need to be clean and dry.”

“But—”

“Go with my sister,” the prince said. His voice was low and composed, but something in it made Isabella look up, surprised at how coolly he could give an order that made you want to do exactly what he said. “You fell on our land, into our river. We are responsible for your condition. It’s only right that we make you whole again.”

That didn’t make any sense at all. She’d been trespassing, not visiting. But somehow she found herself following Angela down the hall. She looked back. The prince was watching her go, half leaning against the couch, his head lowered. For some crazy reason, that made her heart lurch in her chest. She turned away quickly and followed where Angela led, but the shivers his look had given her lingered on.

Max stayed where he was, listening as their footsteps faded down the hall, staring into the darkness where she’d just been. He was drawn to her and he hadn’t been attracted to a woman for a long, long time. A picture of his beautiful wife, Laura, swam into his head and he closed his eyes as though to capture it there. Instead, it melted away and another face drifted into its place.

His eyes snapped open and he swore softly. This girl, this Isabella, was nothing like Laura. Why would he see her in his mind’s eye? It was ridiculous to even begin comparing them. She was just a girl from the village. She meant nothing to him and never could.

Slowly, his hand rose until he touched the scar on his face. He wanted to feel what she had felt with her fingertips. What an odd young woman. Oddly compelling. Her reaction had been different from that of anyone he’d ever met and it still puzzled and intrigued him. Had she seen something no one else had? What had she found that had interested her that way? Had anything changed while he hadn’t been paying attention?

No. Same old face. Same old scars. Cursing softly, he jerked his hand away and turned toward the fire. For a moment, he almost hated her.

And why not? She represented the world he’d given up almost ten years ago, the world he had to deny himself. He’d done a damn good job of keeping that world at bay. Now it seemed to have come looking for him. For his own sanity, he knew he had to resist its temptations. This dark, gloomy palazzo was his reality. There was no other way.

Isabella looked around her as she emerged from the steamy shower. It was an antiquated room with antiquated plumbing, but luxurious in an old-fashioned way, with high ceilings and a huge claw-footed tub in the middle of the room. She dried quickly and then stepped before a full-length mirror to check herself for damage.

What she saw made her gasp, then laugh softly. The area around her right eye was looking as if she’d smudged it with soot. A black eye! How was she going to explain that to her customers? She groaned, then began to check out the rest of her body. There was a large painful bruise on her hip and a rather deep cut on her right leg, just below the knee. Most of the blood had been soaked up by her running pants, but there was still some seeping out. Other than a few places that felt a bit achy, that seemed to be it.

Turning, she looked at the clothes Angela had set out for her—a lacy cream-colored sweater and tan stretch pants. They were very close to things she might have picked for herself, so she put them on without hesitation, covering her still bleeding wound with a wad of tissue.

“Are you decent?” Angela called as she was combing and fluffing her hair. She came in after Isabella invited her, handing her a bag with her wet clothes.

“Here you go. Marcello ought to be with Max by now. They’ll be waiting in the Blue Room.” She yawned. “I’m going back to bed. Goodnight, my dear.”

“Wait.” Isabella turned and hesitated, then went ahead and asked, “What happened to his face?”

Angela stared at her for a long moment before answering.

“There was a terrible car accident. It was almost ten years ago, the same night that…” She stopped herself and shook her head. “It was a very bad accident. For days, we were sure that he would die.”

Isabella frowned, taking that in. She had a feeling there was more to it than that. There was a weird, moody undercurrent to everything that went on here. She wanted to know more, but she could hardly ask many questions now.

“But he survived.”

“Obviously. But his face…” Throwing out her hands, she turned away. “He was quite handsome, you know,” she said softly.

Isabella shrugged. “He still is.”

She turned to stare at Isabella. “You think so, do you?”

“Oh, yes.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Well…” she said significantly. But she made a face and turned away. “Goodnight again, Isabella,” she said, beginning to bustle out again. “I’m sure Max will make sure you get taken home safely once Marcello has given you his stamp of approval.”

That sense of rebellion rose in her again, but Isabella thanked Angela as she left the room, then finished up making herself presentable. And all the while she was wondering how she could get out of this ancient stone building without running the gauntlet of the prince and his cousin. She was fine. She didn’t need the attention of a doctor. And she especially didn’t need to run into the prince again.

What she did need was the delicate and very special herb she’d come for. But she had to be realistic. Tonight was not her night. She would have to come back another time. Still, was that going to be possible? Now that she knew about the dogs…

Never mind. She would think about that later. Right now, she just needed to get out of here without seeing the prince again. She took one last look in the mirror. Her black eye was getting worse by the minute. In fact, half her face was now somewhat red and a bit swollen. She groaned. How was she going to hide this from the world?

And then it came to her—she was getting a small hint of what it must be like to be the prince with his vivid scar. She sighed softly as she thought of it. At least she knew that she would be healing soon.

Staring at her own face, she thought of how she’d touched him, and she gasped at her own reckless audacity. What on earth had possessed her to do a thing like that? And why had he stood for it? She must have still been groggy from the effects of the dunking she’d taken and the wild ride through the night on horseback. It really wasn’t her habit to go poking at people’s faces like that.

What had Susa said about him? That his wife had died, that he’d been something of a recluse ever since. Maybe that explained his cool, brooding manner. She shook her head and turned away. This was certainly a strange night and she was finding herself doing all sorts of strange things she’d never done before. It was time she got out of here.

Grabbing the bag with her clothes, she made her way quietly into the hall. She knew which way to turn for the Blue Room, so she took the other path, moving quickly to get away from where she might be seen.

Another sharp turn down a darker hallway and she found herself in the huge, cavernous kitchen. A night-light glowed at the end of the room, giving her just enough light to find her way. She stopped a moment, turning and admiring all the pans and cooking equipment hanging from hooks along the walls. Just the sheer size of the place was impressive. It was three or four times as big as her kitchen at the restaurant. What she could do with a situation like this!

But she didn’t have time for dallying, so she took it all in with one sweeping glance, then picked a door that looked as if it might head outside. She pulled it open quickly, stepped through and suddenly she was falling again—right into the arms of the prince.