Wife By Arrangement. Lucy Gordon

and Lorenzo the charmer.’

      ‘And what is Bernardo?’ Heather wanted to know.

      Angie’s eyes twinkled. ‘Tell you later.’

      As the guests began to leave Lorenzo took her hand, whispering, ‘Come with me,’ and drawing her out of the room.

      Hand in hand they ran up the stairs and along a corridor, until he reached a pair of oak double doors. He flung them open, revealing a large austerely beautiful room, hung with tapestries. ‘There are going to be three uncles sleeping in this room,’ he said. ‘But after that—oh, come here!’

      He pulled her into his arms and in the tenderness of his kiss she forgot everything else. It felt so good to be here, knowing that she’d come home.

      ‘Excuse me,’ came a voice from behind them. They jumped apart and saw Renato in the doorway, grinning. ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ he said. ‘How do you like your apartment?’

      ‘Our what?’

      ‘This set of rooms is almost self-contained,’ Lorenzo explained. ‘It would be just perfect for us.’

      ‘You mean—live here, instead of having a home of our own?’ Heather asked, dismayed.

      ‘But this will be a home of our own.’

      ‘No, it won’t. We’ll be right next to your brother.’

      ‘A terrible fate,’ Renato agreed.

      ‘It’s nothing personal—’ she started to say.

      ‘Oh, I think it is,’ he said, meeting her eyes.

      ‘If we’re here, Lorenzo will be at your beck and call. I dare say that’s how you prefer it—’

      ‘But will you have time to arrange a house before you marry in just over a week?’ Renato asked reasonably. ‘Of course Lorenzo could have chosen something already, but I thought you’d prefer to do that yourself. Why do you assume the worst of me?’

      ‘Instinct,’ she said, not mincing matters.

      He grinned, unashamed. ‘You wrong me.’

      ‘No, I don’t.’ But she couldn’t help smiling back at him. He was a devil, but he could be a disastrously engaging devil.

      ‘You can start househunting later,’ Renato assured her. ‘Meanwhile, these rooms will be comfortable.’

      It all sounded so reasonable, but her warning signals were flashing. Renato liked to keep people where he wanted them, and sounding reasonable was just another way of doing it. His teasing look showed that he followed her thought processes perfectly.

      ‘Just for a little while, then,’ she said at last. ‘As soon as we return from honeymoon—’

      ‘Not quite that soon,’ Renato said. ‘Lorenzo has a trip scheduled for New York—’

      ‘Oh, really—’ she began, up in arms again.

      ‘And I naturally assumed that you’d want to go with him.’

      Her weapons clattered uselessly to the floor. She would die for a trip to New York.

      ‘That only leaves your honeymoon,’ Renato said.

      ‘Don’t tell me you’ve arranged that too!’

      ‘I thought you might borrow my boat for a couple of weeks’ cruising. The crew will do the work; all you need do is enjoy yourself.’

      ‘It’s a beautiful boat, darling,’ Lorenzo broke in eagerly. ‘A sloop, with air-conditioning and—’

      ‘And the two of you have settled it. Suppose I don’t like sailing? Suppose I get seasick?’

      ‘Do you?’ Renato enquired.

      ‘I don’t know. I’ve never been on a boat.’

      ‘Then the sooner you do, the better. Tomorrow Lorenzo has to go to Stockholm, to catch up on his delayed schedule. I shall take you out on the boat and you can let me know your decision.’

      Heather had half expected Angie to come with them on the boat trip, but she was spending the day with Bernardo. ‘He’s going to show me his home village in the mountains.’

      ‘You only met him yesterday,’ Heather protested.

      ‘I know.’ Angie’s chuckle was full of delight.

      ‘You be careful.’

      But Angie glowed with the self-confidence of a young woman who’d always been able to win any man she chose. She laughed merrily, and a moment later Heather heard her singing in the shower.

      There was no mistaking the Santa Maria, a beautiful single-masted boat, over a hundred feet long, dominating everything in the little harbour of Mondello. Renato parked the car and handed her out. ‘What do you think of her?’ he asked in a voice full of love and pride.

      ‘She’s lovely,’ Heather admitted.

      He leapt lightly down onto the deck and reached up to settle both hands about her waist. The next moment she was swinging through the air to land beside him. ‘All right?’ he asked.

      ‘Yes,’ she said breathlessly. The sudden movement had taken her by surprise.

      He introduced the crew, who were lined up to greet her.

      ‘This is Alfonso, my captain, Gianni and Carlo, the crew. And this,’ he added, indicating a little man, ‘is Fredo the cook. He can manage anything from the fastest snacks to cordon bleu.’

      The sun was bright and warm, a strong breeze whisked across the water, and soon they were edging out of the harbour into the wide sea beyond. After a few minutes Heather became used to the movement, and even began to find it pleasant.

      ‘Well?’ Renato asked, watching her face. ‘Do you want to go back, throw yourself overboard, throw me overboard—?’

      ‘That last one sounds nice,’ she said, laughing.

      He shared her laughter, showing strong white teeth against his tanned skin. After the tense, argumentative man she’d met in England, this was a transformation. His clothes, too, were different. The elegant formality of last night was replaced by blue shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt, that was unbuttoned all the way. He looked powerful, glowing with life, intensely masculine.

      ‘Let me show you your kingdom,’ Renato said, taking her hand.

      Below, it was like a little palace. In the galley Fredo, surrounded by the most modern equipment, was furiously at work on a feast. Along the narrow corridor was the master bedroom, complete with luxurious private bathroom. Everywhere was panelled with gleaming honey-coloured birchwood. At the centre was a huge double bed, the perfect place for lovers on their wedding night.

      ‘This is yours for today,’ Renato told her. ‘Why not change into a swimsuit?’

      ‘I don’t even own one.’

      He pulled open a wardrobe to display a series of swimsuits on hangers. Heather stared. There must have been about ten, in all colours, styles, and varying degrees of daringness.

      ‘But how come you—?’ She checked as she saw the wicked humour in his eyes. ‘I’m not even going to ask.’

      ‘You don’t really need to, do you?’ he asked.

      His sexuality was so frank, his appetites so shameless that she didn’t know where to look. She began to rifle through some pastel-coloured costumes, but Renato’s big hand came out of nowhere and stilled hers.

      ‘Not those,’ he said. ‘This one.’

      He held up a bikini but she instinctively shook her head. ‘No, I can’t—’

      ‘Why not? It’s very modest.’

      That