The Venetian's Midnight Mistress. Carole Mortimer

at the same time as Dani, Eleni had perhaps been hoping for yet another chance of reconciling her brother with her best friend.

      Dani sighed in irritation. ‘I really do have to go now, Eleni.’

      ‘Surely you are not leaving on my account, Daniella?’ Niccolo taunted softly, his voice moving like husky velvet across Dani’s already sensitised flesh.

      Dani’s chin rose at the challenge she heard in his tone. ‘No, I was leaving anyway,’ she snapped.

      Niccolo watched Daniella Bell from between narrowed lids, noting that she wore her red hair longer than when he had seen her at Eleni’s engagement party a year ago. Now styled in layers, it tumbled fierily onto her shoulders and down her spine. Long, dark lashes were lowered over eyes he knew to be an unfathomable green. Her nose was small and pert and dusted with a dozen or so freckles. Her face was thinner than he remembered, her cheeks hollow, giving those softly pouting lips a fuller appearance above her determinedly pointed chin. Her loss of weight was also borne out by the slenderness of her waist and narrow hips, although her breasts were still firmly full.

      And unless he was mistaken—and Niccolo felt sure that he wasn’t—they were also naked beneath that clinging green sweater!

      His mouth tightened. Ten years ago he had not approved of or understood Eleni’s affection and friendship for the gawky English girl she had only known for less than a year, and had absolutely refused to allow his sister to complete her education in England so that she could remain in England with her new friend. Eleni had eventually complied with his decision, of course, and instead continued the friendship by telephone and letter.

      Then, at the age of eighteen, a much more stubbornly determined Eleni had informed him that she intended attending an English university, and she had instantly met up with Daniella Bell again. If anything, the friendship between the two women had become all the stronger as they had matured.

      Admittedly Daniella had grown into a self-assured woman of passable beauty, and Eleni reported she was very successful as an interior designer, but Niccolo still did not approve of her as a friend for his young sister. Even less so after Daniella’s brief marriage two years ago, followed by an equally hasty divorce. It just proved how fickle she really was.

      ‘I’ll see you later.’ Daniella moved to kiss Eleni on the cheek. ‘Mr D’Alessandro.’ She gave him a curt nod as she straightened.

      Daniella didn’t exactly approve of him either, Niccolo recognised with wry self-mockery.

      ‘What? You have no parting kiss for me, Daniella?’ he asked, a smile curving his lips as she stared at him incredulously.

      ‘We’re hardly kissing acquaintances, Mr D’Alessandro,’ she finally managed to splutter in disgust.

      ‘Possibly not.’ He drawled his amusement. ‘Perhaps when we meet again at the wedding…?’

      Those green eyes flashed. ‘I believe I will forgo that dubious pleasure!’ she came back waspishly.

      Niccolo’s gaze was intent on Daniella as he ignored his sister’s snort of laughter at his expense.

      Daniella, he knew, had been in awe of him when they’d first met almost ten years ago—an awe that had quickly turned to infatuation. An infatuation he had been aware of, but had chosen to ignore, even to deliberately rebuff; to a man of twenty-seven years of age Daniella Bell’s calf-like devotion as she’d watched his every move with those deep green eyes had been a danger as well as a nuisance.

      It was an infatuation she’d seemed to have got over completely by the time the two of them had met again years later, when he’d delivered Eleni to England at the start of the university term.

      But Daniella had grown up in the last five years, Niccolo recognised, and in her maturity she was certainly no longer in awe of him.

      In fact, it was safe to say that over the last five years Daniella had become less in awe of him than any other person of his acquaintance!

      As head of the D’Alessandro family, and of D’Alessandro Banking, Niccolo was accustomed to wielding power and authority, to having his every instruction obeyed. His domestic needs at the D’Alessandro palace—his title of prince had fallen into disuse several centuries ago—were supplied quietly and efficiently, usually before he had even made them known. And no one, in any sphere of his life, stood up to him or answered him back in the frank way that Daniella Bell did on the rare occasions they met.

      ‘The prospect of the two of us ever kissing seems just as unpleasant to me, I do assure you,’ he said, deliberately baiting her.

      ‘Then it’s so nice to know we’re agreed on something!’ Daniella snapped, before turning sharply on her heel and leaving.

      ‘Why do you do that, Niccolo?’ Eleni asked gently once the two of them were alone.

      He turned to look at his sister. ‘Do what?’

      ‘Behave like such a—a—an overbearing Venetian!’ she accused.

      ‘But Eleni, I am an overbearing Venetian,’ he returned mockingly.

      ‘Yes, but you don’t have to keep proving it!’ His sister glared at him.

      Niccolo gave a rueful shake of his head. ‘Your friend brings out the worst in me, I am afraid.’

      ‘And you bring out the worst in her!’ Eleni muttered with a frown.

      Niccolo was unconcerned. ‘Then it seems we are all agreed it is best if Daniella and I stay well away from each other.’

      ‘I suppose so,’ Eleni conceded heavily, disappointed they both so obviously felt that way.

      ‘Cheer up,’ Niccolo teased affectionately. ‘After the wedding she and I will probably have no further reason ever to meet again.’

      ‘What about my masquerade party in the summer?’ his sister protested. ‘The two of you are sure to meet again then.’

      Not if Niccolo first ensured that he knew exactly which of Eleni’s masked guests was Daniella Bell—and then avoided her like the plague!

      CHAPTER ONE

      Eight months later…

      DANI was feeling hot and bothered by the time she arrived very late—it was well after ten o’clock—to Eleni’s masquerade party.

      A problem with a client had come up at the last moment, delaying her in getting ready. Then, when the taxi had arrived to drive her here, she’d realised she had another problem. It was an extremely warm evening, and her gown was made out of soft gold and very heavy velvet, and the hoops beneath the skirts kept springing up and almost hitting her in the face.

      How on earth, Dani wondered wrathfully, had women ever managed to move around in these clothes two hundred and fifty years ago, let alone eat or drink in them?

      Dani gave her cloak to Jamieson the butler after being admitted to the house, before moving to the mirror in the hallway to check her appearance. The gold mask she wore covered her face from brow to top lip, and her red hair was covered with the white powder that had been the fashion of those days. The low neckline of the gold gown showed an expanse of breasts pushed up to a creamy swell by a corset, which also held her waist nipped in tightly, and the full skirt billowed out and over the gold slippers that matched the dress.

      Yes, she was as ready as she was ever going to be to face all the other guests, who were already outside in the romantically lit garden.

      Eleni had telephoned Dani yesterday so that she could tell her all about her plans for the masquerade party. The garden was to be lit only by lamps and strings of coloured lights in the trees and bushes, with a small orchestra hired to add to the romance of the evening. But even so Dani was totally unprepared for the magical appearance of everything and everyone when she stepped outside on her way to the rose garden where Jamieson had told her Brad and Eleni were greeting their guests.

      The costumes