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  ‘I have every intention of introducing you to all my eligible male cousins next Saturday, you know,’ Eleni promised.

  Dani shook her head. ‘Introduce away, Eleni, but I can assure you I won’t fall for any of them.’ Especially if they were anything like the arrogantly forceful Niccolo D’Alessandro!

  ‘Maybe not at the wedding next weekend, but how about at my masquerade party here next summer?’

  Dani knew that was part of the reason that Eleni had fallen in love with this particular house. Her friend had taken one look at the spacious garden with its numerous trees and shrubs and instantly decided that the following August she would throw a real Venetian masquerade party there. In fact, her friend was almost as excited about the party next summer as she was about her wedding next week!

  ‘Not then, either,’ Dani said dryly.

  ‘But everyone falls in love during the Venetian Festival,’ her friend protested. ‘I remember my Aunt Carlotta telling me that she once spent the whole evening at one of the festivals flirting with her own husband—my Uncle Bartolomeo—without even realising it!’

  Dani grinned. ‘I bet he was surprised!’

  ‘From the becoming blush on my aunt’s cheeks when she told me about it afterwards I would say they both were!’

  ‘Eleni!’ Dani chided laughingly.

  ‘You’ll see at the party next year,’ her friend promised. ‘The festival is a way for everyone to misbehave without anyone needing to feel guilty about it.’

  ‘Even your brother?’ Dani taunted.

  ‘Well…perhaps not Niccolo,’ Eleni conceded. ‘But the party is months away, Dani, and if you haven’t solved the problem with your grandfather’s will by then, an evening of anonymity could be the answer.’

  ‘No, Eleni,’ Dani said, easily able to guess what her friend was about to suggest, and having no intention of being seduced into the shrubbery by one of Eleni’s male cousins in order to become pregnant. ‘I know exactly what you’re thinking, and the answer is most definitely no,’ she repeated firmly.

  ‘But—’

  ‘No, Eleni.’

  ‘It was just an idea.’ Her friend shrugged ruefully.

  ‘Well, it was a lousy one—oh!’ Having intended making her way out of the house to her car in the driveway, Dani instead found herself crashing painfully into something very hard and unyielding.

  A man’s chest, she realised, once the pain in her jarred chin had abated to a mild throb.

  Niccolo D’Alessandro’s chest, Dani discovered breathlessly when she raised her gaze reluctantly to look at his handsome face above a black silk sweater.

  Brooding dark eyes chillingly returned her startled gaze, and that same coldness was in the derisive twist of Niccolo’s sculptured lips as he grasped the tops of her arms with elegantly long hands and put her firmly away from him.

  ‘Daniella,’ he acknowledged as he released her. ‘I should have guessed.’

  Dani’s eyes narrowed at his sarcastic tone. ‘Should have guessed what, exactly?’ she challenged, two bright wings of colour in her cheeks. Colour she knew would not be complementary to the bright red of her straight below-shoulder-length hair.

  But at least she had the answer to her earlier question—Niccolo had obviously arrived in England for the wedding next Saturday.

  And he was looking even more devastatingly gorgeous than ever, making Dani’s pulse race and her breath catch in her throat. The colour burning her cheeks was from physical awareness this time. Complete physical awareness. Of Niccolo D’Alessandro.

  Her breasts tingled uncomfortably and a fierce heat gathered between her thighs.

  Oh, God!

  She had thought she was over this infatuation—had imagined that no man would appeal to her ever again after what Philip had done to her. But she knew she had been wrong as every nerve ending, every part of her, silently screamed her attraction to Niccolo—of all men!

  She looked up at him from beneath lowered dark lashes. Maturity had given him lines beside those chocolate-brown eyes and the firmness of his mouth, but instead of detracting from his good looks they merely added another layer to his attraction, giving him that dangerous sexual aura Eleni had alluded to earlier.

  Niccolo was dangerous, Dani acknowledged to herself. He exuded power, a complete domination over everything and everyone within his vicinity.

  Well, not her. She’d had enough of domineering men—Philip and her grandfather to name but two—to last her a lifetime.

  She turned away abruptly. ‘Never mind,’ she said, in answer to her own question.

  ‘I thought this morning would be the perfect opportunity for Niccolo to come by and look at the house,’ Eleni said awkwardly.

  Dani knew by the way Eleni refused to meet her gaze that there was a lot more to it than that. By inviting him here 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 of the two hundred or so guests were exquisite, and the masks even more so—a lot of them intricately decorated, especially those worn by Eleni’s Venetian relatives—giving Dani a feeling of unreality, as if she really had stepped back into another time.

  It was easy to see how and why, with so many corners of the spacious garden left in darkness, those flirtations Eleni had spoken of took place!

  Dani quickly made her way to the rose garden, keeping a wary eye out for Eleni’s obnoxious brother—a man she thankfully hadn’t seen in the eight months since Eleni and Brad’s wedding, an occasion when they had all but ignored each other.

  ‘Is that you, Dani?’ Eleni greeted her warmly as soon as she saw her, her own Georgian-style costume an elegant red, her mask silver and her dark hair unpowdered.

  ‘You aren’t supposed to know it’s me.’ Dani frowned behind her mask.

  ‘We discussed these dresses once—don’t you remember?’ her friend said as Dani moved to kiss a Duke-of-Wellington-costumed Brad.

  As it happened, Dani did remember the time she and Eleni had lain under an oak tree in the school grounds, waxing lyrical about how romantic it must have been to live in the seventeen hundreds, with all those manly heroes from the historical novels they’d devoured. Until they had remembered that there had been no plumbing for instant hot baths in those times, nor the convenience of the telephone!

  But like Eleni, Dani hadn’t been able to resist wearing a beautiful gown in the style of that century this evening.

  ‘You both look very beautiful,’ Brad told them gallantly.

  He was nothing like those dark, almost satanic heroes Dani and Eleni had once drooled over, with his hair a golden blond and his eyes blue, but there was no doubting the happiness of Eleni and Brad’s marriage, Dani recognised almost wistfully, as Brad turned to give his wife a lingering kiss.

  ‘Just tell me what Niccolo is wearing so that I can once again avoid him!’ Dani begged of her friend as she realised she was holding up the receiving line.

  ‘He’s a p—’

  ‘Just think of the D’Alessandro ancestry and you’ll know him,’ Eleni cut smoothly across Brad. ‘And you see all those good-looking men gathered by the bar?’ She nodded towards five men laughing and talking together as they sipped champagne. ‘D’Alessandros every one,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘You met them all at the wedding last year, and I’m sure that any one of them would be pleased to oblige you, if you know what I mean…?’

  ‘Very funny.’ Dani shot her friend a silencing glare before moving off to join the rest of the guests strolling in the garden, knowing exactly what her friend was referring to even if Brad didn’t. In the eight months since she had spoken to Eleni about her grandfather’s will, Dani hadn’t even come close to finding a solution to that particular problem.

  But Eleni was right about the D’Alessandro men all being good-looking, Dani acknowledged ruefully as she stood a short distance away from them. All of them were dark-haired, very tall, with athletically fit bodies. In fact any one of them could be Niccolo, she realised in dismay.

  One was dressed as a nobleman. Another as a priest. The third as a gondolier. The fourth was a nineteenth-century Italian soldier. The fifth was in Regency-style clothes.

  Exactly what had Eleni meant by her cryptic comment about the D’Alessandro ancestry in reference to Niccolo’s costume?

  ‘Champagne…?’

  She turned to find a rakish-looking pirate standing at her side—another one of Eleni’s D’Alessandro cousins? T
his man’s dark hair was pulled back and tied with a black bow at his nape, and a black mask covered his face from brow to top lip. Tight black trousers were tucked into black boots, emphasising the long length of his legs, a black sash was about his waist, and a long black leather tunic was worn over the white billowy shirt that was de rigueur for any respectable pirate.

  Except pirates weren’t respectable by definition, were they?

  This one certainly didn’t look as if he was. Dark, dark eyes glittered through the slits in the mask as his gaze roamed boldly over Dani, from her toes to her powdered hair and then back to her face behind the gold mask.

  ‘Champagne…?’ he prompted again huskily, and he held out one of the two glasses he held in his hands.

  Dani swallowed hard, not taking her gaze off the pirate for even a second. It was one thing to fantasise about meeting a man like this when you were an impressionable teenager. Another thing altogether, at the age of twenty-four, to find yourself face to face with a man who looked as if he were every bit as dangerous as the pirate he was dressed as.

  Which meant he definitely had to be a D’Alessandro cousin!

  Still, it was a masquerade party, where no names were exchanged and there would be no expectations after tonight. Eleni was right; it could be fun for Dani to just anonymously enjoy herself for one evening.

  Until ten minutes ago Niccolo had been finding the evening tedious. Conversation became louder as bottles of champagne began to disappear, the laughter too shrill, the flirtations more obvious—and the culmination of those flirtations was obvious as couples began to disappear off into the darkness of the garden.

  But Niccolo had never particularly enjoyed the Venetian Festival, and he certainly had no intention of being lured into the privacy of the surrounding trees by any of the women who had so far tried to tempt him.

  As usual, he had kept a wary eye out for the sharp-tongued Daniella Bell as each of the female guests had arrived, but at ten o’clock he had assumed that she either wasn’t here at all or he had missed her in the crowd.