Everyone was watching them.

In sight of them all he went down on one knee before her and said, “Elena, will you marry me?”

“Get up,” she said frantically.

“Not until you promise to marry me.”

“Then you’ll stay there forever.”

“Okay, if I stay here forever, will you marry me?”

And suddenly everyone was clapping and cheering and Lorenzo was on his feet kissing her exuberantly, and she seemed to have said yes, although she never recalled saying it. But you couldn’t reject a man who’d knelt before you in front of his whole family. Could you?

Dear Reader,

Being married to an Italian, I take a special delight in writing about Italian men—the most fascinating and endearing men on earth. I’ve enjoyed telling the stories of the three Martelli brothers.

Although linked by kinship, they are all different. Renato, the eldest, is head of the family, a man of confidence and power. Bernardo is aloof, a loner. Lorenzo, the youngest, is a merry charmer. Lovable and thoughtless, he has much to learn, but the right woman can teach him.

And then there is Sicily, their home, one of the most beautiful places on earth, where people’s true passions rise to the surface, giving them the courage to follow their hearts.

Bride by Choice is about Lorenzo, who intended to stay fancy-free—until he met Helen, daughter of a New York Sicilian family. She was determined never to marry a Sicilian—until Lorenzo won her heart. He taught her that love could conquer prejudice, and when she broke his heart he became a stronger man, ready to endure anything to win the woman he loved.

With best wishes,

Bride By Choice
Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

PROLOGUE

‘THEY’LL be calling you any minute,’ Heather said, looking up at the screen that gave boarding details at Palermo Airport.

Lorenzo gave a sigh of pleased anticipation. ‘Can’t be soon enough for me. New York, here I come!’

‘Well, try to remember what you’re there for, little brother,’ Renato reminded him. ‘You’re Lorenzo Martelli, Export Manager for Martelli Produce, visiting America to establish the firm in a big, new market; not Lorenzo Martelli, playboy, there to spend money enjoying yourself.’

‘You can’t stop him doing that,’ Heather chuckled. ‘But he might sell a few vegetables between orgies.’

She had to admit that her brother-in-law looked like a playboy. With his light brown curly hair, deep blue eyes, good-looking face, and athletic figure, he might have stood as a symbol of healthy, thoughtless young manhood: with the emphasis on “thoughtless”, she decided with wry affection.

It was almost incredible that only a few months ago she had fancied herself in love with Lorenzo, had actually come out to Sicily to marry him, only to discover that her true love was his older brother Renato after all. Most women would have found her choice puzzling. Renato was a hard, difficult man who frowned more than he smiled, except for those he loved. Lorenzo had a smile for everyone, and was, in Renato’s caustic words, ‘too handsome for his own good or anyone else’s’.

But Heather had seen beyond looks and discovered that it was the prickly Renato who touched her heart. She had been married to him for eight months now, and was expecting his child. It had been natural for the two of them to come to the airport to see “their” brother off to the States.

‘Call us when you reach the Elroy Hotel,’ Renato reminded him now. ‘And don’t forget—’

‘Will you stop?’ Lorenzo pleaded plaintively. ‘What with your instructions and the list Mamma’s given me of people to visit I shan’t have a moment to myself. She was so determined I shouldn’t forget the Angolinis that she called them yesterday, and the next thing I knew I was promising to spend next Thursday evening with them.’

‘Our grandfather and Marco Angolino were young men together before Marco emigrated with his wife and son,’ Renato reminded him. ‘Their friendship was very close.’

‘But that was years ago and Marco is dead,’ Lorenzo objected. ‘I’m having dinner with the son, who’s now an old man, his wife, who’s an old woman, his three sons who are all older than I am, and his four daughters, Elena, Patrizia, Olivia, and Carlotta—all unmarried.’

The nervous way he said “unmarried” made Renato grin. ‘In other words, you think they’re on the catch for you,’ he said. ‘Conceited oaf!’ He aimed a friendly punch at his brother’s shoulder.

‘Let’s just say that the Angolinis are butchers, and I feel as if I’m being laid out on the slab for inspection,’ Lorenzo observed gloomily.

‘Definitely you should marry one of those girls,’ Renato said, turning the screw with brotherly malice. ‘With their meat and our vegetables it’s a match made in heaven.’

‘Get lost,’ Lorenzo told him without rancour.

The boarding call came. They all rose, and Lorenzo hugged his sister-in-law eagerly. Renato gave his brother the fierce, unembarrassed embrace of one Latin male to another.

‘Behave yourself!’ he barked. ‘If you cause our mother a moment’s anxiety I’ll personally put an end to you. Now get going!’

As Lorenzo strode off, turning at the last minute to wave at them, Renato said, ‘The annoying thing is that those daughters really will lay themselves out to trap him. Too many women do. That’s his trouble.’

‘Well, you know one woman who fell for you instead,’ she reminded him, and knew, by the pressure of his hand, that she’d said what he needed to hear.

As they walked away she said, ‘You’re worried about him, aren’t you? Don’t be. He’s a good salesman.’

‘I know. I’m just bothered by the conviction that when he’s in America he’s going to go just that little bit too far.’ He slipped an arm about his wife’s shoulders. ‘But it’s too late to worry about that. Little brother’s on his own now.’

CHAPTER ONE

SNOW was on the ground and a bitter wind cut through the darkness of an early February afternoon, but New York still glittered and nothing could dim the glory of Elroys, the most glamorous, the most expensive hotel on Park Avenue.

There was a new security man at the staff entrance, who didn’t recognise Helen until she showed him her pass with its proud words, Helen Angolini, Management Trainee, and the even prouder words, “First Class”. She’d joined a training program in which only one applicant out of a hundred was accepted, worked her way up from Third Class, through Second Class, and now she was on the last stage before a full appointment.

‘Not that I’ll ever get appointed if I’m late,’ she groaned to herself as she dashed for the elevator to the eight floor. ‘Can’t this thing go any faster?’

‘I didn’t think you’d be here for this function at all,’ said a voice beside her. It was Dilys, her fellow trainee, whom she’d overlooked in her agitation. They’d joined on the same day, soon become flatmates, and been “partners in crime” (as Dilys was fond of putting it) ever since. ‘You’ve just gotten back from Boston,’ she observed.

‘Right, and I was supposed to be going straight to my parents’ house from the airport. But Mr Dacre called and said to look in at the hotel first. That’s why I’ve still got my luggage with me.’

At that moment the elevator doors opened, and Dilys grasped Helen’s arm, steering her towards the ladies’ room. ‘Dump your things in here,’ she said. ‘And put your glad rags on.’

She was a petite blonde with a come-hither eye. Helen was taller, more statuesque, with shoulder-length hair as black as a raven’s wing, and dark, expressive eyes. In her mid-twenties her lush beauty was reaching its height, but she thought her appearance reflected too accurately her Sicilian ancestry, and longed for blue eyes and fair skin.

Yet while she might disparage her looks she knew how to dress them to advantage. Her warm skin cried out for deep tones, and now she looked through her luggage until she found a dress of dark red silk that caused her eyes to glow theatrically. A vigorous brushing made her hair gleam and bounce richly about her shoulders.

Dilys regarded her with satisfaction. ‘Great! Now let’s go and knock ’em dead.’

‘Don’t you ever think of anything but men?’ Helen chuckled, already knowing the answer. ‘This is supposed to be a working function.’

‘So? I like to mix business with pleasure. C’mon! Let’s inspect the talent.’

The Imperial Room took up one corner of the eighth floor. On two sides it had floor-length windows hung with luxurious drapes. A dozen round tables groaned under food and wine. The huge room was already packed. All the big names of Elroys were there, and she could see Jack Dacre, her immediate superior, a hard taskmaster but with a kind heart. He signalled and edged towards her through the crowd.

‘Glad you got here,’ he rumbled above the din.

‘My plane was delayed. I’m sorry I’m a bit—’

‘No sweat. Tell me about your trip tomorrow. I’ve heard good things about your work while you were away. What do you know about this function?’

‘Nothing. It wasn’t even planned when I left.’

‘Right. All thrown together at twenty-four hour’s notice. It’s the Continental Restaurant. The Italian section grew so popular that it’s being hived off into a restaurant of its own. Most of the people here tonight are connected with food. Grab a drink.’

He vanished to do some mingling. Helen obtained a glass of light wine, and edged her way in the direction of Braden Fairley, the Managing Director. He was talking to a handsome giant with light brown, curly hair. Something in the way the young man was standing told Helen that it was taking all his good manners to seem attentive, but the expression of courteous interest on his face never wavered.

Then Fairley’s attention was claimed by another guest, making him turn slightly, giving Helen a better view of the stranger just as he glanced up. Their eyes met. His, she noticed with pleasure, were deep blue and irresistibly merry. She couldn’t help smiling back. He glanced at Fairley, blowing out his cheeks in a plea for sympathy, which she gave him willingly. Then the Managing Director resumed his monologue, and Helen moved along.

From beside her came a soft, appreciate growl. ‘Mmm, he’s yummy, isn’t he?’ Dilys murmured.

‘Who’s yummy?’

‘Who’s yummy? she asks, when she can’t take her eyes off him!’

‘I’m looking at Mr Fairley,’ Helen said stiffly.

‘Sure you are. Between Fairley and a guy who looks like a Greek god, you’re going to look at Fairley. Who wants to waste time on a Greek god?’

‘Don’t be fanciful! Greek god! No way!’

‘All right. Life-guard, then. I like that better. More chance of getting him where you want him.’

‘I don’t want him any way,’ Helen said unconvincingly.

‘Aw, c’mon! He must be six foot two, and look at those shoulders. They should build doors wider to let them through. There’s no fat on him, you can see that, and with those long legs and flat stomach—well, if he isn’t a life guard he ought to be.’

‘You can’t tell about his legs, or his stomach.’

‘You can if you look properly,’ Dilys chuckled. ‘I glided by just now and he winked at me.’

‘He looks as if he’d wink at anything in a skirt.’

‘Hey, you noticed!’ Dilys said with ironic admiration. ‘And you should see the gleam in his eye! One look, and you just know he’s scheming to take you to bed.’

‘Oh, go away!’ Helen said, laughing. ‘Simply standing next to you could ruin my reputation.’

‘See ya!’ Dilys said, and slid away in search of more prey.

It was incredible, Helen thought, how her eyes seemed to be drawn to the handsome young man of their own accord. She tried to ignore him but she kept glancing back in his direction without meaning to. And at last the inevitable happened and she found him looking back. Embarrassed, she tried to assume an air of lofty indifference, but somehow it turned into a smile of pleasure because his presence was like sunshine.

He was dressed informally but expensively in slacks and a silk shirt, and Helen had to admit that everything Dilys said had been true, although ‘Greek god’ was a bit of an overstatement, she thought, giving the matter serious attention. But ‘life-guard’ definitely, and with a look of relish that said the world was there to be enjoyed, and what were they waiting for?

Suddenly she found herself thinking of wine goblets filled to the brim, of golden plates piled high with the fruits of the earth, hot suns, lovers’ meetings, passion, satiation; all the good things, the complete, perfect, richly coloured, overflowing things that spoke of abundance and fulfilment.

No, not spoke. Sang. As she was singing now.

For pity’s sake! she thought in alarm. Pull yourself together.

With an effort she got down to some work. There was glossy literature distributed everywhere, and she scanned it quickly, absorbing everything with her retentive memory until she felt confident of being able to do what was expected of her. Then she plunged into the crowd, at her sparkling best.

After half an hour she took a short breather. Looking around for some refreshment she found a glass of champagne put into her hand by a lean young man with very blond looks and a kind face.

‘You look as if you need it, my darling,’ he said, a tad theatrically.

‘I do, I do,’ she said thankfully. ‘Bless you, Erik.’

He was an under manager at Elroys. They had been to the theatre together a few times and once she had taken him to meet her parents. Their relationship was as much friendly as romantic, but she knew that in the hotel they were considered an item.

‘Back to work,’ she said, finishing the champagne. ‘There’s a mountain to climb yet.’

She returned to the fray for more smiling and shaking hands, until after an hour she felt ready for another breather, and edged to the side of the room.

‘It gets to you, doesn’t it?’ said a voice beside her. She looked up to find the ‘life-guard’ grinning down at her. They laughed together, and it was as though she had been laughing with this charmer all her life.

‘You escaped alive, then?’ she said.

‘At last. He’s a dear old boy but he says everything ten times. My face muscles are frozen at “smile”.’

Close up he was even more overwhelming, towering over her like a friendly giant. Helen was suddenly glad that she looked her best tonight. She knew what the dark red dress could do for her, and if his admiring gaze was anything to go by it was doing it very nicely, thank you!

He gave a hunted glance over his shoulder and took her elbow. ‘Let’s get engaged in deep conversation before anyone else collars me.’

They drifted into one of the window bays and stood looking down the long canyon of Park Avenue, far below, glittering with lights.

‘Wow!’ he said softly.

‘Yes, it’s incredible, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Is this your first trip to New York?’ She couldn’t quite place his accent beyond the fact that he wasn’t American.

‘It’s my first trip to the States,’ he said. ‘I’ve only been here two days and I’m overwhelmed.’

‘Sit down,’ Helen said, ‘and I’ll get you something to eat.’ She scooped up a collection of savouries from a table, refilled his glass, and settled thankfully on a sofa beside him.

‘That sigh told volumes,’ he said with a smile.

‘I didn’t sigh, did I?’

‘Like a woman who hadn’t sat down for a month. Have you been walking the streets? No! I didn’t mean it like that.’ He struck his forehead in horror, while Helen went into gales of laughter.

‘That’s what you say for ladies of easy virtue,’ he groaned. ‘I didn’t mean that at all, I just—oh, God!’

‘Ladies of easy virtue don’t waste time standing on street corners these days,’ Helen chuckled. ‘Not in New York, anyway. They have penthouses and mobiles. Some of them have social secretaries. Now I suppose you’re wondering how I know that?’

He pulled himself together. ‘Certainly not,’ he said with an attempt at dignity. ‘You’re a modern young woman with a wide knowledge of social conditions. And I wish I’d died before I opened my mouth.’

She would have forgiven him much for calling her a modern young woman. But no forgiveness was necessary. He delighted her.

The next moment he delighted her even more by putting his foot in it again, eyeing her identification badge and saying, ‘Besides, since you work here, you must meet all kinds of lady in the hotel—’

‘Not that kind of lady,’ Helen said virtuously. ‘The Elroy doesn’t allow them.’

This time he just covered his eyes in an attitude of despair. Helen regarded him with pleasure. He had reddened with confusion, and it made him look much younger than she guessed he was. Late twenties, she reckoned. Thirty, tops.

He uncovered his eyes, pulled himself together, and looked more closely at her badge. Something he saw there seemed to strike him, for he glanced at her in surprise. But before he could speak she refilled his glass and brought him some more to eat, trying to cover his confusion.

‘Are you going to be connected with the new Italian Restaurant?’ he asked, indicated a glossy brochure.

‘I don’t think so. I’m just here because Mr Dacre thinks of me as Italian, and it’s so unfair.’

‘Why is it unfair?’

‘Because it’s not true. I have an Italian name, which means that my parents are Italian, but I’m not. I can’t convince anybody of that—including them. I’m an American. I was born in Manhattan, I grew up in Manhattan, I’ve never set foot in Italy in my life. I have a career and my own apartment, but Mamma still says, “When are you going to settle down as a good wife to a nice Italian boy?”’

‘And what do you say?’ he asked, fascinated.

‘I say there’s no such thing as a nice Italian boy. They’re all like Poppa.’

‘And you don’t like your father?’

‘I adore him,’ Helen said truthfully. ‘I also adore my brothers, but I’ll go to the stake before I marry anyone like them. Honestly, they still think they’re back in the old country. And my brothers have never seen the old country.’

Indignation was bringing a sparkle to her eyes which turned them into pure magic, he thought. She should get mad more often. It suited her. But he knew better than to voice such an old-fashioned compliment. He didn’t want her wine poured over the shirt he’d bought only that afternoon. To draw her out he asked, ‘What part of Italy is the “old country”?’

‘Sicily,’ she said in tones of deep exasperation. ‘A land where “men are men and women know their place”. Would you believe, I’ve actually heard my father say that?’

‘Easily. If the men of Sicily are used to their privileges they’re not going to give them up without a fight.’

‘Well, I know how to fight too,’ she said darkly.

‘I’ll bet you do. If I was brave and foolhardy I might say that you show your Sicilian ancestry every time you open your mouth.’

‘What?’

‘I mean that Latin temper of yours. Pure southern Italian.’ Catching her wrathful eye on him, he added hastily, ‘But since I’m a coward I won’t say it.’

‘Very wise!’ Then she sighed and said, ‘I’m sorry. I go on about it too much, and I shouldn’t bend your ear. That’s not what you came here for.’

‘Isn’t it?’ he murmured. ‘I’m beginning to think that’s exactly what I came here for.’

Next moment a glamorous young woman detached herself from the crowd, flung an arm about his shoulders and planted a theatrical kiss on his mouth.

‘Bye, sweetie,’ she intoned breathily.

Helen recognised Angela Havering, a fellow trainee whom she’d never liked, she now realised. Angela bestowed a second kiss for good measure before floating off on the arm of another man.

‘I didn’t know you were so well acquainted with Angela,’ she observed.

‘Just met her this evening. Like you, really.’

‘But I don’t call you sweetie,’ she pointed out.

‘You can if you want to. Have a drink with me when this is over.’

She laughed and shook her head. ‘I can’t. I must be going soon. I have urgent things to do.’

‘Such as?’

‘Oooh—’ she mused, ‘really important things, like planning a slow, painful death for Lorenzo Martelli.’

There was a clatter as his glass hit the table and he struggled not to choke.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ he said, gasping slightly. ‘My glass slipped. Why do you want to kill Lorenzo Martelli?’

‘Well, it’s either that or marry him.’

‘Is—is it?’ he asked, slightly wild-eyed.

‘In a few minutes I have to go and join a family party at my parents’ house, to meet this Martelli character. He’s a Sicilian, over here on a visit. His family and mine were friends years ago, so he can’t be in New York without looking us up.’

‘But why have you got to marry him?’

‘Because my parents have set their hearts on it.’

‘But if you haven’t met him—?’

‘It’s crazy, isn’t it? They fixed tonight up while I was in Boston, and all I heard were hints about what a fine match he was and how he was bound to be looking for a good Sicilian bride—’

‘Couldn’t he find one of those in Sicily?’

‘That’s what I said. The truth is, he’s probably so fat and ugly that he has to scour the world.’

He nodded wisely. ‘Bound to be. You’re right to make a stand.’

‘Anyway, they’re welcome to him. Tonight I’ll sit there good as gold saying “Yes, Poppa”, and “No, Poppa”, like the perfect, dutiful Italian daughter.’

‘Dutiful?’ he couldn’t resist saying. ‘You?’

‘They want dutiful, so I’ll give them dutiful with knobs on. I may want to kick Lorenzo Martelli’s shins, but I won’t do it. Not tonight, at any rate. If I have to see him a second time, I won’t answer for the consequences.’

‘Hey, c’mon, he’s not really to blame.’

‘He is to blame,’ Helen said firmly. ‘Simply by existing he darkens the earth, and I’ll be doing everyone a favour by exterminating him.’

He looked nervous. ‘Have you decided exactly how?’

‘Well, I thought of boiling in oil, but it’s probably too good for him.’

‘And very unimaginative.’

‘You’re right,’ she agreed. ‘Something with scorpions and spiders would be better.’

He shuddered.

‘Aren’t you being a bit hasty? You might fall for him and want to marry him.’

She gave him a speaking glance. ‘Death would be preferable,’ she said firmly. ‘Mine if necessary, but his for choice.’

‘Why have you got your knife into this guy? Is being Italian really so bad?’

‘Being an Italian man is like being the devil,’ she said firmly. ‘They’re old-fashioned, domineering, unreliable and faithless. Especially faithless.’

‘Why especially faithless? I mean, if you’re going to do them down, do them down on all counts, not just one.’

‘It’s the chief one. Do you know what they called Italian husbands? Married bachelors. It’s expected. A faithful husband is a considered a wimp. Creeps!’

‘But apart from that, you think they’re OK?’ he asked wryly.

‘Look, I know exactly what’s going through Lorenzo Martelli’s head at this minute.’

‘You don’t,’ he muttered.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Nothing. Tell me what’s going through his head.’

‘He’ll know that there are four unmarried daughters—Patrizia, Olivia, and Carlotta—and me. And he’ll be expecting one or all of us to make a play for him.’

He didn’t answer, but he ran a finger around the inside of his collar.

‘The Martellis are rich so he’ll think he’s a god of creation,’ Helen said, warming to her theme, ‘loftily waiting while we parade before him and he takes his pick.’

‘The jerk!’ he said with feeling.

‘Exactly. Look, I know I go on about it too much, but it’s how I psyche myself up for the evening ahead.’ She looked at her watch and said reluctantly, ‘I’m afraid I have to go now. I’ll call the desk and fix a cab.’

‘I’d offer you a lift,’ he said, ‘But as I’ve only just arrived I don’t have any transport. Still, maybe I can escort you to your cab.’

‘That would be nice,’ she said cordially. ‘By the way, you haven’t told me your name.’

‘Why, that’s right—hey I see someone I must say goodbye to. Then I’ll get my things from my room. See you in a moment.’

While he was gone Helen sought out Dilys who agreed to collect her luggage and take it home. Then she looked for her boss, uneasily conscious that she’d allowed herself to become distracted from her job tonight. But Mr Dacre was beaming.

‘Good work, good work,’ he carolled. ‘Knew I could rely on you.’

Before she could ask what he meant the young man reappeared, claiming her arm. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said quickly, making a gesture of farewell at Mr Dacre, but not stopping.

He had acquired an outdoor coat and a large leather bag that bulged, although she couldn’t see what it contained. As they descended to the street heads turned to watch such a handsome couple.

As they left the building Helen was struck by sudden inspiration. ‘Come with me.’

‘What?’

‘Come home with me. Come to supper.’

He looked apprehensive. ‘What are you planning?’

‘We just walk in together and—you know—sort of act close.’

‘And then this Martelli character will know you’re not available, huh?’

‘That’s right. Oh, please, it won’t cause you any trouble, I promise.’

He doubted it. With every word he knew he was getting in deeper, storing up trouble for the moment when Helen Angolini discovered the truth. And then there would be the devil to pay. But that would make her magnificent eyes sparkle at him, and what the hell! He was a brave man! Wasn’t he?

‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘This guy needs taking down a peg and I’m the man to do it.’

‘You’re wonderful, you know that?’

‘I’m crazy, that’s what I am.’

The cab was waiting. As they approached it Helen noticed Erik waving to her as if he wanted to speak, so she took a couple of steps towards him.

‘Are you off to the lion’s den?’ he asked, giving her his gentle smile.

‘’Fraid so.’

‘I’d have offered you a lift but I’m not your parents’ favourite person. I’ll see you tomorrow. I want to hear all about your trip. ’Bye, honey.’ He kissed her cheek and went on his way.

‘Boyfriend?’ her companion asked as she returned to the taxi.

‘Sort of. I took him home to supper once and my parents set out to sabotage any relationship we might have. Momma told him all the most embarrassing stories about my childhood and then warned him about my Latin temper.’ She chuckled. ‘But Erik played her at her own game beautifully. He said his ancestors were Vikings, and if a woman got mad the man just tossed her over his shoulder and strode off to the cave. Erik’s the most gentle soul alive, but Momma didn’t know what to say. Still, I haven’t taken him there again.’

‘Just see him on the quiet, huh?’

‘We go out now and then.’

When they were settled in the cab she gave the driver the address on Mulberry Street. ‘That’s in a part of Manhattan called Little Italy, if you can believe it,’ she said, exasperated.

‘I believe it.’

Almost as soon as they started moving Helen had to answer her mobile.

‘Yes, Mamma, I’m on my way. I’ll be there in half an hour. I’m looking forward to meeting him. No really, I’m just thrilled that he’s honouring us with his presence tonight.’ She hung up with a sigh, and found her companion grinning at her.

‘You’re a very accomplished liar,’ he said.

‘It’s simpler to say what Mamma wants to hear,’ she sighed. ‘Anything else she just blanks out.’

It was only a few short miles from Park Avenue to Little Italy, but the atmosphere changed swiftly from glamour and luxury to teeming life. Despite her antagonism to her background Helen could never resist a twinge of pleasure as the familiar streets appeared. This was home, whatever else she might say.

But as they glided past the butcher’s shop that had been the family business as long as she could remember she saw, with a faint inward groan, that every window in the apartment above was filled with faces. They went up for three floors. When you were the eldest unmarried daughter of an Italian family, you lived your life in a spotlight.

As they got out of the cab Helen shivered for the wind was like a knife and there was snow in the air.

Her companion paid off the driver and turned to view the fascinated spectators regarding him from above. A surge of madness swept over him. He was going to be punished for what he was about to do, but it would be worth it.

‘Look,’ he said, taking Helen’s arm, ‘they’re all watching us. Let’s give them something to watch.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Like this,’ he said, drawing her close and leaning down so that his mouth was almost touching hers.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered, torn between indignation at his nerve and excitement at the way his breath fluttered against her lips.

‘I’m giving you the chance to stand up for yourself,’ he murmured. ‘Right here, where everyone can see you.’

‘You make it sound so easy.’

‘It is easy. Either you’re a modern, liberated woman, or you’re a dutiful daughter who’ll let herself be marched into marriage with a fat old man.’

With every word his lips flickered lightly against hers, making it hard to think clearly. He was right—maybe. It was hard to tell when little tremors of excitement were scurrying through her.

‘I don’t normally kiss men I’ve only just met,’ she protested.

‘Well, they don’t know we’ve only just met.’

‘But I don’t even know your na—’

The gentle pressure of his lips cut off the last word, and she felt his arms tighten about her just a little, not enough to be threatening, just enough to say he meant business. He was laughing too, inviting her to share the joke even while he kissed her with lips she instinctively sensed had kissed a thousand times before.

Those lips knew far too much, she thought. They were experts in teasing a woman until her head was in a whirl. And they brought back the visions that had assailed her when she first saw him, visions of abundance, riches and sunshine. The wind was as cold as ever, but now she was filled with warmth, melting her, overwhelming her.

‘It would look more convincing if you kissed me back,’ he murmured. ‘Put your arms around my neck.’

Her mind told him to stop his nonsense, but her hands were already sliding up until she could touch his hair, wind her fingers in it, relish the soft, springiness against her palm. She was pulling him closer because she wanted more of him, longed for what only the firm warmth of his mouth could give her. And when she found herself kissing him fervently back it was useless to pretend that she was only trying to ‘make it convincing’. She was doing this because she wanted to.

She flattened her hands against his chest. ‘I think we’ve done enough,’ she said in a shaking voice.

‘We haven’t even started,’ he whispered, and even then she noticed that his voice too was shaking. Looking up she saw his eyes in the near darkness, and thought there was a look of astonishment.

‘Let me go,’ she said urgently. She was suddenly full of alarm. She had to be free of him before it was too late. Trying to strike a lighter note she said, ‘If Lorenzo Martelli saw that he might take a stiletto to you.’

‘Let him come. I’m brave enough for anything tonight.’

There was the sound of doors, voices raised in excitement. Suddenly he grasped Helen’s hand. ‘You will take my side in the row, won’t you?’ he begged.

‘There may not be a row.’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said in a voice that was hollow with approaching doom. ‘There’s going to be a row.’

She stared at him, puzzled. But before she could ask, her mother was on them, and incredibly she was laughing, hugging her eldest daughter to her and muttering, ‘What a clever girl you are!’

‘Mamma, I have someone with me. Didn’t you see what we were—?’

‘Oh course I saw. We all did. When Poppa told me who he was we got out the best champagne.’

‘Poppa knows him?’

‘He collected him from the airport two days ago. There now! Didn’t we choose a splendid husband for you?’

She was suddenly dizzy. There was a fog about her head, but not thick enough to shield her from the incredible, the monstrous, the outrageous truth. There was Poppa pumping the young man by the hand, bellowing, ‘Lorenzo!’ There were her sisters, surrounding him excitedly, urging him inside.

And there was Lorenzo Martelli, letting himself be hauled away, meeting Helen’s stormy eyes from the safety of a distance, and giving her a shrug in which guilt, helplessness and mischief were equally mixed, before turning tail and seeking refuge in the safety of the house.

CHAPTER TWO

MAMMA was almost bouncing up and down in her excitement, kissing her daughter again and again.

‘Isn’t that wonderful?’ she enthused. ‘Fancy the two of you liking each other at once! Just wait until your Aunt Lucia in Maryland hears about this.’

Helen blanched at the thought of this story spreading all over Maryland. How long before it got to California? ‘Mamma, don’t tell Aunt Lucia anything just now.’

‘You’re right. Wait until you’ve got his ring on your finger.’

‘Mamma—’

‘OK, OK. But you gotta tell me how you met him.’

‘He was at the hotel reception tonight.’

‘Of course. He wants to sell them his vegetables. Oh, it’ll be a marriage made in heaven.’

‘It isn’t a marriage made anywhere,’ Helen said crossly. ‘I’m not marrying him.’

Signora Angolini screamed. ‘What you mean? What kind of a girl kisses a man in front of the whole street and then says she won’t marry him?’

‘It’s not in front of the—’ A prickle on her spine caused her to look up the high buildings. Row upon row they rose, and wherever she looked the windows were packed with smiling faces.

‘I think we’d better get indoors,’ she said faintly. One ghastly fact was becoming clearer by the moment. There was no way she could tell her family the truth. If kissing her ‘fiancé’ in the street was bad, kissing a man whose identity she hadn’t known was a hundred times worse. The Angolini family would never recover from the shame.

Their home was an apartment over the butcher’s shop that was Nicolo Angolini’s pride and joy. Although large, it was always slightly cramped by two parents and three daughters. Tonight it was packed to the seams with the three sons, their wives and children. By the time Helen and Mamma had climbed the stairs the introductions had been made, and Lorenzo was the centre of a smiling crowd.

Now Helen discovered the purpose of the leather bag. Lorenzo had come bearing gifts, wine and delicacies from Sicily that made Mamma tearful as she recalled the homeland that she had last seen as a girl. Helen was so touched by her mother’s happiness that she almost forgave Lorenzo. Almost.

Her sisters were in ecstasies.

‘He’s really handsome,’ Patrizia whispered, seconded by Olivia and Carlotta. ‘Oh, Elena, you’re so lucky.’

‘My name is Helen, and one more word out of any of you will be your last,’ she muttered.

‘But I want to be a bridesmaid,’ wailed Carlotta, who was fifteen.

‘You’ll be a statistic in the missing persons’ column in a minute,’ Helen warned.

Her sisters exchanged significant looks, understanding that Elena (who had always been ‘difficult’) might be a little sensitive just now.

Turning away from them she edged her way up to Lorenzo, until she got close enough to mutter. ‘We have to talk.’

‘Look, I’m sorry—’

‘You’re going to be.’

‘It just happened.’

To the delight of her whole family she put her hands on his shoulders, gazing up into his face with an utterly charming smile. ‘You’re a scheming rat,’ she murmured.

‘I didn’t mean it to be like it was.’

‘Have you told my family the truth?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Because if you do, you’re dead.’ She glided away, still smiling. Lorenzo gulped.

The folding doors between the two main rooms had been pushed back, creating one large room, connected to the kitchen by a hatch, through which Mamma passed enough food to supply an army. Pride of place was given to a variety of meat courses.

Everyone wanted to talk to Lorenzo, which saved Helen from having to do so. She needed time to compose her thoughts. Memories of the things she’d said tonight flitted through her horrified brain. She’d actually told him that her parents were trying to arrange their marriage. And he not only hadn’t warned her, but he’d joined in her vilification of Lorenzo Martelli.

To cap his iniquity he’d tricked her into accepting his kiss, and actually kissing him back. At this point her thoughts became lost in disorder. Warmth rose in her and she had a horrible feeling that it was showing in her cheeks.

Great! Now he would see her blushing, and that would make him even more full of himself. She looked at him angrily across the table, and found that he was watching her, as she’d feared. But not as though he were pleased with himself. There was a question in his eyes, and his lips wore a half smile that she would have found delightful under other circumstances.

It was all part of the trickery, she warned herself. Having insulted her, he was now bent on winning forgiveness on easy terms. Well, he could think again!

Lorenzo was talking about his family back in Palermo. Helen gathered that his father had died some years earlier, but his mother was still alive, although in frail health.

‘She called me last week,’ Mamma said, ‘to say you were coming. And I told her you would always be welcome in our home.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly made me welcome tonight,’ Lorenzo assured her with his charming smile that took in everyone at the table.

‘Do you have any brothers and sisters?’ Carlotta wanted to know.

‘Two brothers, Renato and Bernardo, both older than me. No sisters, but a sister-in-law. Renato has recently married an English woman called Heather, and their first baby is due later this year.’

Poppa was frowning. ‘I didn’t know your parents had three sons,’ he said. ‘I thought it was only two.’

‘No, there are three of us.’ Lorenzo’s smile was still perfect, but Helen detected a fleeting tension in him, and noticed how adroitly he turned the conversation.

He was wonderful in company, Helen realised. He could be ‘man-to-man’ with her father and brothers, while charming Mamma and making her sisters laugh. In no time at all he had them all on his side, which struck Helen as a really dirty trick.

The most difficult part of the evening was that for once she had her parents’ total, unqualified approval. They had picked out a suitable husband, and instead of arguing she had moved to first base in a couple of hours. In this atmosphere it was impossible to tell them that their choice was a devious, unscrupulous deceiver who ought to be hung up by his thumbs until he promised never to approach a woman again.

Lorenzo, watching her, read her thoughts with tolerable accuracy, but he was too much occupied with getting his bearings to worry about the retribution awaiting him. As a Sicilian he was used to large gatherings, but it was taking all his presence of mind to hold his own in this one. Apart from brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles, there were also a couple of Mamma’s nieces with their husbands. Of these, the one who stuck in Lorenzo’s mind was Giorgio, because he disliked him so much.

Giorgio was a huge man with a spiteful face and a bullying nature. He was also blatantly on the make, and lost no time in telling Lorenzo about his family back in Sicily who’d been trying to sell their produce to Martellis for years, but had been scandalously rejected. He implied that now he expected this injustice to be put right.

Lorenzo fenced with him and escaped as soon as he could, giving a huge sigh of relief. That was one more reason to be glad he wasn’t marrying Helen Angolini. Even if she hadn’t rejected him first.

To be fair, he was beginning to understand her feelings. The men of the Angolini family were of a type that was becoming outdated even in Sicily where tradition still prevailed. In this household male superiority was still taken as the norm. Only the younger women, who spent their working lives outside in a different world, questioned it. The men, enclosed in the haven of Little Italy, thought nothing had changed.

The dinner was superb and Lorenzo was able to praise his hostess’s cooking with real pleasure. She smiled and accepted his tribute with a few words, but when her husband intervened to say that Angolini meats were second to none she retired and let him take the credit.

Lorenzo tried again, but this time it was Giorgio who butted in, interrupting Signora Angolini in a way that nobody would have been allowed to do with his own mother. Mamma’s reaction was to rise with a smile and a nod to her daughters to help her clear away. After that the party broke into two groups, women washing up and making coffee, and men gathering to talk.

The evening culminated in a grand family toast to Lorenzo, and an invitation to supper whenever he wished. At last the family began to drift off to their own homes, in some cases just across the street. The party was over. Poppa yawned. He had to get up early next morning.

‘Time for me to go,’ Lorenzo said heartily.

‘No, no, you stay a while,’ Mamma protested. ‘We’re all going to bed, but Elena can make you some more coffee.’

‘Yes, do stay,’ Helen said affably, but with her hand implacably through Lorenzo’s arm. ‘We have a lot to talk about.’

He gave her a hunted look.

The younger girls drifted off to bed. Mamma and Poppa beamed and departed. Helen surveyed her prey.

‘You are Lorenzo Martelli,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘Yes,’ he admitted.

‘And you’ve been Lorenzo Martelli all this time?’

‘Well, it’s not something that comes and goes,’ he said defensively. ‘I’m kinda stuck with it.’

‘You were Lorenzo Martelli while we were talking at the hotel?’

‘As far as I know.’

‘And you were Lorenzo Martelli when you kissed me?’

‘Guilty!’

‘Even though you knew I disliked you?’

‘You disliked some guy who doesn’t exist,’ he protested. ‘That wasn’t me.’

‘It sure was. I disliked Lorenzo Martelli then and I dislike him ten times more now that I know he’s a devious scoundrel without a shred of honour. Shall I tell you what I’d like to do to you?’

‘I think I’d rather you didn’t.’

‘Kissing me like that was a dishonourable act, and if I told Poppa the full truth you’d be mincemeat.’

‘Not if he wants you to marry me,’ he was unwise enough to say. ‘All right, all right!’ He backed off fast. ‘Whatever you were going to do, don’t do it. I shouldn’t have stolen that kiss, and I’m sorry, but I got carried away by your beauty and—’

‘I’m warning you, Martelli, don’t insult my intelligence. You should be ashamed of yourself. No gentleman would do what you did.’

‘I’m not a gentleman,’ he protested quickly, evidently seeing this as some sort of defence. ‘I never pretended to be one.’

‘You got that kiss from me by false pretences.’

‘You’re right. How about I give it back?’

‘Come one step closer and you’re dead.’

‘Aw, now look, that kiss wasn’t a one-sided business. You kissed me back.’

‘It’s a lie! Nothing on earth would persuade me to kiss that man.’

‘Will you quit talking about me as though I wasn’t here? And don’t tell me I don’t know when a woman’s kissing me.’

‘That will be your experience talking, I suppose?’ she asked, her eyes kindling. ‘Your vast experience?

He took a nervous step behind a chair. ‘Fair to middling,’ he said self-consciously.

‘Hah!’

He rallied his forces, such as they were. ‘May I ask what you mean by “Hah!” in that voice?’

‘Never you mind.’

‘You don’t know what you mean by it, do you? When a woman knows she’s talking nonsense she says “Hah!”’

‘Oh, really? Well, consider this. Everyone in the street saw us kissing, and that makes it a very public thing. I can’t tell them I didn’t know your name because that would bring shame and disgrace on my parents, my brothers, my sisters, my nephews and nieces, my aunts and uncles, their aunts and uncles, their ancestors, their cousins and the whole shooting match going right back to Sicily. What’s more, my mother is dying to tell Aunt Lucia in Maryland, who will certainly pass it on to Aunt Zita in Idaho, who will telegraph it to Los Angeles. This is a Sicilian family. Today Manhattan. Tomorrow the world. Do you realise,’ she demanded, incensed, ‘that now they’ll expect me to marry you?’

‘No problem. I can take care of that.’

‘How?’

‘I swear I’ll never propose. My solemn word, so you’re quite safe. And to make doubly sure, I’ll talk to your parents and tell them I’ve decided I don’t like you very much.’

‘After what they saw in the street?’

‘I’ll tell them you’re a lousy kisser—don’t throw that!’

He ducked as a book came flying past his head and struck the wall with a loud crack.

‘Out,’ she told him.

‘Shouldn’t we fix our next date? They’ll expect it—’

‘Out!’

He got as far as the door before saying, ‘Are you spending the night here?’

‘No, I’m going back to my apartment.’

‘Then shouldn’t we be leaving together?’

Helen breathed hard. ‘Signor Martelli, if you’d been listening to a word I said, you’d know that I would prefer not to share the same planet with you, never mind the same cab.’

‘I know,’ he said gravely. ‘I’m not keen on you either, but we have to make these sacrifices.’

‘Who’ll know if we leave together or not?’

‘Anyone who’s standing at their window.’

The appalling truth of this hit her like a sledge-hammer. ‘Which means the whole street,’ she groaned. ‘I’ll call us a cab.’

When she’d finished making the call he was holding up her coat, and Helen put her arms in the sleeves, accepting the inevitable. They had to leave together, or there would be talk, and there’d already been too much of that.

Luckily the cab appeared quickly and they both behaved with perfect propriety. Lorenzo gave her his arm down the steps of the building, which were slippery from frost. She allowed him to show her to the vehicle and open the door for her. She never looked up but she was burningly conscious of many pairs of eyes watching from above.

As the car’s tail lights disappeared around the corner Mamma Angolini dropped the curtain of her bedroom window, and heaved a sentimental sigh. ‘Did you see the way he handed her in?’

Poppa, standing beside her, frowned, ‘But what were those noises earlier?’

‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘They were just having a lovers’ tiff.’

In the back of the cab Lorenzo said placatingly, ‘Why don’t we stop for a drink somewhere, and straighten this out?’

‘There’s nothing to straighten out,’ she said coolly. ‘I’ll drop you off at the Elroy and go on alone.’

‘I see,’ he said glumly. ‘The frozen mitt treatment.’

‘You’re lucky it’s not the frozen sock-on-the-jaw treatment.’

She should have known better. He stuck out his chin, pointing to it hopefully.

‘Oh, stop it,’ she said, trying not to smile. He was wicked and irresistible.

‘No, go on, thump me if it’ll make you feel better.’

She abandoned the struggle not to laugh, clenched her fist and punched his chin very, very gently. Another mistake. He seized her hand and kissed it.

The swift action took her by surprise, invading her senses before she could suppress the memory of that other kiss, full on the lips, by a young man who kissed subtly and with intent. It all came back to her now, so that although his lips were moving across her hand she seemed to feel them on her mouth. She must tell him now, coolly and primly, that this must stop at once.

But she felt neither cool nor prim. She felt as though waves of warmth were laving her, and thoughts of wine and roses were going through her head.

Just when she was starting to panic, he stopped, releasing her hand suddenly and abandoning her to a sense of loss that sent warnings jolting through her. Basta! Enough!

‘There’s Elroys,’ she said, with relief. ‘Don’t worry about my parents. I’ll call them tomorrow and explain that you and I won’t be seeing each other in future.’

‘But what about our wedding?’ he asked, sounding hurt.

‘I shall tell Momma that we decided against it.’

‘After what she saw?’

‘We got carried away. On reflection we realised we were mistaken.’

In the semi darkness of the cab she could see his teeth gleam. ‘About what?’

‘About—about being carried away.’

‘I don’t mind if you want to carry me away. We could—’

‘Now you cut it out,’ she flashed. ‘That innocent little boy charm may floor my mother but it leaves me cold.’

‘I was afraid it did,’ he said mournfully.

The cab drew to a halt. ‘Goodnight, Mr Martelli. It was a pleasure meeting you and I wish you every success.’

‘No, you don’t. You wish you could boil me in oil.’

‘I was giving you the polite version.’

‘In that case, thank you, Miss Angolini, for a lovely evening. I hope our paths cross again one day.’

She returned his smile with deadly intent. ‘Not if I can prevent it,’ she said. ‘Goodnight. Sleep well.’

She watched him go into the hotel and vanish from sight. That was that. Somehow she would contrive not to see him again.

She gave the driver the address of the apartment on East 77th Street that she shared with Dilys.

Her friend was home ahead of her, dressed for bed. ‘So how was your evening?’ she asked. ‘I saw you talking to the life-guard. Any good?’

‘’Fraid not,’ Helen said, yawning. ‘Handsome on the outside, but nothing to him. Boring really.’

Next morning Helen found a message to report to Jack Dacre.

‘I’ve got a new assignment for you,’ he said, ‘and seeing as how you and Signor Martelli have already broken the ice, I know you’ll enjoy it.’

‘Really?’ Helen was holding herself in neutral.

‘I want you to look after him. Apparently his English isn’t as good as I first thought. He admits that a lot of the time he’s only pretending to understand. He’s happier in Sicilian dialect, which I gather you speak, so you can act as his interpreter. That way you can keep an eye on his other dealings. It all works out very well.’

‘Especially for Lorenzo Martelli,’ Helen murmured wrathfully as she knocked on Lorenzo’s door.

It opened apparently of its own accord. She walked in and found him tucked behind the door, regarding her with apprehension.

‘Will you stop playing the fool?’ she said, half laughing, half exasperated.

‘It’s nice to see you.’

‘You’re just up to your tricks again. Pretending your English is no good, when I know it’s perfect.’

‘Is true, is true,’ he clowned in excruciating stage Italian. ‘Me no spikka da English.’

She just looked at him, trying not to smile, but it was hard to be severe when the dancing light in his eyes was tempting her to dreams of delight.

‘I’ve been detailed to assist you,’ she said, trying to sound business like. ‘Shall we discuss the programme for the day?’

‘Why don’t you show me the sights?’

‘Mr Martelli, I’m a busy woman.’

‘OK, OK,’ he said in resignation. ‘It was worth a try. Here’s a list of places I have to visit. There are no other hotels in New York, but several restaurants.’

‘None of these are Italian restaurants,’ she objected, studying the list.

‘Of course. That’s the idea. I’m out to make converts and Italians already know that Martelli produce is the best.’

‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘True. As a good Sicilian, you should have known.’

‘Lorenzo—’

‘I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it. Let’s go.’

Over the next few hours she began to give him a grudging respect. Lorenzo was a first-class salesman who used his charm to get himself into the customer’s good graces before knocking him for six with the quality of his product. By the evening he had a solid wad of orders, all of which he’d promised to fulfil by the next day, having taken the precaution of hiring a warehouse and filling it in readiness.

‘And I’m exhausted,’ he complained at last. ‘Let’s go in here and relax.’

The place he’d chosen at random was called Fives, and it overlooked the Hudson. Darkness had fallen and lights glittered along the river, entrancing Helen, even though she was used to such views. Tonight all her senses seemed heightened. Even edge was a little clearer, each colour a little sharper.

She felt good. It had been a pleasant day with a delightful companion, for when Lorenzo wasn’t being maddening he was amusing. Recently her life had been all hard work and not enough laughter, she realised.

‘I feel as though I’d done a week’s work in one day,’ he observed.

‘So do I.’

‘I shouldn’t have made you work so hard, should I?’

‘Right. I was only supposed to be translating for you.’

‘But I don’t need a translator,’ he said innocently.

‘No, but you sure needed a dogsbody—make a note of this, jot that down—’

He blew a kiss at her. ‘You take the best notes in the business. Let’s get them into the computer while they’re still fresh.’ He produced his laptop and studied some scraps of paper. ‘I can’t read your writing.’

‘I’ll put them into the computer. You get me something to eat before I faint with hunger.’

The waiter arrived with the menu. Lorenzo ordered drinks, and when they were alone he made an excited exclamation.

‘This is a vegetarian restaurant. Just what I need. We’ll try as many dishes as possible to see where we can improve them.’ He began to read from the menu, pausing at each dish to observe, ‘I’ll bet I can improve on that.’

The drinks arrived, and between taking sips and tapping into the laptop Helen failed to notice that the waiter had returned, taken an order from Lorenzo, and departed.

‘But I didn’t tell you what I wanted,’ she protested.

He looked awkward. ‘The things is, I thought we should cover as wide a range as possible between us so—’

‘So you ordered for me something that suited you?’

‘Well—yes.’

‘That’s the sort of thing my father would do,’ she said wrathfully.

‘Ah, but that’s different. Your father is simply an old-fashioned patriarch. I act from nobler motives.’

‘Such as?’

‘I’m making money.’

It was no use trying to out-talk him. She sighed, but her lips were twitching.

‘Talking about your father,’ he said, as their starters arrived, ‘I begin to understand what you mean. He’s very traditional, to put it mildly.’

Helen nodded. ‘In some ways Papa is a wonderful man. He’s kind, and he works long, long hours for his family. But in return he expects to make all the big decisions. Mamma simply has no say.’ Her mischievous spirit made her add, ‘A bit like you just now.’

‘No,’ he said seriously. ‘I was nine years old when my father died, but I remember him well, and I’m sure he never spoke to his wife as brusquely as your father does. I’m also sure I’ll never speak to mine like that.’

She pointed a courgette at him. ‘I’m not marrying you, Martelli.’

He grinned. ‘Tell your father that. He was practically planning the wedding present last night.’

‘You tell him. You’re the man, the authority, the one who speaks while the little woman is silent.’

‘Who, me?’ He looked alarmed.

‘Yes, you. Are you a man or a mouse?’

‘A mouse,’ he said promptly. ‘It’s much safer that way.’

‘You mean you don’t have to explain to my father,’ she chuckled.

He regarded her askance. ‘You’re so contrary you’d refuse to marry me just to annoy him.’

‘That and plenty of other reasons,’ she assured him.

He made a parade of relief. ‘Phew! Then I’m safe!’

‘Eat your starter,’ she advised him. ‘The next course will be here soon and I can’t wait to find out what The Great Man ordered on my behalf.’

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