Dear Reader,

I have always been fascinated by the lives of pioneers—the men who were brave enough, strong enough, determined enough to take on a harsh, dangerous and alien land and forge a future for themselves and their families. To me such men are a very special breed.

Two years ago I wrote a trilogy about the KINGS OF THE OUTBACK from the Kimberly, a family who had become legendary in that vast expanse of Australia. Another part of Australia that tested the grit and endurance of pioneers is the tropical far north of Queensland. Instead of drought, they faced cyclones; instead of desert, almost impenetrable rainforest. Yet the land was cleared for profitable plantations—sugar cane, tea, tropical fruit.

I decided to marry one of the King men from the Kimberly to a remarkable Italian woman, Isabella Valeri, whose father had pioneered the far north. This trilogy is about their three grandsons—Alex, Tony and Matt, and the women they choose to partner them into their future.

These men are a very special breed. Nothing will stop them from winning what they want. I love reading about men like that. I hope you do, too.

With love

Award-winning Australian author Emma Darcy writes compelling, sexy, intensely emotional novels that have gripped the imagination of readers around the globe. She’s written an impressive 80 novels for Harlequin Presents® and sold nearly 60 million copies of her books worldwide.

We hope you enjoy Emma Darcy’s exciting new trilogy:

The King brothers must marry—can they claim the brides of their choice?

Alessandro, Antonio and Matteo are three gorgeous brothers and heirs to a plantation empire in the lush tropical north of Australia. Each must find a bride to continue the prestigious family line…but will they marry for duty, or love?

• THE ARRANGED MARRIAGE

• THE BRIDAL BARGAIN

• THE HONEYMOON CONTRACT

Don’t miss the KINGS OF AUSTRALIA!

The Arranged Marriage
Emma Darcy

MILLS & BOON

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

ISABELLA VALERI KING eyed her niece by marriage, approving the strength she saw in Elizabeth’s face. This woman, considered to be the matriarch of the Kings of the Kimberley, understood what family was about—property, heritage, passed from generation to generation.

There had to be marriage.

There had to be children.

Elizabeth had three sons, all of them married this past year and two of them begetting children already. She could rest content. Not so Isabella. Of her three grandsons, only Alessandro was planning to marry, and it was not a marriage Isabella favoured.

The woman of his choice was not right for him.

But how to make him see?

How to change his mind?

The wedding date was set in December, after the sugarcane had been harvested. It was May now. Six months Isabella had to somehow show Alessandro that Michelle Banks would never settle happily into his life. She was selfish, that one. Selfish and self-centred. But very clever at wheedling her own way, undoubtedly using sex to seduce Alessandro into indulging her.

How long would that last into their marriage?

And a woman so fussy about preserving her figure…pregnancy would certainly not be attractive to her. Would she agree to have even one child, or would there be excuses, delays, outright refusal?

“This is a wonderful location, Isabella,” Elizabeth said admiringly, looking out over Dickinson Inlet to the cane fields on the other side.

They were sitting in the loggia beside the fountain, sharing morning tea, and the open colonnade gave a very different vista to that of the Outback in the Kimberley. Here was the intense green of far north Queensland, and pressing around all the land claimed by man was the tropical rainforest, as primitive on its own unique terms as the vast red heart of Australia.

Isabella remembered how dearly the land had been won; the labour-intensive clearing, the treacherous vines and poisonous plants, the heat, the humidity, the fevers, the deadly snakes. She’d been born amongst the cane fields, to Italian immigrants, seventy-eight years ago.

Apart from the short span of time spent in Brisbane, when she’d met and married Edward King, before he and her brother, Enrico, had gone off to the war in Europe, her home had always been here, on this hill overlooking Port Douglas. This was where she had returned—a war widow—to give birth to the child Edward had given her before he’d gone—their son, her dearly beloved Roberto.

“My father chose the location for my mother who came from Naples,” she explained to her visitor. “She wanted to be by the sea.”

Elizabeth smiled, appreciating the history. “It’s a very romantic story…your father building this castle for his bride.”

Isabella smiled back at the misnomer. “His villa,” she corrected. “Like the ancient villas of Rome. In the old days this place was known as the Valeri Villa. But because my brother did not return from the war, and I married Edward, my son and my grandsons carried the King name. After my father died, the local people came to call it King’s Castle and the name has stuck.”

“Is that a sadness to you?” Elizabeth asked quietly. “Having your father’s name and what he created passed over for the King name.”

She shook her head. “My father’s bloodline is here. That is what would matter to him. To have what he built remain in the family and be built upon. You understand this, Elizabeth.”

She nodded.

“I am sure you know it is not easy to achieve,” Isabella continued, needing to talk her problem through with a woman who would comprehend it. “We have disasters here in the tropics, too. You have drought. We have cyclones. I lost my son to a cyclone. That was a very difficult time…Roberto gone, the plantations flattened…”

A time of loss in every sense.

“I sometimes think it’s disasters that forge character,” Elizabeth mused. “To rise above them, to endure…”

“To fight. To keep what you have,” Isabella strongly agreed.

Perhaps it was the vital conviction in her voice that caused Elizabeth to look at her consideringly. What did she see—this niece by marriage to the Kings of the Kimberley? They were both white-haired, dark-eyed, and sat with straight backs. Isabella was almost two decades older, but she didn’t feel old. Her face might be more wrinkled and she probably had more aches and pains than the younger woman, but inside, the fire for life was still there, the fire for more to be chalked up in whatever time she had left before death stole her away.

“You have done your father proud, Isabella,” came the quiet summing up. “Holding it all together for your grandsons to grow into men and achieve all they have. The tour of the plantations yesterday…both Rafael and I are very impressed.”

“But it can so easily come to an end. The cyclone that took Roberto and his wife…” She shook her head and shot a keen look at Elizabeth. “I want my grandsons married with children to safeguard the future, but they are not obliging me.”

“Alex…”

“You met his fiancée, Michelle Banks, at dinner last night. What did you think of her?”

A hesitation, then slowly, “Very charming…very polished.”

Isabella grimaced at the careful comment, her eyes flashing a sharp mockery. “Like a diamond, all sparkly, with a heart and will that’s just as hard. There is no real giving in this young woman.”

“You’re unhappy with his choice.”

“She will not make him a good wife.”

An instant understanding. Appreciation, too, of the dilemma Isabella found herself in. Sympathy. And finally advice. “Then you must find him another woman, Isabella, before it’s too late.”

“I? How do I do that? It is not as though Alessandro would ever accept an arranged marriage. He has the devil’s pride.”

“My eldest son, Nathan, was frittering away the years with unsuitable women. His real life was bound up in the land, as I suspect is the case with Alex.”

“True. And Michelle Banks does not share it. To her it is a source of wealth. Nothing more.”

“I went looking for a woman who could answer Nathan’s needs. I found her. And as it turned out, Nathan answered her needs, so it is a very happy match.”

“You found Miranda for Nathan?”

“Yes. And I put them in each other’s paths. I prayed it would work and it did.”

“Ah! The paths must cross…with perhaps, some clever angling?”

“Nothing too obvious. Some little pushes to put them together. It’s impossible to control everything. If there’s no chemistry…”

“Ha! What woman wouldn’t want Alessandro?”

“The critical point is…he would have to want her, too. Miranda is quite strikingly beautiful. And Michelle is…”

“Ah, yes. A very artful beauty. Skin-deep.”

“Sexually attractive,” Elizabeth reminded her.

“Skin and bones. He needs a woman with child-bearing hips and a bosom to suckle the babies. A woman who knows what a proper meal is for a man. And I do not mean lettuce leaves.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Well, don’t forget Alex would have to find her physically attractive, too. If Michelle is any guide, don’t choose a woman on the plump side.”

“She can surely have the right curves?”

“You know him best, Isabella. I think someone with the right attitude might be more important. A woman who could be a partner in every sense.”

“A partner. Yes. That’s what Alessandro needs. A true partner. Who will be happy to have his children.”

Isabella was highly satisfied with this conversation.

It was good that Elizabeth had come to visit with her new man, the Argentinian, Rafael Santiso. A fine man, too. He reminded her of her father…a man of vision.

Alessandro could also be a man of vision…if he just opened his eyes and saw what had to be seen to make everything right. She would make him see. She would find the right woman to show him.

CHAPTER TWO

“GINA! You’re wanted out front!”

It was more a command than a call. Gina Terlizzi quickly set aside the greenery she was sorting for the floral arrangements and hurried from the back room to answer it, wondering why her presence was required out front. As the owner of the florist shop, her aunt preferred to deal with the customers herself.

The reason was instantly evident and punched her heart with shock—Marco, her two-and-a-half-year-old son, firmly in the grip of an elderly woman. And not just any elderly woman. Recognition of Isabella Valeri King came hard and fast, doubling the shock.

This shop was in Cairns and King’s Castle was in Port Douglas, seventy kilometres further north, but the whole Italian community in far North Queensland knew this remarkable woman and held her in the highest respect. A quiver of apprehension ran down Gina’s spine at being put on the mat in front of her.

“Are you the madre of this boy?” she demanded, her aristocratic bearing taut with disapproval.

Gina tore her gaze from the piercing dark eyes to look down at her son who was gazing up at his captor with something like awe. “Yes,” she answered huskily. “What have you done, Marco? Why aren’t you in the backyard?”

He gave her his triumphant achievement look, his brown eyes dancing with mischief, an appealing smile flashing from his adorable little face, his mop of dark curls bobbing as he proudly confessed, “I got boxes an’ climbed up an’ opened the gate.”

Which meant he wasn’t safely contained here at work anymore. Gina heaved a deeply exasperated sigh. “Then what?”

“I rode my bike.”

“He was out on the street, pedalling his tricycle at wild speed, and almost ran into me,” came the telling accusation.

Gina stood very straight, facing the music as best she could. “I’m terribly sorry that his lack of control put you at risk, Mrs. King, and I’m grateful you’ve brought him in to me. I thought he was playing safely in the backyard.”

“It seems your son is an enterprising child. Boys will be boys. You must always keep their very active ingenuity in mind.”

This softer piece of advice reduced Gina’s tension considerably. “I will. Thank you again for returning him to me, Mrs. King.”

She was subjected to more scrutiny, as though everything about her was being meticulously catalogued; her long streaky-brown hair, the bangs that swept across her forehead, her thickly lashed amber eyes, her too wide mouth, the bone structure of her face, her long neck, the obvious curves of her full breasts underneath her sleeveless blouse, the neatness of her waist, emphasised by the belt on her skirt, the breadth of her hips, the shape of her bare legs and her feet, which were simply encased in sandals.

It was embarrassing, as though she was being measured for being a careless creature who didn’t have enough interest in looking after her son properly. Which wasn’t true at all. Gina prided herself on being a good mother. It was just that Marco could be a little devil at times.

“I understand you are a widow.”

The knowing statement surprised her into replying, “Yes, I am.”

“How long?”

“Two years.”

“Perhaps the boy needs a man’s hand.”

Gina flushed at the implied criticism. “Marco does have uncles.”

“You are a very attractive young woman. No one is courting you?”

“No. I…uh…haven’t met anyone I…um,…” She floundered hopelessly under the direct beam of those intensely probing eyes.

“You were very attached to your husband?”

“Well, yes…”

“This is not good for the boy—your working in a shop, unable to supervise him properly. You need a husband to support you. The right man would lift this burden from you.”

“Yes,” she agreed. What else could she do? Arguing with Isabella Valeri King was far too daunting an option. She could only hope her aunt, who was standing silently by, would not take offence. It was a family favour that she had a part-time job here, and allowed to bring Marco with her.

As long as he didn’t make a nuisance of himself!

She would definitely be in trouble once Isabella Valeri King departed. However, no immediate exit took place. Despite having delivered her lecture on Gina’s situation, the old lady stood her ground and suddenly took an entirely different tack.

“You are also a wedding singer.”

“Yes.” How did she know these things about her?

“Your agent sent me a tape of your songs. You have a lovely voice.”

Finally enlightenment. “Thank you.”

“You are aware that weddings are held at King’s Castle?”

“Yes, of course.” The most exclusive and expensive weddings!

“I am always looking for good singers and I have found it wise to test a voice in the ballroom. The acoustics are different to those in a recording studio.”

The fabled ballroom! Gina had never been there but stories about the castle abounded. Was this a chance to be actually hired as a singer for fabulous weddings? Could she ask for a much bigger fee? Travelling money? It was an hour’s drive from Cairns to Port Douglas. Her mind zipped through a whole range of exciting possibilities.

“I would require a trial run. Are you free to come on Sunday afternoon?”

“Yes.” It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d asked for the moon, Gina would have said yes. This was a huge opportunity for her to earn far more than the peanuts she was usually paid for singing.

“Good. Three o’clock. And bring the boy with you.” She looked down at Marco whose hand she still held firmly. Amazingly he hadn’t tried to wriggle his fingers free of captivity. In fact, he appeared fascinated by this lady who spoke with such authority to his mother. “You will come to visit me with your madre, Marco.”

“I could have him minded,” Gina quickly suggested, anxious not to have her audition disturbed by any mischievous behaviour from her unpredictable son.

That earned a stern glare. “You will not.” As though realising her tone was too sharp, she smiled, firstly down at Marco, then at Gina. “He is quite an endearing little boy. I shall enjoy watching him at play. We will have afternoon tea in the loggia and let him run free in the grounds.”

“That’s…very kind. Thank you.”

“Go to your madre now, Marco.” She released his hand and lightly patted his curls. “And do not ride your bike in the street again. It is not the place to play.”

He obediently trotted over to Gina’s side and took her hand.

“How old is he?”

“Two and a half.”

“He rides very well for his age,” came the astonishingly approving comment. “The tricycle is by the door.”

“Thank you.”

“Three o’clock Sunday,” she repeated imperiously.

“We’ll be there, Mrs. King. And thank you once again.”

Ten minutes to three…Gina slotted her little Honda Swift under one of the bougainvillea and vine-laden pergolas that flanked the steps up to King’s Castle. This was the visitors’ parking area, and apart from her own car it was empty, which made her feel all the more nervous.

For the umpteenth time she checked that the backing tape for her songs was in her handbag. It might not be needed. She had no idea if she was expected to sing with or without music for this audition. At least she had it if it could be used. The driving mirror reflected that her make-up was still fine, not that she wore much—a touch of eyeliner, mascara, lipstick. Her hair was freshly washed and blow-dried to curve around her shoulders. She hoped she looked like a professional singer.

Marco had fallen asleep in his car seat. She’d dressed him in navy shorts and a T-shirt striped in red, green and navy—navy sandals on his feet. With his dark curls and eyes, such strong colours really suited him and he looked very cute. For herself, she’d chosen a sleeveless lemon shift with a navy band edging the armholes and scooped neckline. Teamed with navy accessories, it was an outfit that always made Gina feel smartly dressed—a much-needed boost for confidence today.

Having unbuckled Marco’s safety harness, she gently woke him then lifted him out. Luckily he was never grumpy after a nap. It was like, “Hi, world! What’s new?” and he was all bright-eyed, ready to go and discover it.

“Are we at the castle, Mama?”

“Yes. I’ll just lock the car and we’ll walk up to it.”

“I can’t see it.”

“You will in a minute.”

As they walked up the steps his gaze was trained in entranced wonder at the tessellated tower that dominated the hill. It was said that Frederico Stefano Valeri, Isabella’s father, had built it so his wife could watch the boats coming in from the sea and the cane fields burning during the harvesting.

“Can we go up there, Mama?”

“Not today, Marco. But we will see the ballroom. It has huge balls covered with tiny mirrors hanging from the ceiling, and a wooden floor where the boards have been cut into fancy patterns.”

The steps were flanked by rows of magnificent palm trees and terraces with lushly displayed tropical flowers and plants and ferns. At the top of the rise, they moved onto a wide flagstoned path with beautifully manicured lawns of buffalo grass on either side. Ahead of them was a colonnaded loggia which prefaced the entrance to the castle. It covered a very spacious area. In the centre of it was a fountain, around which were casual groupings of chairs and tables. At one of these sat three people and Gina’s feet almost faltered at the charge of nervous excitement that ran through her as recognition sank in.

Alex King sitting with his grandmother. Alex King and his fiancée, she quickly amended, identifying the woman she’d seen in the photograph accompanying the newspaper article on their engagement. He’s taken, she ruefully reminded herself. Besides which, there never had been a chance of her meeting Alex King on any kind of social level—until this very moment. But if ever there was a man to turn her head and make her heart go pitter-pat, he was it—The Sugar King.

Of course she had loved Angelo, her husband. Angelo had been real life. This man had always been—and still was—unattainable fantasy. Yet with his gaze directly on her now as she and Marco approached, Gina could feel her pulse racing and little quivers attacking her thighs. He was so handsome. Manly handsome. Big and strong and with that intrinsic air of indomitable authority that seemed to say he could handle anything he was faced with. Definitely a king, measured against other men.

He smiled at Marco who had broken into an excited little skip at Gina’s side. The smile transformed the hard angles of his face, emitting a warm charm. His eyes twinkled at her son—startling blue eyes, given his suntanned olive skin and the thick wavy black hair that declared his Italian heritage. The blue eyes had to have come from his paternal line. Somehow they gave him an even more charismatic presence.

Probably Gina should have headed for the end of the table where Isabella sat. She didn’t think. She was automatically drawn to the end Alex King occupied. He pushed his chair back and stood up to greet her, making her overwhelmingly aware of just how big and tall he was. Such a powerfully built man, and her head was barely level with his broad shoulders.

Belatedly, Gina shot her gaze to his grandmother, whose autocratic command had brought her here and who should be given her prime attention. I’ve come on business, Gina fiercely told herself. Business, business, business… But it didn’t stop her from being overwhelmingly aware of the magnetic maleness of Alex King.

“My grandson, Alessandro,” the old lady announced with a benign smile that relieved Gina of any fear that she would be judged as ill-mannered.

She flicked an acknowledging glance up at the heart-stopping blue eyes.

“His fiancée, Michelle Banks,” the introductions continued.

Gina nodded and smiled and received a perfunctory little curve of the lips in return from the woman seated on the other side of the table. Full pouty lips, sexy lips. It was somewhat demoralising to see just how beautiful Michelle Banks was in the flesh—her golden hair sleeked back to a knot at the back, her face so perfectly sculptured it needed no softening effect, big almond-shaped, grey-green eyes, a classic nose, and a swan like neck emphasising her long, model-thin elegance.

She wore one of her signature tie-dyed scarf tops with a halter neckline—a garment that could only be worn well by very slim and small-breasted women—and the artistic pattern of earth colours was complemented by gold hipster slacks which affirmed there was no excess flesh anywhere on the fashion designer’s body.

Gina instantly felt fat. Which was stupid because she really wasn’t. She was simply built on a different scale to Michelle Banks. However, that common sense argument did nothing to lift the lead that had descended on her heart. This was the kind of woman Alex King wanted to marry. Would marry.

“Gina Terlizzi and her son, Marco,” Isabella finished.

“A pleasure to meet you, Gina. And Marco,” came the warm welcome from her grandson, the deep timbre of his voice striking pleasure chords right through Gina’s body. “A good family, the Terlizzis. Still in fishing boats?”

“Most of the men are,” she answered, amazed that he knew of them.

Many years ago his father, Robert King, had financed the Terlizzi family venture into fishing. His great-grandfather, Frederico Stefano Valeri, had begun the tradition of financing Italian immigrants into businesses when the banks had denied them loans. Everyone knew that the Kings would listen to a deal when more conventional financial institutions would not. Judgement was made more on the capability to succeed than on up-front money, and as far as Gina knew, no one had ever failed to pay back the Kings’ faith in them.

“And you’re Angelo’s widow,” Alex King went on, his tone softening with sympathy.

She nodded, even more astonished he knew her husband’s name.

“I remember reading about him going to the rescue of a lone sailor whose yacht had broken up on the reef.”

“The storm beat him. They both drowned,” she choked out.

“A brave man. And a very sad loss to you and your son.” The caring in his eyes squeezed her heart. “I trust your family has looked after you?”

“Very well.”

“Good! My grandmother tells me you’ve come to sing for her. You must want a drink first. Please…” He gestured to the empty chairs on the near side of the table, opposite to where his fiancée sat. “What would you like…wine, fruit juice, iced water?”

“Water for me, thank you.”

“And you, Marco?”

“Juice, please.”

“Only half a glass for him,” Gina quickly warned as she settled them both on chairs. Her eyes appealed for understanding. “He tends to spill from a full one.”

Another warming smile. “No problem.”

“So…you’re a professional singer,” Michelle Banks drawled, focusing Gina’s attention on her.

“I do get quite a few engagements—weddings, birthdays, other functions—but I can’t say I make a living from it,” Gina answered truthfully. No point in pretending to be something she wasn’t. In fact, more often than not she was asked to sing by family or friends with no fee offered at all.

“I presume you have had some training,” the woman pressed in a slightly critical tone that niggled Gina. What business was it of hers?

“If you mean singing lessons, yes. And I’ve competed in many eisteddfods over the years.”

“Then why didn’t you pursue a career with it?”

“Not every woman puts a career first,” Isabella dryly interposed.

Michelle shrugged. “Seems a waste if your voice is good enough.”

She raised her perfectly arched eyebrows at Gina who bristled at the implied put-down. Why did Alex King’s fiancée feel the need to put her on the spot like this. She was a woman who appeared to have everything other women might envy, including the man whose ring she was wearing.

“It wasn’t the kind of life I wanted,” she answered simply. “As to whether my voice is good enough, I’m here—” she transferred her gaze to Isabella “—for Mrs. King to judge if it meets her requirements.”

“And I’m looking forward to hearing it,” the older woman said, smiling encouragement. “Indeed, if it is true to your performance on tape…” She looked directly at her grandson. “…you may very well want Gina to sing at your wedding, Alessandro.”

Silence. Stillness. For the first time Gina lost her own self-consciousness enough to realise there were tensions at this table that had nothing to do with her. Or perhaps she had become an unwitting focus for them. Very quietly she picked up her glass of water and drank, grateful to be out of the direct firing line.

Michelle Banks glared at Alex, clearly demanding his support. He stirred himself, addressing his grandmother with an air of pained patience.

“Nonna, we have already discussed this. Michelle wants a harpist, not a singer.”

“I heard what Michelle wants, Alessandro,” came the coolly dignified reply. “Did I hear what you want?”

“It is the bride’s day,” he countered with a slight grimace at the contentiousness behind the question.

Isabella regarded his fiancée with an expression of arch curiosity that Gina instantly felt had knives behind it. “Is that what you think, Michelle—that a wedding belongs only to the bride, and the groom must fall in with everything she wishes?”

Michelle gave a smug little smile. “Alex is happy for me to have a harp playing.”

“I’ve never thought a harp—indeed, any musical instrument—can project the warmth and emotion that a human voice can.”

“It’s purely a question of taste,” Michelle argued. “A harp is very elegant.”

“Undoubtedly. However, to my mind, even within a showcase of elegance, room could be made for some spotlight on love at your wedding.” She turned a smile on Gina. “Are you now refreshed enough to sing?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She set her glass down and picked up her handbag. “I did bring a backing tape. Are there facilities for it to be played in the ballroom or…”

“Of course.” She nodded to her grandson. “Alessandro will set it up for you and give you a remote control for pausing between songs.”

Gina’s heart fluttered. Was he going to listen, too? She glimpsed a V of annoyance forming between Michelle Banks’ brows, but said a quick, “Thank you,” to Alex King anyway.

“My pleasure,” he said kindly, though she couldn’t help wondering if he also was annoyed at this manipulation by his grandmother. It didn’t make for a comfortable audience. His fiancée, for one, was bound to be judging very critically.

Isabella stood up—a definitive signal for them all to rise from the table. Gina hastily removed the glass from Marco’s hands and set him on his feet.

“Are we going to see the balls of mirrors now, Mama?” he asked.

“Yes, we are.”

“Come, Marco. Give me your hand,” Isabella commanded. “I will show you everything while your madre is preparing to sing for us.”

He responded without so much as a hesitation, trotting straight over to her and eagerly taking the offered hand, his eyes sparkling with happy anticipation. What was it that made him so pliable to this old woman when he could be quite obstreperous with other virtual strangers? Gina doubted he would have taken Michelle Banks’ hand so readily. But Isabella King…was he instinctively drawn to the power that emanated from her…the power imbued by so many years of being the matriarch of this family?

It was definitely there.

Even Michelle Banks was not about to buck it at this point, although Gina could feel the younger woman’s hostility as they moved as a group to the ballroom. It made Gina wonder if Isabella King was using her as a pawn in a battle she was subtly fighting against her future grand-daughter-in-law.

She hoped it wasn’t so.

She needed this opportunity to be a straight deal between them, one she could count on to lead to a better situation for her and Marco if her singing was approved. It was a big if, given the current tensions that were affecting her. Somehow she had to set them aside, concentrate on her singing.

Apart from everything else, she would hate to fail in front of Alex King, hate to have him feel pity for her, hate to give his fiancée reason to sneer at her performance.

She had to sing well.

Had to.

Or she would die a million humiliating deaths.

CHAPTER THREE

“DO WE have to sit through this?” Michelle hissed at him.

Alex frowned at her. “Yes.”

She rolled her eyes, adopting the air of a martyr as they followed his grandmother and her protégés to the ballroom.

Alex found himself distinctly irked by Michelle’s lack of graciousness, particularly towards Gina Terlizzi. He’d taken an instant liking to the young widow and her little boy. Why couldn’t Michelle simply wish Gina well, instead of measuring her singing talent against her own drive and ambition? It was perfectly understandable why a single mother—tragically so—wouldn’t want to drag her child around the club circuit.

Michelle’s single-mindedness needed to be tempered by an appreciation of where other people were coming from. Apart from anything else, it was a matter of respect for different values, different circumstances. And it wouldn’t hurt her to compromise a bit on her wedding plans. Cutting his grandmother out of all the decisions was not good. Weddings were family affairs to Nonna. That was the Italian way.

Given his grandmother’s none too subtle comments on the harp just now, Alex realised he should start taking a more active role in the arrangements. There were other people to consider besides the bride. He recalled Elizabeth King’s recent visit, and her account of how involved she’d been in the planning of her sons’ weddings. Nonna would certainly be feeling…left out of his. It was not right.

The ballroom was set up in its usual pattern—round tables seating eight forming a horseshoe that faced the stage and enclosed the highly polished parquet dance floor. They’d no sooner entered it than Michelle parked herself at one of back tables, right next to the exit, her unwillingness to be an interested party to this audition all too obvious.

Doubly annoyed now, Alex accompanied his grandmother to the table of her choice, halfway down the ballroom. He saw her and the little boy seated, then escorted Gina Terlizzi up to the stage to familiarise her with the sound system so she could perform at her best.

Her hand was trembling slightly as she held out the backing tape. Nerves? Distress at being virtually snubbed by his fiancée? The unfairness of that slight, and the realisation of how vulnerable Gina must be feeling, drove Alex to take the tape and enclose the trembling hand in his own, wanting to impart both warmth and strength, wanting to give her back the confidence that had been taken from her.

“Don’t take any notice of Michelle,” he advised, not caring if he sounded disloyal. “Sing to your son, Marco, imagining you are at his wedding.”

Colour whooshed into her cheeks. Had he embarrassed her? Her thick dark lashes lifted and her eyes—he’d thought they were a light brown but close up they were a fascinating golden amber—seemed to swim up at him, bathing him in a mixture of relief, gratitude, and a very touching wonder at his caring.

He had the instant urge to draw her into his arms—to comfort and protect—and only a swift charge of common sense deflected him from such unwarranted and totally out-of-place action. The strength of the instinct both stunned and bemused him. He barely knew this woman.

“Thank you. You’re very kind,” she murmured huskily.

She had a wide, generous mouth. All the better to sing with, he told himself, clamping down on disturbingly wayward thoughts of sensuality and passion. He was suddenly very conscious of her hand, lying still in his now, and gave it a quick reassuring squeeze.

“You’ll be fine. Just remember my grandmother would not have called you for an audition if she had not been very impressed with your voice.”

She nodded and he released her hand, swinging away to insert the tape into the sound system at the side of the stage. It was unsettling to find himself so aware of her as a woman. It was fine to give her consideration as a person, but the stirring of any sexual interest was out of kilter with his commitment to Michelle. Despite his disaffection with his fiancée’s current attitude, this shouldn’t be happening.

Having switched everything on, he took the remote control panel to Gina, demonstrated the buttons she would need to press, adjusted the microphone for her, keeping his focus on making sure she knew how to work her performance. Even so, every time he glanced at her, those expressive amber eyes tugged at him, making him feel more connected to her than he wanted to be.

He flashed her a last encouraging smile as he left her on centre stage. The need to put distance between them had him heading back down the ballroom to Michelle. Yet he changed his mind halfway, choosing to sit with his grandmother and Gina’s son, rather than placing himself at the side of negative disinterest. It was an action that might just jolt Michelle into reassessing her manner.

The show of support for her protégé earned an approving nod from his grandmother. Feeling slightly guilty, Alex beckoned Michelle to join them, but she waved a curt little dismissal and struck a languid pose on her chair, transmitting a boredom that was not about to be shifted. Alex gritted his teeth. Be damned if he was going to shift, either!

“We are ready if you are,” his grandmother announced.

Alex concentrated objective attention on the woman who now commanded the stage. She was younger than Michelle, probably mid-twenties. The rather modest lemon shift she wore skimmed a very curvaceous figure. Her overall appearance was pleasingly feminine, though not spectacular. She would never draw all eyes as Michelle did on entering a room, yet Alex couldn’t help thinking a man would feel very comfortable having Gina Terlizzi on his arm.

The music started. Alex noted her gaze was not trained on his grandmother, but on her son who was seated on the chair next to the dance floor. He smiled to himself realising she was taking his advice, getting keyed up to direct her song to the little boy whose uncritical love would undoubtedly be beamed back at his mother.

Her voice poured through the microphone, a surprisingly rich, full-bodied voice that filled the ballroom with glorious sound, nothing wispy or weak either in tone or pitch. He recognised the song as a Celine Dion favourite, “Because You Loved Me,” and Gina Terlizzi gave it every bit as much emotional expression—if not more—than the original artist.

A touch on his arm directed his attention to the boy who’d been seated next to his grandmother. He’d slid off his chair and moved onto the dance floor, his feet rocking to the beat of the song, shoulders swaying, arms waving in rhythm, his face raptly lifted to his mother who smiled at him in the pauses of the song. He was copying her gestures, her swaying, the two of them joined in harmony with each other.

When the song ended, he clapped delightedly and called out, “More, Mama!”

Alex couldn’t help sharing a smile with his grandmother who was clearly affected by the little scene, her face softened with the pleasure that old people invariably found in the artless joy of little children.

“Yes, we must hear more,” she called out supportively.

Gina nodded, took a deep breath and started the tape again.

It was certainly no hardship listening to her. As she sang what Alex considered a great rendition of Frank Sinatra’s old song, “All The Way,” he looked back at Michelle, expecting her to be enjoying it as much as he was. She returned a petulant glare that really riled him. Couldn’t she concede Gina Terlizzi was worth listening to?

He looked at the little boy, happily jigging along with the song, and when he clapped at the end of it, Alex couldn’t resist joining in the applause. Why not? It was deserved. And he felt a need to make up for Michelle’s stubborn stand-off.

“Another one, please,” his grandmother requested.

Alex knew most of the popular wedding songs from hearing his grandmother playing them over and over to sort out her recommendations to the couples who booked their weddings here. She’d started the business years ago, determined on maintaining the castle with the profits made—a totally unnecessary decision since the King investments could easily carry any cost to keeping this prime property as it should be kept.

Alex suspected she simply enjoyed planning big occasions and seeing the ballroom put to good use. It also gave her a convenient lead-in to asking her three grandsons when she could expect a wedding from them. She had one now and as Alex listened to Gina Terlizzi sing “From This Moment On,” he silently vowed to ensure that his grandmother would have some voice in the planning of it. Michelle could like it or lump it.

Respect was called for.

Respect would be given.

From this moment on…

CHAPTER FOUR

THEY were sitting at the table by the fountain again. A sumptuous afternoon tea had been served. Marco was happily running around the lawn, exploring various parts of the gardens. It would have been the perfect wind-down from her audition, but for the somewhat sour presence of Michelle Banks.

Even so, Gina’s inner excitement could not be dampened. Isabella Valeri King had more than approved her singing. She had complimented her on it with open pleasure. So had Alex King. And best of all, she now had Isabella’s assurance of a high recommendation for bookings. In future, she would be singing at the castle many times, for a much bigger fee than she had ever been offered before.

It didn’t matter that Michelle Banks had more or less removed herself from making even a friendly comment. Perhaps she had wanted Alex to herself this afternoon and resented his being dragged into helping with Isabella’s business. Although Alex hadn’t seemed to mind the claim on his time.

He’d been so kind and helpful. If he wasn’t taken, Gina had the funny feeling she’d be head over heels in love with him. When he’d held her hand, and she’d looked into his eyes, there’d been a heart-thumping connection that had energised her whole body.

But she mustn’t dwell on that.

He was taken.

It was probably his nature to be kind to everyone. It didn’t mean that he was attracted to her, anywhere near as strongly as she was attracted to him. How could he be? She wasn’t in the same class as his fiancée.

The home-baked carrot cake with the delicious soft cream-cheese topping kept tempting her. She’d already had one piece. Would it look greedy if she took another? She was always hungry after a performance. It took so much energy. Apart from which, her stomach had been churning with nerves beforehand, making it impossible to eat a proper lunch.

Alex reached out and helped himself to a second slice. Catching her watching his action, he grinned, his blue eyes twinkling a teasing awareness of her own temptation. “It’s my favourite cake. Can’t resist.”

“It sure is the best,” she agreed on a pleasurable sigh.

“Like some more?”

He was already moving a serving towards her plate and Gina couldn’t resist, either. “Yes, please.”

“It’s terribly rich,” Michelle remarked critically.

“An indulgence in rich food now and then is one of the pleasures of life,” Isabella declared.

“If you want to pay the price,” Michelle mocked, her gaze flicking over Gina’s well-rounded arms.

“Oh, some people burn off the calories easily enough,” Alex drawled, then smiled at Gina. “I imagine keeping up with a highly active little boy like Marco gives you plenty of exercise.”

Her heart fluttered at the support he was giving her against his fiancée’s opinion. She wasn’t fat in his eyes. He liked her. He had to like her to be defending her weakness for the calorie-laden cake. Or maybe he didn’t care if she put on weight. Why would he? She wasn’t the woman he was going to marry.

“Marco does keep me busy,” she replied to Alex, then wrenched her gaze away from him, bypassing the fashionably thin woman he loved, to excuse her appetite for rich food to Isabella. “It’s Sunday. I’ve always considered it a day to relax a bit on rules and simply enjoy.”

“That is the Italian tradition,” the old lady approved. “Besides, I like my cooking to be appreciated.”

“It really is a superb cake,” Gina instantly responded.

“Thank you, my dear.”

Gina wasn’t into the game-playing of scoring off people, but she couldn’t help taking considerable satisfaction in Isabella’s benevolent approval. Strict dieting could be taken too far. When people took the trouble to provide special treats, unless there was some medical problem forbidding any indulgence, it seemed impolite not to partake of anything. It was like ignoring the efforts to please. Possibly Michelle felt no need to please in return. She had only taken black tea with a slice of lemon, disdaining all the food offered.

Not that it was any of her business how these relationships worked, Gina told herself, but she had the strong feeling Isabella wasn’t overly fond of her grandson’s choice. Neither was she. Although it could be jealousy prompting the dislike that was growing in leaps and bounds.

Marco provided a fortuitous distraction, pelting across the lawn with his hands cupped together to contain something. “Look what I found, Mama!” he crowed excitedly.

“Come and show me, Marco,” Isabella called, turning in her chair to beckon him to her.

Her encouraging smile—or her natural air of authority—drew him to the other side of the table and he came to a triumphant halt between Isabella and Michelle. His eyes danced delightedly at the older woman and Gina knew he was basking in her indulgent interest, wanting to show off to her.

“It’s a surp’ise!” he told her, beaming sheer mischief.

“I like surprises,” Isabella assured him.

“Look!” he cried, uncupping his hands like a master magician.

A small cane toad instantly leapt from his uncovered palm, straight onto Michelle Banks’ lap.

She jumped up from her chair, shrieking with horror, her hands moving in frantic, scissor-like slaps to get the creature off her. Perversely it hopped onto her arm before escaping to freedom, and Michelle shuddered all over at having suffered its touch on her skin.

“You filthy child!” she flung at Marco. “Bringing that slimy thing up here and letting it jump on me!”

She stepped towards him, her face screwed into venomous fury, her long lean body bending forward, arm outswinging.

The realisation that she was going to hit Marco had Gina leaping to her feet. But she was too far away to stop it, too shocked to even call out “No!”

It was Alex, surging from his chair, who caught Michelle’s arm, halting it in midair, his fingers closing around it with warning force and lowering it her side. Virtually in the same instant, Isabella acted, reaching out and scooping Marco back from the line of fire.

“There is no harm done, Michelle,” Alex stated, his voice hard with command, the power of the man literally shimmering from him in such strong waves, Gina instinctively held her breath, her heart thumping wildly against the constriction in her chest.

He was defending her son…saving him from the physical abuse his fiancée would still deliver, given half a chance.

“No harm!” Michelle screeched, her body snapping upright, her gaze slicing daggers at Alex for intervening. Frustrated in one act of violence, she bared her teeth at Marco who shrank back, not understanding his offence. “You’ve ruined my trousers with your filthy carelessness,” she accused, her rage unabated.

“Hardly ruined,” Alex bit out, his jaw tightening at this further outburst.

“Boys will be boys.” Isabella’s tone was deliberately temperate but she flashed a quelling look at Michelle as she put her arm around Marco in a comforting hug. “All living creatures are fascinating to them at this age.”

“Cane toads!” Michelle raved on, her revulsion still volatile. “Ugly, creepy cane toads!”

Marco was cowering back in the protective circle of Isabella’s arm, fright stamped on his face as he stared, goggle-eyed at his attacker.

Gina shook herself out of the gut-knotting tension. Her son needed her help, her reassurance. Alex and Isabella King were protecting him but she was his mother.

“I’m sorry the toad accidentally leapt on you, Michelle,” she said quietly, “but please don’t blame my son for it. Marco thinks catching toads is good. He sometimes helps one of his uncles do it and he’s used to being praised for bringing them to him.”

Blazing outrage was swung directly on her. “You let him help his uncle catch these disgusting things?”

Gina nodded, keeping her composure very calm for her son’s sake. “To Marco, it’s a great game. His uncle organises toad races for tourists. He gives them names like Fat Freddo, Forest Lump, Prince Charming…”

“Prince Charming?” Alex cocked an eyebrow at her, his tone amused, although there was no amusement in his eyes, more a wry appreciation of the distraction she was offering. Anger at the ugly scene simmered behind it.

Gina forced a smile at him, grateful for his help in easing the tension and the shock for Marco. “What’s more…” she went on, determined on giving her son more recovery time, “…if Prince Charming wins the race and it’s been bought to win by a woman, he tries to chat the woman into kissing it.”

“Kiss a toad?” Michelle gagged at the thought.

“It causes great hilarity amongst the spectators. They enjoy the mad fun of it. No one has to go through with the kissing but some do, getting their friends or family to video it so the story will be believed when they go home,” Gina patiently explained.

“I’ll bet it makes a great story,” Alex chimed in, sealing her account with pointed approval, then turning to deal more directly with his fiancée. “It’s all a matter of perspective, Michelle.”

“Ugh!” was her jeering response. “If you don’t mind…” She tore her wrist out of his hold. “…I’m going to wash the slime off my arm.”

She swung on her heel and with a haughty disdain of every effort to rescue the situation, marched off to the closest rest room. Her snubbing departure left a silence loaded with spine-crawling embarrassment. Gina glanced quickly at Marco who looked as if he was still teetering on the point of bursting into tears, despite the soothing-down process.

Alex moved to crouch in front of him. “Hey, Marco! How about we go look in the fish pond,” he suggested cheerfully.

“Fish?” her little son repeated on a slight wobble.

“Yep. Big red ones, gold ones, spotted ones. Let’s count them and see how many there are.” He plucked Marco out of his grandmother’s protective hold, swung him up in the air and perched him on his chest so they were face-to-face. “Can you count?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows as though in doubt.

“Yes.” Marco nodded gravely as he counted, “One, two, four, ten…”

“Good! Then off we go to the fish pond. If your mother permits?”

They both turned to Gina. She was momentarily transfixed by the burning need to make reparation being transmitted by Alex King’s vivid blue eyes. The intensity of feeling bored straight into her heart, forging an even stronger connection between them.

“Mama?”

The hopeful appeal from Marco forced her attention to him. The threat of tears had been effectively wiped out with the exciting flush of further achievement to be pursued.

“Yes, you may go,” she said, submitting to the need of the man and the moment, though she wasn’t at all sure this was the best action to take.

She watched Alex King carry her son away on a new adventure, grateful for his initiative in one sense, yet feeling hopelessly ambivalent about where this was leading. She wanted to believe…all sorts of wild things…yet surely the better solution would have been for her and Marco to leave, allowing these people to sort out their differences in private. Being the meat in their sandwich was not a happy place.

“Alessandro has a fine affinity with children,” Isabella assured her, intent on dispelling any worries she might have. “He looked after his younger brothers well when they were little boys.”

Realising she was still standing, Gina dropped back onto her chair to show she accepted Isabella’s assurance that Marco was safe with Alex. That wasn’t the problem.

“He’s very kind,” she replied, pasting a smile over her inner turbulence.

Michelle’s rage had been defused but the memory of it was not about to miraculously lift. She hoped Alex would bring Marco back soon enough for them to leave before his fiancée returned.

Though how he could marry a woman like that was beyond her comprehension. Especially if he wanted children. Admittedly, Marco wasn’t Michelle’s own child, but such a blaze of temper over a little toad, and the urge to hit…

It was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

And everything Alex King had stirred in her this afternoon made his connection to that woman feel more wrong.

The fat was in the fire and definitely sizzling, Isabella thought with deep satisfaction.

She had struck gold with Gina Terlizzi and her delightful little son. No doubt about her feelings for Alessandro and the attraction was definitely mutual. Best of all, Michelle had shown her true colours this afternoon. In fact, the manner in which both young women had conducted themselves provided such a striking contrast, her grandson would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to appreciate the differences.

He was most certainly feeling considerable discontent with Michelle.

And it wasn’t just kindness towards Gina.

But what had been achieved this afternoon could all slide away if Gina wasn’t thrust right under Alessandro’s nose again and again in relatively quick succession. The big hump was the diamond ring on Michelle’s engagement finger. Alessandro didn’t give a commitment lightly. Nor would he lightly withdraw one. It had to be broken.

Determined to strike while the iron was hot, Isabella quickly formulated a plan which she could surely manipulate to serve her purpose. “To return to business…” She let the words linger for a few moments to give Gina time to get her mind on track. “…are you free next Saturday night?”

Surprise at the early date, but eagerness to clutch at it, too. “Yes, I am, Mrs. King.”

“I’ve been thinking…a friend of my grandson, Antonio, is holding his wedding here next Saturday. I would like to do something special for him. It has been arranged for Peter Owen to play and sing. You know him?”

“Not exactly know. But I have seen him perform. He’s quite brilliant on the piano and a very professional crooner. He really sells his songs.”

“Yes. He’s very popular. But it would, I think, offer a very interesting variety if you sang a few duets with him.”

“Duets?”

“You must know ‘All I Ask of You’ from Phantom of the Opera.”

“Yes…”

“I’m sure the two of you could do that song justice. Peter could also do the backing and harmony for your ‘Because You Loved Me.’ And ‘From This Moment On’ can also be sung as a duet.”

“But…” Gina frowned uncertainly “…would he want to share his spotlight with me?”

“Peter Owen will do what I ask of him.” Whatever the financial persuader was, Isabella would pay it. “You would need to make time to rehearse with him during the week.”

“If you’re sure he…I mean, compared to him, I’m an amateur, Mrs. King.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’ll find you so.” She smiled her confidence. “Leave the arrangements to me. I’ll call you after I’ve contacted Peter. Are we agreed?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

She looked somewhat dazed but determined to pursue the opportunity. She had grit, this girl. Give her the chance and she’d go the full mile on what she believed in. At the present moment, she thought Alessandro was out of her reach, but put him within reach…

More importantly, put her within his reach.

Proximity, natural attraction, the continual contrast between what he had and what he could have, temptation…

“Peter Owen always wears white tails for his act. You would need a formal evening dress,” Isabella cautioned, hoping Gina’s wardrobe extended to something…fetching. A woman with a fine bosom could afford to show some cleavage.

“I do have one I think would be suitable,” Gina assured her.

“Good!” Isabella smiled. “All three of my grandsons will be at the wedding. I must confess I like showing off my finds to them.”

She flushed, her thick lashes sweeping down to veil a rush of anguished emotion in her eyes, but not before Isabella had glimpsed it.

“I’ll do my best to make you proud of me, Mrs. King.”

“I’m sure you will, my dear.”

And not least because Gina now knew Alessandro would be there.

Probably Michelle, too…unfortunately.

Though Isabella was counting on Gina outshining Michelle next Saturday night…in her own very appealing and extremely suitable way.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.