SHE was not going to do the girly thing and burst into
tears, Jodie told herself, gritting her teeth. It might be
growing dark; she might be feeling sick with that fa-
miliar stomach-churning fear that she had made a big
mistake — and about more than just the direction she had
taken in that last village she had passed through what
seemed like for ever ago; tonight might be the night she
and John should have been spending at their romantic
honeymoon hotel — their first night as hus- band and
wife...but she was not going to cry. Not now, and in fact
not ever, ever again over any man. Not ever. Love was out
of her life and out of her vocabulary and it was going to
stay out.
She winced as her small hire car lurched into a deep rut
in the road — a road which was definitely climbing towards
the mountains when it should have been dropping down
towards the sea.
Her cousin and his wife, her only close family since her
parents' death in a car accident when Jodie was nineteen,
had tried to dissuade her from coming to Italy.
"But everything's paid for," she had reminded them. "And
besides..."
Besides, she wanted to be out of the country, and she
wanted to stay out of it for the next few weeks during the
build-up to John's marriage to his new fiancée, Louise,
who had taken Jodie's place in his heart, in his life, and
in his future.
Not that she'd told her cousin David or Andrea, his wife,
about that part of her decision as yet. She knew they
would have tried to persuade her to stay at home. But when
home was a very small Cotswold market town, where everyone
knew you and knew that you had been dumped by your fiancé
less than a month before your wedding because he had
fallen in love with someone else, it was not somewhere
anyone with any pride could possibly want to be. And Jodie
had as much pride as the next woman, if not more. So much
more that she longed to be able to prove to everyone, but
most especially to John and Louise themselves, how little
John's treachery mattered to her. Of course the most
effective way to do that would be to turn up at their
wedding with another man — a man who was better-looking
and richer than John, and who adored her. Oh, if only...
In your dreams, she scoffed mentally at herself. There was
no way that that scenario was likely to happen.
"Jodie, you can't possibly go to Italy on your own," David
had protested, whilst he and Andrea had ex- changed
meaningful looks she hadn't been supposed to see. It was
probably just as well they were now in Australia on an
extended visit to Andrea's parents.
"Why not?" she had demanded with brittle empha-
sis. "After all, that's the way I'm going to be spending
the rest of my life."
"Jodie, we both understand how hurt and shocked you are,"
Andrea had added gently. "Don't think that David and I
don't feel for you, but behaving like this isn't going to
help."
"It will help me," Jodie had answered stubbornly.
* * * It had been John's idea that they spend their honey-
moon exploring Italy's beautiful Amalfi coast.
Jodie winced as the hire car hit another pothole in the
road, which was so badly maintained that it was becoming
increasingly uncomfortable to drive.
Her leg was aching badly, and she was beginning to regret
not having chosen to spend her first night closer to
Naples. Where on earth was she? Nowhere near where she was
supposed to be, she suspected. The directions for the
small village set back from the coast had been almost
impossible to follow, detailing roads she had not been
able to find on her tourist map. If John had been here
with her none of this would have happened. But John was
not with her, and he was never going to be with her again.
She must not think of her now ex-fiancé, or the fact that
he had fallen out of love with her and in love with
someone else, or that he had been seeing that someone else
behind her back, or that virtually every- one in her home
village had apparently known about it apart from Jodie
herself. Louise, so Jodie's friends had now told her, had
made it obvious that she wanted and intended to have John
from the moment they had been introduced, following her
parents' move to the area. And Jodie, fool that she was,
had been oblivious to all of this, simply thinking that
Louise, as a newcomer, an outsider, was eager to make
friends. Now she was the outsider, Jodie re- flected
bitterly. She should have realised how shallow John was
when he had told her that he loved her 'in spite of her
leg'. She winced as the pain in it inten- sified.
She was never going to make the kind of mistake she had
made with John again. From now on her heart was going to
be impervious to 'love' — yes, even though that meant at
twenty-six she would be facing the rest of her life alone.
What made it worse was that John had seemed so
trustworthy, so honest and so kind. She had let him into
her life and, even more humiliatingly painful to
acknowledge now, into her fears and her dreams. No way was
she going to risk having another man treat her as John had
done — one minute swearing eternal love, the next...
And as for John himself, he was welcome to Louise, and
they were obviously suited to one an- other, too, since
they were both deceitful cheats and liars. But she, coward
that she was, could not face going home until the wedding
was over, until all the fuss had died down and until she
was not going to be the recipient of pitying looks, the
subject of hushed gossip.
"Well, let's look on the bright side," Andrea had said
lightly when she had realised Jodie was not going to be
persuaded to abandon her plans. "You never know — you
might meet someone in Italy and fall head over heels in
love. Italian men are so gorgeously sexy and passionate."
Italian men — or any kind of men — were off the life menu
for her from now on, Jodie told herself furi- ously. Men,
marriage, love — she no longer wanted anything to do with
any of them.
Angrily Jodie depressed the accelerator. She had no idea
where this appallingly bumpy road was going to take her,
but she wasn't going to turn back. From now on there would
be no U-turns in her life, no looking back in misery or
despair, no regrets about what might have been. She was
going to face firmly forward.
David and Andrea had been wonderfully kind to her,
offering her their spare room when she had sold her
cottage so that she could put the sale proceeds towards
the house she and John were buying — which had not, with
hindsight, been the most sensible of things to do — but
she couldn't live with her cousin and his wife for ever.
Luckily John had at least given her her money back, but
the break-up of their engagement had still cost her her
job, since she had worked for his father in the family
business. John was due to take over when his father
retired.
So now she had neither home nor job, and she was going to
be —
She yelped as the offside front wheel hit something hard,
the impact causing her to lurch forward pain- fully
against the constraint of her seat belt. How much further
was she going to have to drive before she found some form
of life? She was booked into a hotel tonight, and
according to her calculations she should have reached her
destination by now. Where on earth was she? The road was
climbing so steeply...
"You, I take it, are responsible for this? It has your
manipulative, destructive touch all over it, Caterina,"
Lorenzo Niccolo d'Este, Duce di Montesavro, ac- cused his
cousin-in-law with savage contempt as he threw his
grandmother's will onto the table between them.
"If your grandmother took my feelings into account when
she made her will, then that was because —"
"Your feelings!" Lorenzo interrupted her bitingly. "And
what feelings exactly would those be? The same feelings
that led to you bullying my cousin to his death?" He was
making no attempt whatsoever to con- ceal his contempt for
her.
Two ugly red patches of angry colour burned be- trayingly
on Caterina's immaculately made-up face.
"I did not drive Gino to his death. He had a heart attack."
"Yes, brought on by your behaviour." 'You had better be
careful what you accuse me of, Lorenzo, otherwise..."
"You dare to threaten me?" Lorenzo demanded. "You may have
managed to deceive my grandmother, but you cannot deceive
me."
He turned his back on her to pace the stone-flagged floor
of the Castillo's Great Hall, his pent-up fury rendering
him as savagely dangerous as a caged an- imal of prey.
"Admit it," he challenged as he swung round again to
confront her. "You came here deliberately intend- ing to
manipulate and deceive an elderly dying woman for your own
ends."
"You know that I have no desire to quarrel with you,
Lorenzo," Caterina protested. "All I want —"
"I already know what you want," Lorenzo reminded her
coldly. "You want the privilege, the position, and the
wealth that becoming my wife would give you — and it is
for that reason that you harried a confused elderly woman
you knew to be dying into changing her will. If you had
any compassion, any —" He broke off in disgust. "But of
course you do not, as I already know."
His furious contempt had caused the smile to fade from her
lips and her body to stiffen into hostility as she
abandoned any pretence of innocence.
"You can make as many accusations as you wish, Lorenzo,
but you cannot prove any of them," she taunted him.
"Perhaps not in a court of law, but that does not alter
their veracity. My grandmother's notary has told me that
when she summoned him to her bedside in order to alter her
will, she confided to him the reason that she was doing
so."
Lorenzo saw the look of unashamed triumph in Caterina's
eyes.
"Admit it, Lorenzo. I have bested you. If you want the
Castillo — and we both know that you do — then you will
have to marry me. You have no other choice." She laughed,
throwing back her head to ex- pose the olive length of her
throat, and Lorenzo had a savage impulse to close his
hands around it and squeeze the laughter from her it. He
did want the Castillo. He wanted it very badly. And he was
deter- mined to have it. And he was equally determined
that he was not going to be trapped into marrying Caterina.
"You told my grandmother I loved you and wanted to make
you my wife. You told her that the fact that you were so
newly widowed, and that your husband Gino was my cousin,
meant that society would frown upon an immediate marriage
between us. And you told her you were afraid my passion
would over- whelm me and that I would marry you anyway and
thus bring disgrace upon myself, didn't you?" he ac- cused
her. "You knew how nai¨ve my grandmother was, how ignorant
of modern mores. You tricked her into believing you were
confiding in her out of con- cern for me. You told her you
didn't know what to do or how you could protect me. Then
you "helped" her to come up with the solution of changing
her will, so that instead of inheriting the Castillo from
her — as her previous will had stated — I would only
inherit it if I was married within six weeks of her death.
As you told her, everyone knows how important to me the
Castillo is. And then, as though that were not enough, you
conceived the added inducement of per- suading her to add
that if I did not marry within those six weeks, you would
inherit the Castillo. You led her to believe that in
making those changes she was en- abling me to marry you,
because I could say I was fulfilling the terms of her will
rather than following the dictates of my heart."