Welcome to the new collection of Harlequin Presents!
Don’t miss contributions from favorite authors Michelle Reid, Kim Lawrence and Susan Napier, as well as the second part of Jane Porter’s THE DESERT KINGS series, Lucy Gordon’s passionate Italian, Chantelle Shaw’s Tuscan tycoon and Jennie Lucas’s sexy Spaniard! And look out for Trish Wylie’s brilliant debut Presents book, Her Bedroom Surrender!
We’d love to hear what you think about Harlequin Presents. E-mail us at [email protected] or join in the discussions at www.iheartpresents.com and www.sensationalromance.blogspot.com, where you’ll also find more information about books and authors!
There are times in a man’s life…
when only seduction will settle old scores!
Pick up our exciting series of revenge-filled
romances—they’re recommended, and red-hot!
Available only from Harlequin Presents®.
Lucy Gordon
THE ITALIAN’S PASSIONATE REVENGE
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
All about the author…
Lucy Gordon
LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Roger Moore, Sir Alec Guinness and Sir John Gielgud. She’s also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences that have often provided the background for her books. She is married to a Venetian, whom she met while on holiday in Venice. They got engaged within two days.
Two of her books have won Romance Writers of America Rita® Awards, Song of the Lorelei, in 1990, and His Brother’s Child, in 1998, in the Best Traditional Romance category.
You can visit her Web site at www.lucy-gordon.com
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 ONE
WHOis he? Why has this stranger come to my husband’s funeral and why does he stand there, staring at me across the grave?
‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—’
In a corner of a London cemetery the preacher intoned the words over the open grave, while the mourners shivered in the cold February drizzle and the dead man’s widow wished it could all soon be over.
Ashes and dust, she brooded. A perfect description of my marriage.
Elise ventured a glance around the others and saw only blank faces, just as she’d expected. Ben Carlton had had business associates, but no friends. His life had been a litter of shady deals and shabby relationships.
Including ours, Elise thought. A wretched marriage, for wretched reasons, brought to a wretched end.
Many of the people here were unfamiliar. Some she’d met at the lavish dinner parties Ben had enjoyed giving, and she vaguely recalled their faces. Some she’d seen at functions hosted by his firm. Others she’d never seen. They all looked alike, except for one man.
He stood on the other side of the grave, his lean face expressionless, his eyes hard as they watched her. As the last rites dragged on, Elise realised that he never looked at the coffin, only at herself. He had a fixed gaze, with something unyielding about it, as though by staring her down he could find the answer to a question.
She tried to tear her eyes away, but she couldn’t. It was almost as though he was ordering her to look at him, refusing to release her. She fought him but, to her dismay, she could feel her will yielding to his.
He was in his late thirties, tall, dark-haired, with a commanding air that seemed to reduce everyone else to insignificance. He spoke briefly as he stepped aside to let a lady pass. It was only a few words, but Elise heard the Continental accent and wondered if he was attached to Farnese Internationale, the great Italian-based firm that had recently hired Ben, an act that still baffled her.
Elise hadn’t known much about her late husband’s business affairs, beyond a vague suspicion that others considered him an oaf. Nothing had surprised her more than seeing him head-hunted by a powerful multinational corporation.
Ben had told her about it, smirking with self-congratulation. He’d known about her poor opinion of him and had relished the chance to prove her wrong.
‘You just wait until we’re living in Rome, in the lap of luxury,’ he crowed. ‘The apartment will make your eyes water.’
That was how she discovered that he’d already bought the apartment, without consulting her. Worse, he’d even sold their London home, behind her back.
‘I don’t want to go back to Rome,’ she told him furiously. ‘And I’m amazed that you do. Do you think I can forget—?’
‘Don’t talk rubbish. That business was over long ago. I’ve got an important job and we’ll have to do a lot of entertaining. You should be looking forward to it. It’ll give you a chance to use your Italian again. You always spoke it well.’
‘You said yourself, that was a long time ago,’ she reminded him.
‘Look, I’m going to need you,’ he said in the brusque way he always used to end arguments. ‘I don’t speak the damned language and you do, so don’t give me a hard time.’
‘Plus you got one jump ahead by getting our money out of the country before I found out.’
He looked pleased.
‘Just in case you were getting any ideas about divorce—’ he chuckled ‘—I know what’s been flitting through your head.’
‘Perhaps I’ll decide to go my own way and earn my own living,’ she mused.
How that had made him hoot with laughter!
‘You? After all these years of living the good life? Never! You’ve gone soft.’
Elise had ignored his rudeness and selfish complacency, being used to it. Perhaps he was right and she could no longer function independently. It was a dispiriting thought.
With their house sold, they’d moved into The Ritz Hotel until the day of departure. But that day had never come. Ben had died of a heart attack while enjoying an assignation in another hotel with a woman who’d called an ambulance, then vanished before it could arrive.
Elise shivered. It was late afternoon and the light had faded, turning the mourners into shadows. Still she sensed the stranger watching her in the gloom.
At last it was over and people began to move, reminding her to perform her duties as hostess.
‘I do hope you can come to the reception,’ she said again and again. ‘It would have meant so much to Ben.’
‘I trust your invitation includes me,’ said the man. ‘You don’t know me, but I’d been looking forward to your husband joining my firm. My name is Vincente Farnese.’
She knew the name at once. She’d heard it often from Ben’s lips—one of the most powerful men in Italy—had the ear of government ministers—influential—rich—
‘And he wants me to join him,’ Ben had rejoiced. ‘He searched for me, said only the right man would do for the position—offered me a fortune—said it was worth anything to get me—’
