Cesare turned to look at Lizzie only when she reached the altar.

      Eyes the colour of melted bronze assailed her and she stopped breathing, gripped by the ferocious force of will in that appraisal. He had no doubts, she interpreted. He knew exactly what he was doing, had come to terms with the drawbacks, and was concentrating on the endgame.

      She had to do the same, Lizzie told herself urgently. She had to stop trying to personalise their relationship and stop wondering whether or not he would kiss her after they had been pronounced man and wife. Such treacherous thoughts were far removed from businesslike behaviour and utterly inappropriate, she scolded herself in exasperation.

      ‘You look fantastic,’ Cesare murmured softly as he threaded the wedding band on to her finger, and she followed suit, copying his manoeuvre with less cool and more nerves.

      Indeed, Cesare was taken aback by just how fabulous she looked. The effect she had on him was ever so slightly unnerving. It was his libido, he told himself impatiently.