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      About the Author

      LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Sir Roger Moore, Sir Alec Guinness and Sir John Gielgud. She also camped out with lions in Africa and has many other unusual experiences which 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 the Romance Writers of America RITA^® award, Song of the Lorelei in 1990 and His Brother’s Child in 1998, in the Best Traditional Romance category. You can visit her website at www.lucy-gordon.com.

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      Prologue

      IT WAS four o’clock and almost time for Signora Rinucci’s birthday celebration to begin. Gleaming black limousines were gliding up the hill to the Villa Rinucci in its place of eminence, overlooking the Bay of Naples.

      The food and wine were laid out on the great terrace of the villa, best Neapolitan spaghetti and clams, fruit grown in the rich volcanic soil of Vesuvius, wine from the same place. A feast for the gods.

      High above, the sky was the deepest blue. Far below, the blue was reflected in the bay, sparkling in the afternoon sun.

      ‘A perfect day.’ Toni Rinucci joined his wife on the terrace where she was looking down the hill, and laid his arm gently around her shoulder. ‘Everything as it should be.’

      He was a stocky man of sixty with grey hair and a heavy face that broke easily into a grin. As always, his eyes were tender as he gazed at his wife.

      She was fifty-four but could have passed for her late forties. Her figure was still as slim as a girl’s. Everything about her spoke of grace and elegance, not to mention marriage to a rich man who delighted in spending money on her.

      Despite some inevitable lines, her face was still beautiful. Not pretty; it was too strong for that.

      Her nose was large for a woman, slightly flattened at the bridge, dominating her features, speaking of character and decision.

      Her mouth was wide and generous, and could break into a smile that many men had found breathtaking. She offered that smile to her husband now, her fingers caressing the diamonds at her throat.

      ‘And your gift to me is the best ever,’ she told him, ‘as it is every year.’

      ‘But it’s not the gift you really want, is it?’ he said softly. ‘Do you think I don’t know that?’

      She seemed to give herself a little shake.

      ‘That’s all in the past, caro Toni. I don’t dwell on it.’

      He knew she didn’t speak the truth. The secret that had lain between them for the thirty years of their marriage was as potent now as always. But, as always, she would not hurt him by saying that her happiness was incomplete. And, as always, he pretended to believe her.

      Two men appeared in the doorway that led from the house to the terrace, and stopped at the sight of the couple holding each other tenderly.

      Luke, the more heavily built of the two, grinned at the sight.

      ‘There’s no time for that, you two,’ he said fondly. ‘You have guests arriving in a minute.’

      ‘Send them away,’ Toni said, his eyes on his wife.

      Primo, tall, with brilliant eyes and a laid-back air that proclaimed his Neapolitan ancestry, shook his head in mock despair.

      ‘Incorrigible,’ he told his brother. ‘Maybe we should leave them alone and take everyone off to a nightclub.’

      ‘You already spend too much time in nightclubs, my son,’ Hope said, coming over to kiss Primo’s cheek.

      ‘A man needs a little innocent fun,’ he said, giving her a beguiling smile.

      ‘Hm!’ She stood back and surveyed him tenderly. ‘My opinion of your ‘innocence’ is best not expressed at this moment.’

      ‘No need,’ he said wickedly. ‘Not when you’ve expressed it so often before. I’m a lost case. Give up on me.’

      ‘I never give up on any of my sons,’ she said, adding softly, ‘None of them.’

      In the brief silence that followed Primo and Luke exchanged glances, each understanding the hidden meaning of those words.

      ‘One day, Mamma,’ Primo said gently.

      ‘Yes, one day. One day he will be here. I know it in my heart, although I cannot tell how or when it will happen. But I will not die until he has come to me. Of that I am certain.’

      Toni had drawn close to his wife in time to hear her last words.

      ‘Cara,’ he said gently, ‘no sad thoughts today.’

      ‘But I am not sad. I know that one day my son will find me. That can only make me happy. Ah, there you are!’

      With a bright smile she turned away to greet the first guests. The newcomers had been ushered out on to the terrace by three young men whose facial resemblance proclaimed them kin.

      ‘Mamma,’ the tallest of the three called to her, indicating the guests, ‘look who’s here.’

      This was Francesco, who might have been his mother’s secret favourite, or might not. It was marvellous how many of her sons thought he alone was the possessor of the talisman.

      The other two were Ruggiero and Carlo, the twin sons she had borne to Toni. At twenty-eight they were the youngest. Although not identical, they were much alike, both ridiculously handsome, with the same air of being ready for anything. Especially if it was a party.

      And this was going to be the party of parties. As the light faded and the dark red sun plunged into the bay the lights came on in the Villa Rinucci and the guests streamed up the hill, bearing gifts for Hope Rinucci’s fifty-fourth birthday.

      Those present included everybody who was anybody in Naples, with a fair sprinkling of guests who had made the journey from Rome, or even as far away as Milan, for the Rinucci family was one of the more notable in Italy, with extensive connections in business and politics.

      The woman at the centre of it was English, even after