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‘No. Tonight it’s just you and me, cara, and that full moon out there. A drink?’ Without waiting for her to answer he selected a glass for her and poured from a wine bottle already uncorked on the counter.

‘Thanks.’ Victoria glanced at the glass he handed her, eyeing the rich dark red liquid.

‘To your quick recovery,’ he said, raising his own glass.

‘To a successful dinner,’ she returned, raising her glass.

‘With such a guest, dinner can only be successful,’ he replied gallantly.

‘Your Royal Highness is too kind,’ she murmured, fluttering her eyelashes and bowing her head comically before taking a sip of wine.

‘Come, come, Victoria.’ He laughed. ‘No formal titles, I beg you. I am Rodolfo to you, and that is all. Let’s step out and drink this on the balcony, shall we? The evening is quite fresh. Do you think you’ll be warm enough?’ He came around the counter and, slipping an arm around her, escorted her out onto the wide balcony which overlooked the floodlit gardens of the castello.

‘The garden is divine,’ she murmured, staring down at the manicured parterres, the flowerbeds and trimmed hedges, and listening to the soft sound of water pouring from a fountain. She breathed in the familiar scent that seemed to permeate the whole island, giving it an aura all of its own.

‘No, bella, the garden is pleasant—you are exquisite,’ he said, stopping himself from kissing her, knowing that if he allowed things to get out of hand right now there would be no pasta, no dinner, merely an immediate move into the bedroom.

If she was willing.

The question was an intriguing one: few women had ever refused him. He did not consider himself arrogant, merely self-confident, sure of his own charm and ability to seduce. He’d never been unfair or unjust, and had always acted the gentleman. Simply, he hadn’t allowed his heart to get involved. Victoria was beguiling and lovely, and she reminded him of Giada—but was he really going to stop playing by his rules?

Together they stood leaning against the balustrade of the wide balcony. The moon shone, full and bright, like a huge floodlight, illuminating the sky, the sea and the castle. The water below shimmered, as did the sparkling lights of the large yachts at anchor in the bay. It was magical, enchanting, unreal. And as Victoria sipped her wine she wondered if all this was nothing but a dream.

After a little while they went inside. Rodolfo directed her to a large antique sideboard, where the plates and cutlery were kept, while he busied himself tossing chopped onions and garlic in olive oil, selecting herbs and popping them into a large frying pan while next to it a huge pot of water simmered, awaiting the pasta. Then he switched on some music: a Baroque instrumental. It was soft and soothing, the quality of the sound perfect.

As she laid the table Victoria let out a sigh. How wonderful it must be to live with a man like this, in such an atmosphere, she reflected, to share such joyful and intimate moments. She barely remembered that he was a prince, simply looked at him as a man on whose company she was fast learning to depend.

And what a man.

Out of the corner of her eye she observed him, watched him, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal the taut tanned muscles of his forearms, his hair flicked back as he concentrated on his task. He wore an old pair of tight jeans and espadrilles. She swallowed. What, she wondered, would follow the pasta?

Nothing that she didn’t want, she realised ruefully.

For it had become abundantly clear that, however much Rodolfo might want her, he was too much of gentleman to do anything that she might regret or deplore. The thought left her limp with longing. To know that he respected her, that he wanted her yet would be willing to abstain from demonstrating his desire in any way that she might find offensive made him all the more attractive, and left her feeling more vulnerable and tender than she ever had before.

Unconsciously she moved towards the kitchen, came and stood next to him and watched as he stirred the pasta, threw herbs deftly into the pan, added a touch of salt and pepper, then turned and smiled into her eyes.

‘It smells delicious,’ she murmured, taking a deep breath.

‘Wait until you taste it,’ he replied, concentrating again on his undertaking. ‘Here.’ He lifted the wooden spoon and dropped some of the sauce on her hand. ‘Try it.’

‘Mmm. It’s scrumptious.’

‘Good. Now, this is the important moment,’ he said as the water boiled and he tipped the pasta in. ‘The pasta must only stay in for three minutes, so that it is al dente.’

‘Can I do anything?’ she asked, enjoying the sight of him intensely focused on his cooking.

‘Yes. Why not pour us some more wine?’ He flashed her a devilish grin, his teeth gleaming white against his tan. ‘I assure you this will be the best pasta you have ever tasted, cara mia. I am an expert.’

‘And modest to boot,’ she giggled, as she busied herself pouring from the bottle of red wine that sat on the counter.

‘I see little point in being modest when one knows one is the best,’ he said, dropping fettuccine into the pot with a flourish.

‘I promise to give you an honest opinion,’ she said, eyes flashing with humour as she handed him his glass.

‘Thanks. Now, join me here and watch the maestro at work.’

Rolling her eyes in amusement, Victoria poured the other glass then stood next to Rodolfo. The sauce smelled delicious. She could detect several fragrances, including basil. But the rest she could not identify. ‘What is that?’ she asked, sniffing.

‘None of your business,’ he responded, tweaking a strand of her hair. ‘It’s a secret recipe.’

Victoria made a moue with her mouth as he circled his arm around her and stirred the pan with a wooden spoon with his free hand. Then he dropped a light kiss on the top of her head. She looked up and their eyes met.

‘Not now,’ he said, shaking his head wryly. ‘I’m afraid this is the critical moment.’ Taking his arm away, he grabbed the pot, tipped the pasta out into a large sieve, then replaced it on the stove and stirred in some olive oil.

Victoria looked on, amazed at how professionally he handled things. Next he was tossing the pasta back in the pot and adding the savoury sauce.

‘There,’ he said, mixing with two large spoons, ‘ready to serve, signorina.’

Removing the large pot from the stove, he took it over to the table and placed it on a mat, serving large portions onto ceramic plates.

‘Here you go,’ he said, placing it before her. ‘Now, eat while it’s hot, or it’ll be no good.’ Then he served himself and, sitting down opposite, raised his glass.

‘Salute.’

‘Salute,’ she responded, raising hers.

‘Buon apetito.’

Carefully Victoria twiddled some pasta onto her fork, thankful that she’d learned to eat it properly. As she dropped it into her mouth she let out a tiny groan of appreciation. ‘It’s simply delicious,’ she murmured once she could speak. ‘I was hoping I could find something wrong with it, but frankly I would be lying. It’s perfect.’

‘Grazie.’ He smiled, inclined his head, and began eating.

For a few moments they ate in silence, enjoying the scrumptious dish. Victoria thought suddenly that she could go on doing this for ever and never be bored. He was so charming, so amusing, so easy to be around. Then she pulled herself up with a jolt. This was a ridiculous way of thinking. Here she was, spending a few days in this man’s company. She mustn’t allow her imagination to run away with her.

Rodolfo watched her across the table, thinking that he had rarely spent such a pleasant, easy-going evening. Victoria was unpretentious, lovely and natural. It was a big change from the sophisticated models he usually shared his time with.

By the time they’d finished dessert both were extremely relaxed with one another.

Coffee was taken out on the balcony, followed by a small glass of limoncello, an after-dinner drink. It was past ten o’ clock when suddenly Victoria’s mobile phone rang.

Rodolfo passed her handset to her.

‘That’s weird. Anne already called me. Hello?’

‘Hi, babe.’

‘Who is this?’ she asked blankly.