The Brides of Bella Rosa: Beauty and the Reclusive Prince

She was right. The sauce filled his mouth with a feeling like ecstasy. He’d never had anything quite like it. Amazing how one little herb could make such a difference.

“Well?” she asked, watching him like a hawk.

He looked at her. He could hardly keep his eyes off her. She was so alive, so vibrant, so expressive. There was something real about her, something basic and decent and appealing in a new way. He felt a pull toward her, a definite attraction, something he couldn’t deny.

But how could that be? She was so different from the wife he had loved so much. The woman he still missed so much.

Laura had been blonde, ethereal, slender and light as a bird. She had looked very much in life like the angel she had surely become since. But this woman was very different—full and round and earthy. And, to his eternal regret, he ached for her right now as he’d seldom ached for a woman before.

He looked back down at the bowl, avoiding her bright gaze. It was insane to let her stay. He had to get her out of here before he lost control and did something crazy.

The worst of it was, it was quite evident that she had not come here to seduce him at all. She was dressed modestly in a simple peasant blouse and full skirt. There was no cleavage showing, no revealing exposure of skin. She was honest and straightforward and she wasn’t playing games. He liked her for that. It showed a certain respect for him and for the dilemma between them. The fact that he could detect the beauty of her body beneath all the swishing fabric was beside the point. She wasn’t using it as a trump card—even though she probably sensed it wouldn’t be hard to do.

Resolutely he lifted his gaze and met hers.

“Magnifico, Isabella,” he told her. “This is spectacular. I can fully understand why your cuisine is famous and people come from miles around to enjoy it.”

She brightened with happiness at his words. “You’ve heard of it, then?”

“Oh, yes,” he admitted.

She radiated joy. “I knew once you tried it—”

“And I understand how important it is to you,” he interrupted before she could have a chance to make assumptions his admission didn’t quite warrant. “But that doesn’t change the danger that you would face every time you went across that divide above the river.” His hand swept out in a royal gesture. “If I had a house full of servants, I could have one of them go and harvest the weed for you. But at present, Renzo and I live here alone. There is no one to help out.”

Isabella bit down hard on her lower lip, keeping herself under tight control. His constant emphasis on the danger of going near the river was clearly overstated and there had to be a reason for it. She was pretty sure it had something to do with the death of his wife. What had happened that had made him so sure the place wasn’t safe for her? She wanted to know, but she didn’t want to push him. A horrible vision of tractors mowing down the hillside if he got annoyed enough did the trick.

Back to the plan.

“We can talk about that later,” she said quickly. “Right now I just want you to enjoy this.”

He gave her a faint, reluctant smile, his eyes glowing. “I do, Isabella. More than you know.”

She flushed. It was odd to watch how he still tended to turn his face away from her, as though trying to keep her from seeing the scars. No matter what he did, he looked gorgeous to her. How could it be otherwise when he was blessed with those huge, emotional dark eyes and that wide, sensual mouth?

He looked like a poet, she decided. A poet with a tender, sensitive soul purposefully disguised by his muscular form and his harsh, cynical manner, all protected by a wall of ice to keep the world at bay. She knew about his physical scars. What had hurt him so deeply that he couldn’t be free? That was the mystery he carried with him.

“Tell me about this place,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows as she watched him eat. “Did you grow up here?”

“Pretty much.” He took another bite, savored it, and sighed with pleasure, then went on. “My father tended to drag us all over the continent, staying at one property after another. He was quite a gambler, you see, and he was always looking for another game. But when I was young we spent a lot of time here. I would ride my pony all over these grounds.”

“Mmm. And you didn’t fall into the river?”

His face darkened. “That is not a matter to joke about,” he said curtly. “Our river is a dangerous place. We didn’t realize how dangerous at the time.” He looked at her face and winced. “I should have caught you before you hit the rocks.”

She marveled at him. He seemed to think it was his job to save the world—or at least all females that came within his purview. That was too big a role to take on for any man. She wished she knew how to tell him so. Instead, she shrugged.

“It will heal. It will be gone in no time at all.”

He heard her blithe words but they didn’t placate him. He couldn’t help but feel that the water had almost claimed another victim that night. If he hadn’t been there to grab her…

He shook his head again and swore softly.

“And as you grew older?” she asked. “Did you still stay here often?”

He pushed away thoughts of the river and let himself look back instead. “Not as often. My mother died when I was young and, after that, I went to live with my aunt, Marcello’s mother.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured about his mother. She hesitated to tell him they had something in common. Was she being presumptuous? Never mind, she told him anyway.

“I lost my mother early, too,” she told him. “I can hardly remember what she looked like.”

“Where were you sent to live?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I stayed right where I was. Someone had to take care of my father, and my two little brothers.”

He stared. “Surely you were a little young for that.”

She smiled. “Yes, much too young. But we didn’t have a choice. We didn’t have the money or the other ‘properties’ like you did. We made do.”

His face twisted. “You mean, you made do. But at least you had your family around you.”

She looked up, surprised. “Where was your father?”

He gazed at her coolly. “He was despondent. My mother’s death hit him hard.” His gaze darkened. “We didn’t see much of him after that.”

“But you had your sister.”

He shook his head. “Not really. She went to live with another aunt. I had a pretty lonely childhood when you come right down to it. You were lucky to stay with your family, even if it did mean you ended up being the support for everyone.” He smiled at her. “That was the way it was, wasn’t it?”

She frowned, feeling bad for him. At least she had her father and had benefited from his love and counsel all her life. She didn’t know how she would have made it without that. Hearing about his experiences gave her a new perspective on what family could mean to a child.

“But I soon went away to school in Switzerland,” he continued, “and then to university in England. And then…then I married.”

The young wife he’d lost tragically. Should she say anything? She wasn’t sure, so she murmured condolences again, and he brushed them aside.

“Never mind all that,” he said crisply, looking at her over the rim of his wine glass. “Tell me more about you, Isabella. Tell me about your hopes and dreams and how many young men you’ve been in love with.”

Here was the opening she’d been waiting for.

“Exactly what I planned to do,” she told him cheerfully. “Well, not counting the boyfriends. They shall remain nameless, if you don’t mind.” She made a face at him. “But while you’re finishing your meal, I’m going to give you a small background about my family and our restaurant.” She gave a little bow. “With your permission,” she added pertly.

He waved a hand her way, his attention back on the delicious food before him.

“Carry on,” he said kindly.

“Thank you.” She settled into the chair that faced his. “First about my father. His name is Luca Casali. His mother, Rosa, started a restaurant here in Monta Correnti after her husband died and left her with a young family to support. She used a special recipe she got from a secret source, and her food was well received.”

He looked up with a slight smile, his gaze skimming over her face. He liked the way she talked. She was so animated.