Then why, amidst the shocking sizzle of energy, the explosion of heat and desire, had she felt such a connection, as if he’d reached inside her and forged a link between their hearts?

He was supposed to be the enemy, determined on wresting the duchy out of Della Torre hands. Yet he said he no longer planned to do that. What if she could trust that? What if having Leo at her side could actually be a good thing?

If he helped guide and support her, what might she achieve then? He talked to her as an equal and he’d listened to her, not dismissing her ideas and dreams for the future but actually giving advice. When had her family ever done that for her?

It was a long time since she’d trusted anyone enough to tell them what she was really feeling. She’d learned the hard way to keep her own counsel, and hug her dreams close to her heart. They’d have only ever been trampled on otherwise.

Now she wondered if he did the same. Perhaps all that aloofness was for protection and behind that cool facade beat a heart as full of hopes and crushed dreams as hers. It was a startling thought.

Another vulnerability, something to tug at your heart, something that could make you love him.

Love him?

That would have disaster written all over it. Leo had made it clear he wasn’t interested in love and that was what she dreamed of. A man to stand at her side because he loved her.

Violetta stared out of the library window. Rain streamed down the other side, blurring her view of the real world beyond the walls of this house. But the real world was out there and after this storm had passed, she’d have to return to it.

This time with Leo, and the conflicting things he made her feel would all be back in their proper perspective.

When she retreated to her room, across the single bed lay a garment bag. On top sat a note. A postcard, to be precise. On it, written in a bold hand, was:

Meet me at the foot of the stairs. Seven p.m. sharp. Formal attire required.

Violetta unzipped the bag and gasped as the costume inside was revealed. Not so much costume but a gorgeous gown.

Leo had chosen something so far removed from her wedding dress as it was possible to find. A fluid, feather-covered number, screaming old Hollywood glamour. The demure neckline ran along her collarbone, the back dipped low to reveal her shoulder blades. There was even some underwear: pale pink French knickers. A jug of hot water sat on the dresser. A fluffy towel and fresh bar of scented soap sat beside it.

She was touched by all the effort he’d made for her, but what was he up to?

At seven p.m.—sharp—she approached the top of the stairs. The faux ostrich feathers on her dress shimmered as she walked. She’d left her hair down, brushed until it shone, and swept it over one shoulder. As the note had expressly said formal attire, she was wearing Elisabetha’s tiara again.

Waiting for her in the hallway below stood Leo. Her foolish heart skipped a beat.

In tails and white tie, his blue sash running across his chest beneath his tailcoat, he was every girl’s fantasy prince made flesh. Staggeringly handsome. She couldn’t drag her eyes from his tall figure as she descended.

He paid her in kind, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. Lingering on her breasts, her hips. The gown slithered around her, and she felt barely dressed beneath his searing gaze.

‘Stunning...’ he said, in a low gravelly tone.‘Tu sembre una grand duchessa.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, rather unevenly. ‘But I actually feel like a fairy princess.’

‘So you are. I think I’m a little bewitched. I had an idea that gown would suit you but...’ He waved his hand, indicating her dress. ‘It’s quite perfect.’

She sent him a crooked smile. ‘Not at the back.’ She turned to show him. ‘I had to set to work with safety pins to make it fit.’

He gave the new view she’d presented a thorough appraisal.

‘No, the rear view is just as ravishing.’

She flushed at his compliment. ‘So we’re Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers inTop Hat?’

‘Despite that dress I was thinking more Fred and Rita Hayworth.’ He leant closer and said with his mouth against her ear. ‘Because he always said she was his favourite partner.’

As warm lips shifted over sensitive skin Violetta stifled a moan of pleasure. Somehow she managed to say, ‘So what’s all this about?’

‘Grand Duchessa, isn’t it obvious? It’s your birthday.’ He held out an arm. ‘And your celebratory dinner is about to be served.’

He’d madedinner? She wanted to ask from what, but her voice wouldn’t work. The dashing man beside her had robbed her of her breath. His kindness now had touched her deeply. Yesterday she’d jilted him and today he’d made all this effort for her. He led her to the dining room. Where a candelabra sat on the table set for two. There was a crisp white tablecloth, the glitter of silver cutlery, the finest wine glasses and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket.