Chapter One
Amanda Caselli frowned as she watched her mother, whom she adored, board the Olivia II.
"Stop looking so worried. Lizzy will be fine." Amanda cast a rueful glance over at her close friend, Sarah.
"I know what you're thinking," Sarah went on. "Lizzy will probably meet some dashing and divinely handsome widower aboard ship and have a reckless romance."
"Or come home with another useless, mind-less husband," Amanda said cynically. Lizzy's flightiness and poor judgment where men were concerned provided a constant source of frustration for her daughter.
Amanda Brook Caselli had inherited a unique combination of genes from her ancestors. She was strikingly beautiful, an almost perfect blend of her great-grandmother Abi-gail's tawny skin; her Aunt Rebecca's glistening ebony hair; and her grandmother Daphne's deep violet eyes and lithe, stunning figure. But unlike any of her forebears, and most unlike her mother, Amanda was a very independent, practical, and shrewd young woman. And having been schooled in all the failed romantic plights of the previous Brook women, Aman-da's own views on love and marriage were, at the age of twenty-six, exceedingly callous. She was determined that, in her case, history was not going to repeat itself.
During her mother's six-week cruise Amanda received only a couple of postcards from Lizzy, each very benign. Maybe, Amanda thought, with what turned out to be false opti-mism, nothing catastrophic was going to hap-pen.
It was a late afternoon at the end of June, the precise day Lizzy had docked in New York, that Amanda received a phone call from Sarah. Sarah and Amanda had known each other since they were babies. They had gone to prep school and college together, and while their personalities and temperaments were as different as day and night, they had always been close friends. Sarah, conventional, soft-spoken, wholly committed to being a good wife and mother, was, in Amanda's opinion, an unliberated woman. But Amanda had always appreciated Sarah's uncritical friendship, warmth, and support. Sarah, while applauding Amanda's strength and convictions, knew that, hidden away in some secret place, Amanda felt weak and insecure. Though never discussed, that knowledge nonetheless reinforced a bond that went back to childhood.
Sarah's voice held a note of anxious anticipa-tion as she spoke into the receiver. "Where have you been all day? I've been trying to get you for hours."
Amanda sighed. "I'm a working girl, remember? And let me tell you, this catering business I've begun during my mother's absence is definitely work. I'm beginning to wonder if I should have quit my job at the art gallery, even though after two years of working there I'd really had enough. Anyway, it's impossible to get this new venture off to a good start if I don't give it my full attention."
"Are you beginning to have second thoughts about having sold Brook's?" Sarah asked, a hint of hesitation in her voice. Brook's, the Casellis' gourmet food emporium, had, been a Newport, Rhode Island, institution for generations. Unfortunately it had also been a failing business venture for years. Amanda sold it shortly after her mother took off for her cruise, and Sarah knew that Amanda was more than a little anxious about breaking the news to Lizzy.
Amanda sighed into the phone. "No. It had to be done. And Lizzy did give me full control over Brook's. Another year or two and we very likely would have been facing bankruptcy proceedings. I was lucky to get such a good price as it was. I know that this catering business stands a far better chance of producing profits." Forcing her spirits to rise, she said, "It will work out. I have only just begun."
"And you are a determined lass," Sarah said with a laugh. "Who did you hit today?"
"The Newport Yacht Club, The Elks, the Chamber of Commerce."
"And . . .?"
This time Amanda's sigh was even more weary. "They all have established catering services."
"Yes, and they're dreadful. Overdone meat, glutinous gravy, soggy peas, and starchy rice."
"Dreadful but cheap. At least I've got several private catering affairs lined up already, which is not bad for six weeks of advertising. In fact, I've got a birthday dinner party for twenty that I'm catering for tomorrow night here at the Glen. You've got to come and see what I've done with the place. Especially the dining room. I've dragged down silver candelabra and old-fashioned lace tablecloths from the attic. I had the old buffet refinished. I even dug up a beautifully carved antique harp in the basement. It might have belonged to my great-grandmother, Abigail. I had it fixed and restrung and found myself a harpist to play for tomorrow's dinner. It's really going to be perfect."
"Not quite." Sarah was finally forced to come to the main point of her phone call, a point she didn't relish making in the least.
Amanda paused. "Why not?"
"Your mother has returned. Or have you been so busy making hors d'oeuvres and souffles that you've forgotten?"
"No. Of course I haven't forgotten. I know her ship docked today, but she isn't due back in Newport before Monday. She plans to spend a few days in New York doing some shopping and visiting--"
"She did her shopping before she docked." Amanda sighed deeply into the receiver. "I gather we're not talking clothes."
Sarah hesitated." I was over at my mother's new apartment on Sutton Place when Lizzy stopped by for a brief visit. One of her typical whirlwind appearances." Sarah hesitated. "She's really gone and done it this time, Amanda. She's come home with--"
"Wait," Amanda said entreatingly. "I don't think I'm ready to hear this. I've got two dozen brioches to prepare tonight, at least five dozen canapes, twenty squabs . . . I don't need any more problems. Tomorrow night is going to be my first real test. These people have a lot of influence in Newport. If they're excited by my work and the setting, well, it could be my big break."
"Lizzy's not staying in New York for a few days, Amanda. Or a few hours. She's on her way to Newport. In fact, she's likely to walk in the door any moment--with an absolutely gorgeous young man in tow." Sarah could still vividly recall the look of utter shock on her mother's face, and very likely on hers as well, when Lizzy came waltzing into the Sutton Place apartment a few hours ago. She introduced them to a devastatingly handsome young man by the name of Nicholas Banat, who, Lizzy informed them, she'd invited to be her guest for a few weeks at her Newport estate. Sarah waited patiently for Amanda to absorb the shock of her news. She felt a pang of guilt, having been the one who'd so cavalierly told Amanda just six weeks ago not to worry about her mother.
It took Amanda a good minute to respond. "She hasn't . . . gone and gotten married again? She'd have wired me, at least. And what exactly do you mean by young?"
"Young, as in thirty. Maybe thirty-one or two. And did I say gorgeous?"
"Oh, God," Amanda muttered. "I thought I was going to be hitting her with a few big surprises. Who is he?"
"Maybe," Sarah said, "you'd better ask 'what is he?' first."
Amanda, who had propped the phone under her shoulder so that both hands were free to prepare her dough, grabbed the phone with powdery fingers. "What is he?"
"Well, as of this moment I assume he's unemployed. But for the past two months he's been the maître d' in the dining room of the Olivia II."
"My mother's come home with a waiter?" Amanda rubbed her face, leaving streaks of flour down her nose and across her forehead.
"A young, gorgeous waiter by the name of Nicholas Banat. He speaks with an unbelievably sexy Slavic accent. And he's incredibly suave and cultured--actually rather aristocratic."
"Which means he probably got his maître d' training in some classy Continental restaurant. Oh, Sarah, this is dreadful. I have enough to cope with without having to disengage my mother from the clutches of some sleazy gigolo. And speaking of disengaging, she wasn't wearing an engagement ring, was she?"
"I doubt he could afford to give her one."
"Well, little does Mr. Banat know that my elegant mother can't afford to give him the time of day. Lizzy's great at spending money, but she has this definite aversion to looking at bank statements. If this catering business doesn't take off, one of these days old Simon Legree, himself, is going to be tossing us out of Glen Gables."
"So pull your mother's friend aside and tell him the hard, cold facts."
Amanda pushed a strand of black hair behind her ear. "For one thing, he probably won't believe me. I mean, Glen Gables does make a rather impressive statement. If I tell him times are tough, he'll either think I'm handing him a line to get rid of him, or he'll try to talk my mother into converting the Glen into condos--and guess who'll play landlord. I know the type. I used to deal with those wheeler-dealers when I worked down at the gallery."
"What are you going to do, then?"
Amanda stared at the counter in front of her, which was strewn with flour, butter, and eggs.
"I'm going to pound the living daylights out of this dough," she said emphatically.
Which was precisely what she was doing when Nicholas Banat first entered the kitchen.
Her back was to him, and with her vengeful kneading of the dough plus the whir of five food processors, she didn't hear him walk in. Nicholas stood at the doorway watching her. What he saw was a tall, thin, but very shapely young woman, her narrow hips and tapered legs well defined in her tight-fitting jeans. Her arms were long and slender, her motions displaying a surprising strength. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He noted that it was darker than his own, and the overhead light showed her raven locks to have an incredible sheen. Like wet onyx, he thought, stepping over to one of the counters and popping a thin slice of smoked salmon into his mouth.
Amanda flicked off the switches on the food processors. That was when she heard the rustling of paper. She swirled around.
Nicholas Banat was opening the cellophane from a loaf of cocktail bread.
"Put that down," she snapped. "And how dare you sneak in here and scare me half to death."
Nicholas made no attempt to suppress a purely male smile of appreciation. The woman was strikingly beautiful, even with the white, powdery streaks, like leftover war paint, decorating her cheeks and hair. Her face was angular and delicate. There were faint hollows beneath high cheekbones, and her mouth was full and, he thought, very likely sensual when her lips weren't drawn in a tight line as they were now. But it was her eyes that held him. Her eyes were large; not round but almond-shaped; thick-lashed. And the color . . .there seemed no actual word that would describe that deep, luminous shade.
Amanda tossed her head back haughtily, trying desperately not to be distracted by this man's stunning physical presence. "I asked you to leave that bread alone."
He had to be Nicholas Banat. Sarah had said Banat was gorgeous, and that was a decided understatement. Nicholas Banat was devastating with his thick, dark hair; slate-gray eyes; well-defined, almost harsh, cheekbones; strong nose; and jutting jaw. He exuded an aura of raw masculinity that was so strong, Amanda flinched visibly.
He laughed, setting the package of bread back on the counter. He had a deep, throaty laugh with a tinge of mocking assurance.
He walked over to her, swatted her bottom, and said, "Make me a sandwich, then." His voice bore strong traces of a refined European accent.
Amanda was stunned. "How dare you!" she gasped.
He blithely ignored her rage and smiled off-handedly. "I'll have some of the Scottish salmon and a nice glass of white wine." He watched her eyes widen and smiled seductively. "I know you're busy, but you seem very capable. I'm sure fitting in a sandwich won't be that difficult for you to manage. Mrs. Caselli didn't tell me she was planning a big dinner party for our arrival." He lifted an apple from a crystal bowl and took a bite. "Don't tell her, but I detest those stuffy affairs. I tell you what, you fix me a light dinner," he said with a wink, "and I'll talk to Mrs. Caselli about getting you some extra help in here."
Amanda stared at him dumbfounded, her expression defiant. So he thought she was the hired help, did he? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Before she could tell him just what he could do about his starvation, Lizzy Caselli came whirling into the kitchen. At forty-nine, Lizzy was still a very attractive woman, although her love of the sun had caused her tanned complexion to show more lines around her eyes and the corners of her mouth than suited her age. She was a couple of inches smaller than her daughter. Her dark hair was professionally coiffed and streaked with pale blond highlights. She wore a pale mauve silk shantung suit, the Eton-cut jacket fastened by shiny mother-of-pearl buttons. Eyeing Nicholas first, she slipped her long, manicured fingers casually around his wrist. "Oh, there you are. I'd wondered where you'd run off to."
"I was just admiring your well-equipped . . .kitchen," Nicholas answered, his eyes dropping for a moment to Amanda's white jersey, which outlined firm, high breasts and a narrow waist.
Lizzy looked across at Amanda and smiled. "Ah, I see you've met my daughter." She was in the middle of saying, "Hello, darling. How are you?" when her smile clouded, her gaze taking in the transformed kitchen. "What in heaven's name-"
"Your daughter?" Nicholas was saying. Then he began to laugh in earnest. "I thought she was your cook."
Amanda glared at him.
"What is going on in here, Amanda?" Lizzy exclaimed, ignoring both her daughter's irate displeasure and Nicholas's amused surprise. She stared about the kitchen in befuddlement. "Where did all of this equipment come from?" She walked over to the huge restaurant stove.
"I bought it," Amanda said succinctly. "Why don't I tell you about it later . . . in private," she added tersely.
"I know you've always enjoyed mucking about in the kitchen, darling, but haven't you gone a bit far?"
"I'm not mucking about. I'm working."
"Working?" Lizzy Caselli continued to look confused. Work was not something she related to very well, never actually having worked a day in her life. Even Amanda's job at the art gallery didn't actually seem like work to Lizzy. She viewed it as more of an appropriate avocation for her daughter.
Meanwhile Nicholas Banat leaned casually against the counter, watching Amanda with idle pleasure.
Amanda was very aware of his gaze and in-tentionally kept her eyes averted. "Mother, we'll talk about it later. Please."
"Your mother only told me about your talents as an art connoisseur," Nicholas commented. "She failed to mention that you were also a chef."
Amanda cast him a cold look. "I am not an art connoisseur. I worked in a local art gallery in town for a while," she said icily.
"It's a lovely gallery, Nicholas," Lizzy said, blithely choosing to ignore Amanda's mount-ing irritation. She was used to her daughter's frequent flare-ups and found the best course of action was to simply let her be until they blew over.
"I don't work at the gallery anymore. Did you forget that you gave me full authority over Brook's before you left?" Amanda said, for the first time forgetting about Nicholas Banat.
"No, of course not. But I didn't really think you'd go and actually take charge down there. You've never particularly cared for the people at the shop."
"Because they were always stealing you blind, and they knew I knew it," Amanda shot back. Then, seeing her mother's distraught expression, she said more softly, "They just didn't put their hearts and souls into the business. Anyway, you're right about my taking charge of the store. It wouldn't have worked out very well for all concerned. So . . ." She paused. "I sold it. I had to do it."
She glanced over at Nicholas to check his reaction. Maybe she would be able to make him think that they were going broke, despite the lavish setting of Glen Gables. But he seemed to take in the information with little more than mild interest.
Amanda returned her gaze to her mother.
"You sold Brook's?" Lizzy mumbled. "You didn't really . . ."
Amanda walked over to her mother. "I know it's been in the family forever, but it hasn't been profitable in years, Mother. And with all of the competition these days there was really no way to pull it out of the hole. It was crazy to hang on to a losing proposition. Fiedler has been after us to sell out to him for ages so he could expand his supermarket." Amanda knew her mother wasn't really listening. She always tuned out business discussions, and she hated to deal with any changes in her secure, sheltered world. Amanda touched her mother's cheek. "It's going to be fine. I've started a gourmet catering venture. It will give us a chance to show off Glen Gables as it used to be. Why, I've got a lavish party planned here for tomorrow night. You must go take a look at the dining room. The place hasn't been this splendid since Grandmother entertained here when you were a child."
Lizzy smiled, remembering those golden days of her childhood when Glen Gables was alive with endless, extravagant parties and dances, her exquisite mother acting the grand hostess. She'd done little of that herself, spending so much of her time traveling—several of those trips being honeymoons; several others excursions to obtain speedy divorces and then to settle in for long, elegant recuperations. It would be fun to see Glen Gables in all its splendor again. Still, it was all so confusing. And this business about having sold Brook's was really quite distressing. She stared blankly at Amanda. "Yes, I suppose . . ."
Nicholas walked over and took Lizzy's hand. "I think you should feel proud of your daughter, Elizabeth. She is not only beautiful, but also she apparently has a good head for business. A rare and commendable combination. If I were you, I'd trust her judgment completely. Besides, you shouldn't have to worry yourself about such things. Didn't you tell me aboard the Olivia II that you never did like to bother about business matters? Think how fortunate you are to have such a serious-minded daughter to handle these mundane matters for you."
Lizzy gave Nicholas a relieved smile. "Of course, you're right." She took Amanda's hand. "It's just . . . well, the idea of strangers coming here to dine and entertain at Glen Gables and paying for it. It does seem rather . . .tacky."
Amanda smiled gently. "You know very well that it's being done around here all the time. Half of the old mansions are open for public tours, and several have converted to inns or condominiums. We don't want to see the Glen broken up into apartments. Still, it's foolish for the two of us"—she gave Nicholas a pointed look—"simply to roam about these vast rooms and really do nothing with them. Think of the fun we'll have holding gala parties here—weddings, celebrations. It's going to be terrific—" She stopped short, realizing that by selling her mother on the success of her new catering venture, she was also giving Nicholas a chance to total up the potential profits.
"It does sound like it might be fun. But all this work," Lizzy looked at the array of food scattered around the kitchen.
"I've hired some part-time help. They'll be here tomorrow afternoon." Amanda squeezed her mother's arm. "You know I've always wanted to get involved in something that was all my own."
Lizzy smiled, her gaze shifting to Nicholas. "I promised you a few quiet, tranquil weeks here at Glen Gables. I'm afraid things are going to be rather more hectic than I expected."
Nicholas took Lizzy's hand, observing Amanda's grimace at the gesture. "It will be perfect. After a few hours of tranquility I find myself becoming restless." He kissed her cheek lightly. "You're the one that needs to have a bit of a rest." He looked over at Amanda. "The last few days of the cruise, we hit some rough weather. Your mother didn't sleep very well."
Amanda did not miss the insinuation of Nicholas's last remark.
Lizzy smiled demurely, her hand reaching up to his cheek. "It was very dear of you to leave your cabin, Nick, and come sit outside with me on the deck for half the night."
"My pleasure. You're always delightful company." He looked over at Amanda then, and gave her an amused smile.
So, Amanda fumed, he had been teasing her intentionally. He wanted to provoke her. Well, she thought, soothing herself, at least things didn't seem to have progressed very far between her mother and Nicholas Banat . . .yet.
"I think," Lizzy said, "I will go lie down for a while. Amanda, I thought Nick would be most comfortable in Granddad Benjamin's old room."
Amanda's finely etched nostrils flared. "I imagine he would be very comfortable." Considering, she added silently, his less than luxurious accommodations as an employee aboard an ocean liner for the past two months.
"Good. Then would you be a dear and show him up when he's ready? Later we'll all go over to the yacht club and have dinner." She turned to leave, but at the kitchen door she stopped abruptly. "You didn't sell the boat?"
Amanda shook her head and smiled. The boat her mother referred to was The Baron, a forty-foot sailing sloop that Lizzy and Amanda's father, Baron Antonio Caselli had purchased for their fifth anniversary. Despite all the pain Lizzy had suffered at her husband's precipitous departure, she had always felt a special affection for that boat. Though Amanda felt little affection for her father, whom she had never seen since her parents' divorce, she also had a certain fondness for the old boat. She still took it out onto Narragansett Bay quite often and was an admirable sailor.
Lizzy sighed with relief, "Well, that's good. I told Nick he could take the yacht out whenever he wanted. After a two-month cruise I must say that I prefer solid ground for a while." She glanced over at Nicholas. "I'm sure Amanda will go out with you, though. She loves boating. And she's very good."
He acknowledged Lizzy's remark with a broad grin. "Yes. I have no doubt about that."
As Lizzy left the kitchen Amanda met Nicholas Banat's insinuating gaze with a cold, defiant stare.
Nicholas observed her closely, the proud tilt of her chin, the flawless line of her neck, those absolutely incredible eyes. He felt a powerfull heat suffuse him.
Neither of them said a word. But Nicholas knew at that moment—no, he knew it from the very instant he'd set eyes on her—that Amanda Caselli was a woman who needed to be tamed, a woman whom he was thoroughly going to enjoy taming at that.
Amanda drew an unsteady breath as she continued to meet his uncompromisingly masculine gaze. He started toward her. Amanda stepped back, but she was only a couple of feet from the counter, so she couldn't make much of a retreat.
"Yes," he said in a low voice, his hand rubbing his jaw. "I bet you're very, very good."
With a seductive smile he watched her full, firm breasts rise and fall more rapidly. He knew she was nervous. He knew that despite her attempts at an icy stare, those deep purple eyes betrayed her. They told him that Amanda Caselli, for all her cool facade and haughty snobbishness, hid a breathlessly passionate na-ture.
They were only a few feet apart, Amanda now backed up against the counter. He lifted his hand toward her. Amanda grabbed his wrist before he could touch her.
"I was only reaching for some wine behind you." He grinned. "By the way, you've got flour all over you. Actually"—he cocked his head—"it's very becoming. It gives you a look of vulnerability."
Amanda's rage flared. "I assure you that I'm not the least bit vulnerable. Or gullible, Mr. Banat. I know your game. Tell me, how many other wealthy divorcees and widows did you manage to seduce aboard the Olivia II before you targeted my mother as an easy mark?" Ignoring his throaty chuckle, she went on with her attack. "I'm sure that as the maître d', you got to observe all of the women. And in your off hours I bet you kept them very amused, flattering them in that throaty accent, which I'm willing to bet is nothing but an affectation you took on to give yourself what you think is a touch of class. Well, I don't buy any of it for one minute. Oh, I know my mother may be feeling a momentary infatuation, but I assure you that it's going to pass—exceedingly quickly, if I damn well have anything to do with it. And believe me, Mr. Banat, I fully intend to do everything I can to make my mother see that you are nothing but a two-bit gigolo who is only out to get what he can from her, just like my father did twenty years ago." Pausing, she took her first breath. "Well, aren't you going to say anything?" she demanded.
Nicholas took a step closer. Amanda could now feel his warm breath rustle her hair. The sensation, as well as his amused smile, threw her completely. "You're so damn sure of yourself, aren't you?" she muttered, but the words came out in a small voice.
"And you, Amanda, are you so sure of yourself?"
Nicholas's tone was a warm caress, but Amanda sensed underlying anger there too. He was controlling it exceedingly well, but she knew that she had gotten to him. What disturbed her was that he had gotten to her as well.
His eyes shifted from her face to his arm.
Only then did Amanda realize that she was still grasping his wrist. She dropped her hand to her side instantly, as if his flesh had burned her. Her heart was pounding in her chest. No, she thought despairingly, she wasn't sure of herself. In fact, she was terrified. Nicholas Banat was the most seductive and astonishingly attractive man she had ever set eyes on. She now sensed that he was also exceedingly dangerous. How was she ever going to dissuade her mother from falling under his heady, charismatic allure if she, the strong-willed, unrelenting realist, Amanda Brook Caselli, was already succumbing to him—five minutes after setting eyes on the man?
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