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and stared down at her. For the first time the light was good enough for him to see what had happened to her face.
    “My God! Maledizione! ” His hands cupped her face, tilting it up so that he could see it fully. “You seemed a little bruised before, but this…”
    “It’s okay,” she said, gazing up at him in wonder. He was so close. The sense of his male presence overwhelmed her. For a few seconds, she felt a wave of emotion sweeping away her common sense, and suddenly she wanted his kiss more than she’d ever wanted anything else in her life.
    And that in itself was like a splash of cold water on her face. What was she thinking? She wanted to turn away so that he wouldn’t read her guilty secret in her eyes, but he was staring so hard, from so close.
    “I…I’m okay.”
    “It’s hard to see something so fresh and lovely marred this way,” he said as though it really did pain him. His voice was cool and it was evident that this was a philosophical problem and nothing to do with him personally. But at the same time his gaze ranged over her face as though he were memorizing every line, every dimple. “You’re just so…so…” His voice faded without saying the word, whatever it was meant to be.
    And then he kissed her. Like a moth to the flame, he couldn’t stay away. It was a light kiss, barely a touching of his lips to her forehead, right above her blackened eye. She gasped as she felt him, but at the same time she knew he’d done it in a strange way as though to erase the damage, make it go away. He seemed to have an obsession with avoiding harm. That had to be it. It didn’t feel personal. His gaze still looked as hard and cold, his bearing was still just as arrogant.
    But still—he kissed her.
    “Is this going to take much longer?” said the deep, masculine voice of a tall man standing in the doorway, cutting into the magic of the moment. “Because I could go back to my room and get a few winks in and you could call me down later.”
    Isabella gulped in dismay, but the prince only straightened, giving his cousin a brief look of outraged dignity. It was obvious their relationship was maintained with a closeness that was disguised by a lot of good-natured mockery.
    “Isabella, this is Marcello Martelli, my cousin.”
    “I’m pleased to meet you, Isabella,” Marcello said, shaking her hand briskly. “This shouldn’t take too long, nor be too painful.”
    Marcello was young and very handsome. In fact he looked very much like what she assumed Max would look like without the scar. She couldn’t help but give him a big smile in answer to his friendly greeting. Here he was, barefoot and in jeans and a T-shirt—looking for all the world like any of the young men she knew in the village would look if you knocked on their door after midnight. He had the ruffled hair and the sleepy eyes as well.
    “You fell into the river, I hear,” he said, leading her in to sit on the antique couch. His gaze flickered back and forth between her and Max as though he didn’t completely buy it.
    “Yes,” she told him earnestly.
    “But luckily Max came along in time to…to rescue you.”
    She turned and looked at where the prince was standing back in the shadows just in time to see him turn away as though angry at what his cousin had just said. She frowned. Why would he do that? Did he realize what a part he’d played in creating her unfortunate incident? Maybe he needed a reminder.
    “Is that the way he tells the story?”
    Marcello grinned at her. “How do you tell it?”
    She gave Max an arch look sideways. “Here’s how I remember it. I was strolling along on the hillside when suddenly something that looked like a dark avenging angelcame galloping down on me and I ran for my life. My foot slipped. I tumbled into the river.” She shrugged. “A simple tale, really,” she said.
    “And all Max’s fault,” Marcello said with a knowing look.
    Her eyes widened in mock innocence. “Of course.” She