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didn’t forget.
    And how could he have forgotten the importance of marriage, of children? He’d been so intent on improving Cazlevara Wines, of forgetting the unhappiness he knew waited for him back home. He’d never considered the future, his future. His heirs.
    Now he did. He’d considered carefully, chosen his bride as he would a fine wine. Now he just needed to decide when to decant it.
    Vittorio drummed his fingers against the steering wheel again and saw Ana slide him a wary glance. How to approach his chosen bride? She sat tensely, one hand clenched around the door handle as if she would escape the speeding car. The suit she wore looked like something pulled out of a convent’s charity box and it did nothing for her tall, generous figure. Not that there was something to be done for her figure, but Vittorio imagined that some decent clothes and make-up could go some way to improving his intended bride’s appearance.
    His mouth twisted. What would Ana think if she knew he planned to marry her—and as soon as possible? Of course, any woman should be thrilled to become part of the Cazlevara dynasty, yet he felt instinctively that Ana Viale might balk. He knew from the other night at San Stefano Castle that she would not be fooled by his attempts to flatter or romance her, and why should she? God knew, the women he usually had on his arm or in his bed did not look or dress or even talk like Ana Viale. Yethe didn’t want to marry them. He wanted to marry Ana. It was a matter of expediency, of business.
    And that, Vittorio decided, was how he would present the marriage to her. She appreciated plain speaking, and so he would speak as plainly as possible. The thought appealed to him. He wouldn’t have to waste time pretending to be attracted to her. Most women would enjoy a little flattery, but he knew now that it would only annoy Ana, perhaps even hurt her.
    A tiny twinge of something close to guilt pierced his conscience. Would Ana want some kind of real marriage? Was she waiting for love?
    With him it was impossible, and she needed to know that from the start. Surely a woman like her was not still holding out for love? She seemed too practical for that, not to mention too plain. Besides, she could always say no.
    Except Vittorio would make sure she didn’t.
    Ana pressed back against the leather seat as the darkened countryside, rolling hills and clusters of oak trees, sped by. She sneaked another glance at Vittorio’s rather forbidding profile. He hadn’t spoken since they’d got in the car, and he didn’t look as if he was up for a chat. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. What was he thinking? Ana didn’t want to ask. She turned towards the window, tried to still the nerves writhing in her middle. They drove for at least twenty minutes without speaking, and then Ana saw the lights of Castle Cazlevara on a hill in the distance, mere pinpricks in the unrelenting darkness. Vittorio turned into the mile-long private drive that wound its way up the hill to his home.
    Ana had seen photos of the castle on postcards, and of course she’d been there the one time. Yet, even so, the sight of the huge medieval castle perched on jutting stone awed and even intimidated her. Its craggy turrets rose towards the darkened sky andan ancient-looking drawbridge was now lowered over the drained moat. At one point the castle had been an imposing fortress, perched high on its hill, surrounded by a deep moat. Now it was simply Vittorio’s home.
    ‘So your own home is the “somewhere special”?’ she asked lightly, and was rewarded with the flicker of a smile.
    ‘I must admit I find Castle Cazlevara rather special.’
    Gazing up at the castle’s soaring walls and towers, Ana could only agree. Special, and a bit scary.
    Vittorio drove across the drawbridge and parked the car in the castle’s inner courtyard, now paved over with slate, providing a perfect backdrop for the Porsche.