THERE WAS A single white rose on a coffin splattered with raindrops....

It made Carrie sad to see the tender bloom lying on the brass plate that spoke

to a world that would never read it: the name of an aunt who had never loved her. But love could not be controlled at will, and Carrie had loved her aunt in spite of the woman's rejection of her. Sad as she was, Carrie was glad there were

some things words could never destroy and that love was one of them.

'Carrie Evans?'

Carrie turned to find a man standing behind her. He was sheltering beneath

the oily spread of a black umbrella, which made the shadows on his saturnine face all the deeper, adding to his air of gloom. There were only four people at her aunt's funeral other than herself-the minister and three undertakers-and it was hard to feel brave as the small group peeled away to allow her some privacy.

Lifting up her chin, she gazed squarely into the face of the man. 'I'm Carrie Evans. Can I help you?'

'Sorry, miss...I tried the house.'

Carrie didn't know the man, but she could guess what he had come for. He

was here to serve papers evicting her from her aunt's house on the instructions of

relatives who hadn't been to visit Aunt Mabel in Carrie's living memory. Asolicitor had rung her yesterday to explain.

Yesterday, the day when everything in her life had changed for good....

Carrie was twenty-five, but she looked much younger. Her complexion was pale and she dressed conservatively, keeping her luxuriant hair scraped back neatly in a practical twist. She found the lush tresses an embarrassment. Her

natural hair colour was a rich golden red that painters called titian, and she believed it better suited to an actress or a glamour model. She had even thought about dying her hair a pale shade of brown, but the upkeep would have been too much on a secretary's salary. Her eyes were large and cornflower-blue and were

perhaps her most expressive feature. Widely set and fringed with sable lashes, they were quick to darken with emotion, but could turn steely when there was something or someone to defend.

The man addressing Carrie saw a capable young woman, a little too plump

to ever be called stylish, but determined, nonetheless, he concluded.

'I have already cleared my belongings from my late aunt's house,' she told him without rancour, 'and as soon as we're finished here I will collect my suitcase and deliver the house keys to my aunt's solicitor....'

She couldn't do any more, and he felt some sympathy for her. He'd heard she had nowhere to go since her aunt's heirs had turned up and laid claim to the house where she lived. 'You're so well organised,' he said, trying to soften the

blow for her, 'I hardly need to give you this....'

'I think you do,' she told him.

Her tone was serious and exposed his attempt to console her for the sham it was. She held his gaze as she reached for the documents he was carrying and, as he handed over the eviction notice, he couldn't help thinking that, in spite of the downturn in her fortunes, the young woman in front of him possessed a quiet

dignity that commanded his respect.

She had forgotten how cold and bare her attic room was. The eviction notice

allowed her twenty-four hours to clear out her things. She neither wanted nor needed twenty-four hours. She missed her aunt, but she was pleased to be leaving such a sad and lonely place. Her aunt's house could so easily have been filled with love and laughter if only Aunt Mabel had been able to forget that

Carrie's father had chosen Carrie's mother over herself.

But things could be worse. Carrie's mouth tipped down wryly as she totted

up the facts. She was jobless, homeless, single and pregnant.

Carrie's wry smile turned into a smile of true happiness when she thought about her baby. The pregnancy was a source of great joy to her that nothing could dim. She was going to have someone to love; someone who would love

her, someone she could care for and champion. The only problem was her baby's father. He would have to be told. He had a right to know, Carrie thought, even as her stomach clenched with apprehension.

Unfortunately, her baby's father was the hardest and most unfeeling man she

had ever known. He was about as approachable as a tiger with a thorn in its pad.

He was also the man she was in love with, the man she had loved since the first

moment she had set eyes on him; the only man she could ever love...The same

man who barely knew she was alive. And the longer she left it, the harder it would be to tell him that he was about to become a father.

Crossing her arms over her stomach in a protective gesture, Carrie determined she would not allow anything to stand in the way of her baby's future happiness, certainly not her own lack of nerve. She had to face up to him

and she would. She didn't want anything for herself, but she did want recognition and security for her child. Her baby's father was a very wealthy man and she wondered if he could be persuaded to set up a trust fund to provide for college fees when the time came.

Before Carrie had learned she was pregnant she had dreamed of leaving the

office where she had worked as a secretary to try and turn her hobby of painting

into a profession, but that was out of the question now. She planned instead to

find some cheap accommodation and work until the baby came. Her goal was to

build up a small nest egg so that one day she could buy a modest property with a

child-friendly garden. A solid base was important. She didn't want a child of

hers to be pushed from pillar to post as she had been after her parents' tragic

accident. She might be homeless today, but not for long.

Nico Fierezza. It was the only name the King of Niroli had allowed to be spoken

in his presence for days, and he had just been informed that his grandson Nico

was on the final flight path to Niroli.

Nico piloting his own jet...King Giorgio's mouth curved with appreciation.

Nico lived the life he would have enjoyed had not royal duty claimed him. And now the only task remaining in his long and eventful life was to tame this wild grandson of his and persuade him to accept the throne.

Tame Nico Fierezza? King Giorgio's eyes clouded over. Even a king might find that a challenge. Then his crafty gaze brightened. Maybe there wasn't a man alive who could tame Nico Fierezza, but a woman might...

What was he doing in Niroli? Nico asked himself as he brought his jet down in a perfect landing. What was he doing back on this small, lush, glamorous island?

Niroli, the island of dreams for so many, but not for him.

He was happy to undertake the odd restoration project of the sort he had

recently completed for his cousin Isabella, or even to design major projects like

the new airport-terminal building. But his life was in London. The only things he

had missed about Niroli were his mother, Princess Laura, and his brothers, Luca

and Max. His younger brother, Max, was fully committed to the wine groves he

cared for, and his older brother, Luca, owned the casino that contributed so much

to the island's wealth. Luca had run the casino himself for years, but after a whirlwind romance he had recently married and moved to his bride's native Australia to develop his business interests over there. Nico was the only member

of his family to have inherited the restless gene, and right now that gene was killing him, urging him to leave the island before he had even halted the jet.

Nico's lips tightened with impatience as he taxied in to the premier spot.

They had laid out the red carpet for him. When would they ever learn that pomp

and ceremony were the very last things that would lure him back to Niroli? But

this was his first visit to the island since the tragedy of the yachting accident.

Half his immediate family gone and the weight of their loss still hung heavily on

him. Was his time so precious he couldn't spare any for his remaining family?

He would do what he could to reassure his ageing grandfather and then he'd

spend some time with the rest of his family. But not too much time. He didn't want to raise false hope. He could do the maths as well as anyone. There were three surviving male heirs ahead of him, and he had no doubt they had all found

some reason to exclude themselves from the succession, which meant he was

next on the list.

Why else would his grandfather want to see him?

Whatever King Giorgio's reason, it didn't change a thing; he wasn't interested in the throne.

Nico's reasons for refusing the throne of Niroli went far beyond his restless

nature. He wouldn't accept anything under false pretences and knew that the last

thing Niroli needed was another king desperately casting about for an heir some

time in the future. A childhood illness had left him infertile, which meant marriage and long-term relationships had always been out of the question. He didn't dwell on it, and in some ways it suited him, because he didn't answer to

anyone.

She couldn't tell the father of her baby the news over the telephone. She had no

alternative other than to face the lion in his den....

Lifting her suitcase as the underground train slowed to a halt, Carrie

squeezed her way through the press of commuters. When she finally saw the

light of day again she put her suitcase down and turned her collar up. It was a typical summer's day in London with rain sheeting down from pewter skies.

And every cab was taken, which was hardly a surprise. One drop of rain was always enough to ensure that was the case, and this was a full-blown summer storm.

Picking up her bag, Carrie started to walk at a brisk pace towards the commercial centre of the city where she had been employed as a secretary. It seemed so long ago, though it had only been three months since she had left her

job on a point of principle.

More pride than principle, Carrie accepted, shivering with cold. Aunt Mabel,