Marianne saw then that the bronzed god of her recollection had indeed become a man. He was dressed like any country gentleman going about his land on a summer's day, in well-cut dark breeches, soft leather boots and a white shirt, open at the neck to reveal the dark, smooth muscles of his throat. But his blue eyes were smiling and there was a light in them that she had not seen before.

She was gazing at him so intently that it did not even occur to her to speak. She felt as if she were waking from a dream when he gently took her hand and brushed it with his lips.

'You are welcome,' he said in the low, deep voice that had always moved her so strangely. 'Have you come – to pay us a visit?'

She guessed that even now he could not quite believe that she had come back and that, chivalrously, he was offering her this one last avenue of escape. Yet it seemed to her that in his voice she caught a note of anguish that smote her heart.

'No. I have come to stay, if you still want me to. I have come to be your wife, Corrado, wholly and entirely. I do not ask you to forgive me for all that you have suffered on my account but I am offering myself to you. Will you have me?'

For a moment they stood without speaking. The Prince's blue eyes gazed into hers as though seeking to plumb their uttermost depths, and Marianne was overwhelmed at the passionate desire she read in them, yet the green eyes did not flinch or turn away.

Then, gently, almost timidly, he drew her into his arms.

'What man ever turned his back on the dream of a lifetime?' he murmured.

Marianne knew that night that this was not the first time Corrado Sant'Anna had made her his own, and that the mysterious lover of Corfu had returned to her.