Naldo hesitated. Too right-he was tired of life being a mess. For a decade he’d been torn between loyalty to his proud but difficult mother, and deep love for the caring father who found happiness with the wrong woman. All he wanted to do now was clean the slate and start over.

And Anna saw right through him.

A surge of irritation warred with a sudden disturbing urge to silence this maddening woman with a fast, hard kiss.

But he’d gone down that road before and it certainly hadn’t improved matters.

“How much do you want for the jewels and the cottage?”

She settled her hands on her slim hips and stuck out her chest. Something fresh sparked in her eyes. “You mean how much will it take to get me to shut up and leave? How much hush money do I require?” Her breasts heaved under her shirt.

He ignored the thickening sensation in his groin. “You know that’s not what I mean. I just want to compensate you fairly.”

“So you can make sure you’ll never be troubled by me again? So I won’t turn up again like a bad penny, looking for more money and reminding you-and everyone else-that the majestic De Leon family has a skeleton in the closet? I’ve a good mind to go to the papers right now and tell them the whole story.”

Naldo froze. “Your mother would never have done that.”

“No. She knew her place, didn’t she? The faithful family retainer, true to her beloved lord and master. So circumspect that she never even dared to confide in her own daughter.”

A flush covered her neck, and he could see her breath coming faster. Was she going to cry? “I think it’s disgraceful that your father supposedly loved her for so long and never offered to marry her. Like she wasn’t worthy of him. Everyone thinks the great Robert De Leon was such a chivalrous knight of old, faithful to the cherished memory of his beautiful sainted wife. I’d love to let them know exactly what kind of man he really was.”

Naldo instinctively took a step forward.

“Don’t touch me!” Anna leapt back as if he threatened to bite her. “Get out! Leave me alone.”

She was going to cry. Naldo stiffened. Part of him wanted to grab her and shake her until she saw reason. Part of him wanted to take her in his arms and console her, and part of him wanted to peel off her clothes and-

“Get out!”

He turned on his heel and left. There was no arguing with a madwoman. Especially when every rational thought you summoned was interrupted by a stray urge to kiss the words right out of her infuriatingly sensual and shockingly insolent mouth.

He swung himself into his car and closed the door with a satisfying slam. His father’s mistakes should be a harsh lesson to him. An untidy emotional entanglement had laid him open to the risk of scandal, and ultimately had killed him. Naldo had no doubt his father would still be alive if it wasn’t for Letty Marcus.

He’d decided early on that he would never let a woman tie his heart up in one of her nightgown ribbons.

Right now he needed an ice-cold shower to cool his temper and his blood and get everything back exactly where it should be.

Under control.

The next morning, Naldo was eating a grapefruit in the breakfast room when he heard the telltale click-click of Isabela’s mules on the wood. His spine stiffened.

“Morning, sweet brother.”

“Hey.” He smoothed out the local paper on the table.

“It’s taking an awfully long time to get rid of Ms. Marcus, isn’t it? I’d have thought you’d have her bags packed and shipped by now.” Isabela slid into the chair opposite him.

“Me, too. I don’t know why she’s being so difficult.” He flipped the page. “But she’ll sell. Trust me.”

“I’m not entirely sure I do trust you.”

Naldo’s gaze snapped up in time to see Isabela winking at him as she reached for some toast.

“What do you mean by that?”

“She’s pretty.”

“So?”

“And you’re a man.” She snipped off a piece of dry toast with her teeth.

“I have no interest in Anna beyond securing the land for the family.” He grabbed his juice glass and took a swig. His eggs lay heavy in his stomach.

“Mmm-hmm.” Isabela reached for the butter. “Though you don’t seem to be in any hurry, from what I can see. Where exactly did you spend last night?”

“In my bed.”

“I mean the night before this one.” Her black eyes glittered. “You went out, oh, around three, and came back for breakfast.”

“Sweet of you to be concerned about my whereabouts.” He sipped his coffee.

“Oh, I’m concerned, all right. The last thing this family needs is more scandal.”

“There was no scandal last time. Mother’s death was an accident, remember?” His chest tightened.

“You were just a kid. You have no idea what Daddy did to hush everything up. He paid off the police, he bought the local paper. Are you willing to do the same?”

“I have no need to do anything.”

“Oh, really? How will you feel if the papers report that you’re sleeping out in the servants’ quarters like dear old Dad?”

“Why would I care? I’m not married. I can sleep where I want.”

“With the cook’s daughter?”

“Nothing wrong with cooking. We all have to eat. Besides, Anna doesn’t work here. She’s a successful businesswoman.”

Isabela’s lips twisted into a little mocking smile. “Oh, dear. Things are rather worse than I suspected. But I know you, Naldo, partly because you’re my brother, and partly because you are so exactly like our beloved father. The family name is a brand you’ll live and die by, and you’ll do anything to prevent it being tarnished, in the papers or anywhere else.”

Naldo inhaled slowly. True. “What are you driving at?”

“Now that Daddy is gone, all the people he paid off and hushed up over the years are heaving a sigh of relief. What if they get chatty? If word gets out about what happened to Mother?” She leaned forward. “And why it happened? The family name will be legendary for all the wrong reasons. I know you’d hate that.”

Isabela rose from her chair, gathering her gauzy dressing gown. She swept behind him.

“What are you doing?”

“You look tense, sweetheart.” She dug her thumbs into his shoulders. “Poor Naldo. Even these broad shoulders will be strained by the weighty burden of responsibility you’ve inherited. I don’t envy you. I honestly don’t.”

Pain and pleasure mingled as she massaged his tight, sore flesh. It felt good. “Where did you learn how to massage?”

“I haven’t always lived alone, you know.”

“No? So how come you’ve never married? You’re nearly forty.”

“Thirty-three,” she snapped.

“Yeah, right.” He couldn’t help smiling. “If you say so. But seriously, you have someone?”

“No. Not now.” A note of sadness in her voice surprised him. “I don’t think I’d ever dare take a chance on marriage. Not after what happened to Mother. My illusions about love and marriage were shattered at a tender age.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way.” It was true Isabela had taken their mother’s death even harder than he had. She hadn’t been home for more than a few days since it happened. Isabela was a carbon copy of their mother. She’d gained weight in the last few years, and was now a lusher, fuller version of her. Their mother had fiercely supported her dream of being a singer, in the face of their father’s opposition, perhaps as a way of chasing her own thwarted dream of performing on the world’s great stages.

But Isabela’s singing career had gone nowhere. She’d directed one or two small operas. She wasn’t married. She must be lonely. His heart contracted with pity for her. “What do you want to do with your life, Izzy?”

“As I said before, I just want a quiet little place of my own. A few hundred acres to build a barrier between myself and the cruel world.”

He snorted. “A few hundred acres in Europe? Maybe we should just invade Monaco and take it over?”

“I know, I know. But if you sold this place and moved the family back there…You’d love it, Naldo. People know how to live in the old style. They understand the importance of tradition-”

“I love it here.”

“Oh, Naldo. You’re so stubborn. Just like Daddy.”

“And Mom. And you.”

Isabela laughed. “I guess we’re all kind of hard to live with. It does feel like the end of an era, though, doesn’t it?”

“Or the beginning of a new one. I know what I’m doing. I’ve managed the estate for seven years.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She lifted her hands off his shoulders. Oddly, they were more tense than when she’d started.

“Mother’s jewels.” Her clipped words made his neck tighten. “I looked in her dresser, and they’re not there. They’ve always been there.”

“She died ten years ago.”

“I know, but Daddy never moved them before. Are they in the bank?”

“Why, are you thinking they’d look good on you?”

“Well, perhaps a piece or two. To remember Mother by.”

He cocked his head. “What if I want them for my wife?”

Right now he didn’t even want a wife. But one day he would marry and his wife should enjoy the legacy of a De Leon bride.

Isabela pressed a hand to her heart and inhaled deeply, eyes closed. “You know, Naldo, it hurts me right here, that everything our parents owned belongs to you, and nothing belongs to me. Do you think it’s fair?”

“No, I don’t think it’s fair. But I can see how it’s practical. If you divide everything up with each generation, sooner or later there’s nothing left.”

Isabela lifted her proud head and looked out the window, then snapped her gaze back to his. Her eyes glittered with sudden tears. “Don’t be selfish. You know I look just like Mother. I’d so love to have a piece or two, to remember how things were…before…”

Save it for La Scala.

“Good luck. Dad gave them all to Letty Marcus.” He said it coldly. If Isabela wanted opera-style drama, she could have it in spades.

“What?” Her tears vanished.

“He gave her the lot. I’m not sure if it was piece by piece, or all at once, but Anna has them now. I’m trying to buy them back.”

“Dieu.” She stared at him. “He must have lost his mind completely. Surely it’s not legal? They weren’t mentioned in the will. Why can’t you just take them back?”

Tried that. He drummed his fingertips on the table. “I don’t think that’s the honorable thing to do.”

“Honor be damned! We’re talking about the family heritage here.”

“Trust me. I know. I offered her cash, but she’s as stubborn as a De Leon.”

“She won’t sell?”

“She’ll sell. I’ll make sure of it.”

Already afternoon and the packing was not going well. Anna scraped her damp hair off her hot neck and wrapped it into a knot. She had no use for the old-fashioned bedside clock with its painted enamel design, since she had a programmable digital one, but could she just throw it away?

No way.

Yard sale?

Hardly a prime location.

So the clock still sat on the simple wood nightstand. The Lladro porcelain figures and hand-knitted doilies similarly balked at leaving the mantel in the sitting room. The scented collection of shell-shaped soaps in large beach shells refused to give up their multiyear residence on the shelf above the bathroom sink.

Her mother’s possessions had ganged up and decided to stay.

“Anna!”

Naldo’s deep voice, right under the open window of her mother’s bedroom, made her jump. What now?

It was bad enough that she couldn’t seem to get that forceful voice out of her head, now she had to deal with the face and body that went with it?

She leaned out the window. “You rang?”

“Hey.” A smile sneaked across his wide, sensual mouth.

How could he have the audacity to look pleased to see her? He must be up to something.

“Hey yourself.”

“Can I come in?”

“Can I prevent you?”

With a smile he disappeared from view, walking around to the front of the house.

She scanned the front of her T-shirt and shorts. Stain-free.

His heavy footsteps on the stairs were echoed in the heavy beat of her heart. She was not going to get swept off her feet by him this time.

He materialized in the doorway, all windblown black hair, flashing dark eyes and tanned muscles barely contained by a black polo shirt.

Great. She sucked in a breath. “How may I help you?”

“Just thought I’d see how the packing is going.” He scanned the room. A line appeared between his brows.

“As you can see, it’s not going so well.”

“Need a hand?”

His expression of good cheer didn’t fool her for an instant. “No thanks.”

He licked his lips. She ignored a tiny flare of heat in her belly. “I’ve been thinking.”

Uh-oh.

He picked up a china cat off the nightstand and turned it over, as if to read the maker’s mark on the bottom.