escaped into his thirties without making any kind of

formal commitment to the women who had pursued

him.

Lorenzo looked at his late cousin’s wife. He despised

and loathed her. But then, he despised most

women. From what he had experienced of them they

were all willing to give him whatever he wanted because

of what he had, what was outside the inner him:

wealth, a title, and a handsome male body. What he

actually was was of no interest to them. His thoughts,

his beliefs, all that went to make up the man who was

Lorenzo d’Este didn’t matter to them anywhere near

so much as his money and his social position.

"You have no choice, Lorenzo," Caterina repeated

softly. "If you want the Castillo you have to marry

me."

Lorenzo permitted his mouth to curl in sardonic

disdain.

"I have to marry, yes," he agreed softly. "But nowhere

does it say that I have to marry you. You have

obviously not read my grandmother’s will thoroughly."

Her face blanched, her narrowed eyes betraying her

confusion and distrust.

"What do you mean? Of course I have read it. I

dictated it! I—"

"I repeat, you did not read the will my grandmother

signed thoroughly enough," Lorenzo told her. "You

see, it stipulates only that I must marry within six

weeks of her death if I want to inherit the Castillo

from her. It does not specify who I should marry."

Caterina stared at him, unable to conceal her anger.

It stripped from her the good looks which had in her

youth made her a sought-after model, and left in their

place the ugliness of her true nature.

"No, that cannot be true. You have altered it,

changed it — you and that sneering notary. You