Author Niki Burnham

A sworn bachelor, Prince Stefano diTalora has been living the high life—his days filled with ski trips and speedboat races, his nights spent in posh casinos with the crème-de-la-crème of San Rimini society. The last thing he needs is his father's badgering that he clean up his act. Or the mesmerizing woman his father hires to do the job.

Amanda Hutton is in a bind, behind on her rent and between clients. When King Eduardo diTalora offers her a job in his royal household, it sounds like a dream come true—until she meets her new student. Her lessons in etiquette and diplomacy are designed for children of dignitaries, not for a grown man. And certainly not a man determined to thwart her at every turn. But can she risk turning away from the job—or the man who needs her help?

The Prince's Tutor
Silhouette Romance
January 2003
ISBN: 0373196407

There's a scene early in The Prince's Tutor that was inspired by a trip Nicole took to the Bahamas. She and her husband were stuck inside the Atlantis Casino because it had been raining for two days and the boat trip they'd planned that afternoon was cancelled. She found an open spot at a blackjack table and started to play. When her chips were almost gone, she was dealt a great hand—two kings. The dealer had a seven showing, so she was sittin' pretty. But since Nicole knew it would be her last hand (and frankly, because she is a cheap gambler and was playing only the table minimum, which meant she had very little to lose), she did something entirely against all gambling logic and split the hand. Just because she felt like taking a risk. Lucky for Nicole, it worked out and she won on both hands. She even got blackjack on one of them! Writing the blackjack scene with Stef in this book was great fun, because as a royal, he had a lot more money to wager than Nicole did.

A fun tidbit: One of Nicole's best friends in high school was her next door neighbor, Stephen. Steve has always been an avid skier, and hits the slopes in Austria as often as possible (he's an Army brat, and is now an Air Force pilot, so he actually gets to live where he can do this.) Nicole decided to give Prince Stefano Steve's skiing obsession. With such similar names, this personality trait was a gimme—and fun to write. She even carried it over into the next San Rimini book, The Knight's Kiss, where Stef's ski equipment is found in a strange location.

Five roses—highest rating!

"From the casino of the opening scene to the vivid descriptions of the castle, Burnham fills her fictional kingdom with a sense of authenticity that makes it more believable...(she) develops Stefano and Amanda as sympathetic individuals with relatable fears and concerns without forgetting the very specific place they are coming from. They are both easy to like and more likable because the unique lives they've led make them that much more intriguing."
—All About Romance

"This delightful story by Ms. Burnham will draw in readers to her world at the palace of San Rimini. Stefano and Amanda are an unlikely pair that find love despite their different backgrounds...The Prince's Tutor is definitely one for the keeper shelf."
—Love Romances

Chapter One

Mi scusi. Is Stefano diTalora here? I need to speak with him immediately." Amanda Hutton tried to ignore the subtle—and the not-so-subtle—stares of San Rimini's high-rolling gamblers as she asked the manager of the elite Casino Campione the same question she'd discreetly posed at three other gaming halls in the last hour.

If she didn't find the wayward royal and get him back to the palace, pronto, the wedding between the tiny country's crown prince, Antony diTalora, and her best friend, Jennifer Allen, would be delayed. Even with two hundred of Europe's privileged descending on the palace chapel, the ceremony could hardly start without the best man in attendance.

She fought impatience as the heavy-set manager studied her with irritation in his eyes. He acted no differently than the other three managers had as he took in the sight of her elaborate shell-pink bridesmaid's gown and dyed-to-match shoes. Designed for a royal wedding, it wasn't your ordinary cheap taffeta bridesmaid's gown, to be sure, but neither did it compare to the Valentino and Chanel couture sported by San Rimini's wealthy as they made their way through the aisles of blackjack and craps tables, martinis in hand.

Despite her unusual appearance, after hearing three abrupt "No, signorina"s from casino managers in response to her question, she wasn't about to waste time on manager number four.

"Please," she began, assuming the manager at least spoke English in addition to San Rimini's Italian, "I realize I must look quite out of place, but I—"

"Your name, signorina?" He raised an overgrown eyebrow as if to say, how dare you make a demand of me?

"Amanda. Amanda Hutton. As I was saying, I was sent by—"

"Signorina Hutton, His Serene Highness Prince Stefano is engaged in private play and cannot be disturbed." He punctuated his statement with a patronizing smile, as if he fielded such requests from women on an hourly basis.

Amanda's pulse upped a notch. Not only did this manager speak English, he was hosting Prince Stefano!

Before she could explain the delicate situation, he added, "Perhaps you could wait outside...with the others." He gestured past the ringing slot machines toward a long row of glass-and-brass revolving doors leading to San Rimini's most famous thoroughfare, the Strada il Teatro.

She glanced at the doors. Several voluptuous young women lingered outside, apparently waiting for a glimpse of Prince Stefano. Or the chance to slip him their phone numbers.

Her mind kicking into gear, Amanda flashed the manager a conciliatory smile and replied, "Of course. I'm sorry to have disturbed you."

He nodded his acceptance, but glowered until Amanda turned and walked toward the exit. Scouring the main room of the posh gaming hall as she went, she spied a small staircase along one wall. A tall, armed guard stood off to the side. He kept his thumb hooked casually in his belt loop while he spoke with a patron, but his gaze never wavered from the steps. Amanda figured either the casino kept its cash up those stairs or it was where the private gambling rooms were located.

She hoped it was the latter.

Under the manager's watchful gaze, Amanda exited the casino, but kept close to the door, standing near the loitering women as if she stalked princes every day.

Unfortunately, the manager didn't budge from his position in the center of the casino floor, leaving her little hope of getting past him undetected.

"Shoot!" Amanda strode to the curb, then shielded her eyes against the setting sun to study the clock tower adjoining the San Rimini Royal Palace, which sat atop a hill less than a mile away to the west.

Six-thirty. Only an hour until the ceremony, and there was no way she could explain the situation to the casino manager without embarrassing the royal family. Not that the manager even cared to listen.

She could kill this stupid prince. "My one vacation," she grumbled to herself. The one time she'd be able to get away from it all—participate in her friend's fairy tale wedding, visit one of the world's most beautiful countries, meet some of Europe's rich and famous—before she had to return to reality, and her overdue rent, back in Washington, D.C.

But instead of spending the afternoon nibbling on canapés at the palace with the other bridesmaids, she was running around San Rimini in an atrociously uncomfortable pair of shoes, hunting down some spoiled prince who'd gone gambling instead of attending the groom. Prince Stefano never appeared for his brother's afternoon reception welcoming the nobility who'd traveled to attend the wedding, and now, even if she managed to get the prince back to the palace chapel in time for the ceremony itself, she'd be an icky, sweaty mess.

Correction: an icky, sweaty mess with blistered feet. Who would be expected to smile in the wedding pictures.

She forced herself not to groan aloud. Since graduating from college, she'd worked exclusively with the children of dignitaries. In all that time, she'd never come across a child as irresponsible as this prince. And he was twenty-five!

Ignoring a wave of giggles from the waiting women, likely prompted when they spotted her frou-frou gown, she turned her attention back to the casino's interior.

A well-dressed patron now occupied the manager. The woman waved one heavily-braceleted arm, indicating a row of slot machines covering the rear wall of the casino. He repeatedly shook his head, but a few minutes later, he followed the woman out of view of the front entrance. Making the most of the opportunity, Amanda pushed through the revolving door and made a beeline for the staircase.

The guard who'd been keeping an eye on the stairs snapped to attention. "Signorina, may I help you?"

From his demeanor, Amanda could tell he wasn't about to let her see Prince Stefano, either. She hesitated a moment, then tried, "I hope so. Um...Those women out front? They're here to see Prince Stefano."

The guard's mouth crooked up. "I am quite sure they are. What of it?"

"Well, I heard one of them saying she knew which car His Serene Highness arrived in, and that the doors were left unlocked. She was going to try to sneak into the back seat and wait for him. I thought you should know."

The guard studied her a minute while Amanda did her best to look sincere. However, instead of going to check out the women, as Amanda had hoped, he yanked a walkie-talkie out of his belt, pressed a button, then began speaking in rapid San Riminian-accented Italian. Amanda understood just enough to realize the guard intended to stay put.

A few words of response crackled back over the walkie-talkie. The guard paused, then frowned at her. "What does she look like?"

"Red dress, blonde hair. Not very tall. Close to my height," she improvised, knowing none of the women out front fit that description. "I believe she went around the side of the building to check out the parking lot. If you need me to identify her, I can wait here while you look."

He hesitated, and she quickly pointed down to her shoes. "I'd go along, but I don't think I'd be able to keep up with you in these heels."

He rolled his eyes, then instructed, "Stay here. If there is truly a problem, you may need to speak with the police."

She nodded to a red vinyl-covered stool in front of a nearby Lucky Sevens slot machine. "Of course. I'll be right here."

Once the guard exited the casino, Amanda bolted up the narrow staircase. Reaching the top, she bit back an oath, seeing at least twenty closed doors lining the red-carpeted hallway in front of her. How could she possibly guess which room hosted the prince?

She made her way down the hall, pausing at each doorway to listen. Several of the doors were marked with names on brass plaques designating them as offices. Near the end of the hallway, however, she heard the unmistakable sound of gamblers cheering a big win. After looking back to make sure the guard hadn't discovered her ruse, she approached the double-doored suite where she thought the sound originated. Unlike the others in the hall, this door was simply marked Privato.

She waited a minute, listening. At first the voices were hard to distinguish, then a woman's voice rose above the babble to announce in English, "The dealer has blackjack," followed by the sound of men groaning. Anticipation making her heart race, Amanda pushed down on the handle and peered inside.

Sure enough, as if it had been modeled on a scene from a James Bond movie, the sumptuous suite was designed to cater to the ultra-rich gambler. To her left, a fully-stocked bar covered one wall, and a uniformed bartender stood behind a smooth black granite countertop polishing highball glasses to a spotless finish. Crystal wall sconces cast the room in a soft light, and a thick red carpet muffled footfalls to preserve the quiet atmosphere.

Opposite her, elaborate white and gold silk curtains framed three floor-to-ceiling windows, each of which offered a stunning view of the Adriatic Sea from the casino's clifftop perch. The sun dipped down to the west, over the far-off coast of Italy. She imagined that without the setting sun in her eyes nearby Venice would be visible, just across the border from San Rimini.

She focused her attention back on the room's interior, where no one seemed to notice her unannounced arrival. In the center stood a lone blackjack table, manned by a leggy blonde in a short black skirt, black vest and crisp white oxford shirt. Even though the four seated gamblers appeared to be in their mid-twenties and were equally well-dressed in tailored tuxedos and white silk shirts, she immediately identified Prince Stefano diTalora.

And he was far better-looking than the royal palace's official portraits portrayed him to be. He sat with his head propped against his hand, his fingers forked into the sun-kissed blond waves of his hair. Intelligent, steel-blue eyes studied the movements of the dealer as she ran her hand across the green felt table, silently requesting the men place their bets.

He straightened, then shoved a large pile of chips forward. His mouth curved into a smile when the man next to him threw him a teasing elbow. The prince had full lips—very kissable lips, Amanda decided—and white, glamour-boy straight teeth. His tanned cheekbones were high and well-defined, like a GQ model's, though unlike most male models, Stefano was no teenaged beanpole. His broad shoulders filled his tuxedo to perfection.

She took a second look at his blond hair. Tousled a bit, as if he'd just clambered out of bed and smoothed it with his fingers, the style didn't scream wealth. The top button on his formal shirt was undone and his bow tie hung loose.

The powers-that-be at the palace must have made him ditch the California-boy look for his polished official portraits. Though Stefano possessed a prince's self-assured bearing, she suspected he preferred the rough-and-tumble look to something more refined.

Straitlaced as she was, she found she preferred it on him, too.

Still, he needed to look regal, and fast. They had to hustle to keep the ceremony from being delayed. She took a deep, reassuring breath, then eased into the room.

"Mi scusi, Prince Stefano," she began. "I was—"

"Just leaving." The guard, face flushed with anger, made her jump as his fingers curled around her arm, just above the elbow. "Mi dispiace, Your Highness. I allowed myself to be fooled and she got past me from the main floor. It will not happen again." The guard gave her a withering look, then began to pull her into the hall.

"Please," Amanda called over her shoulder to the prince just as she managed to get a hand on the doorframe. "I was sent—"

"Va bene, Carlo. Let her stay." Stefano surprised her by looking up from his game to address the guard, who immediately released his death grip on her arm.

"But she...she...Of course, Your Highness." The confused guard bowed, then spun on his heel, presumably to return to his post.

The prince turned back to the table, attention riveted on the game as the dealer dealt him a king.

Amanda took a deep breath and let go of the door frame, then crossed to the table. Finally.

"Your Highness, as I was saying, I was sent by—"

"You must be Ms. Hutton." The prince didn't look up. "I'm sorry, I don't remember your first name. And I haven't forgotten the wedding. I'll be done in a few minutes. Feel free to order a drink." He absently waved her to a chair near the windows.

Amanda did a double-take. His English was amazing—he sounded as American as she did! And apparently he knew her name, though she couldn't imagine how.

"Y-you were expecting me?"