Anne Fraser - The Doctor and the Debutante

Anne Fraser

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover

Title Page The Doctor and the Debutante Anne Fraser www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author About the Author ANNE FRASER was born in Scotland, but brought up in South Africa. After she left school she returned to the birthplace of her parents, the remote Western Islands of Scotland. She left there to train as a nurse, before going on to university to study English Literature. After the birth of her first child she and her doctor husband travelled the world, working in rural Africa, Australia and Northern Canada. Anne still works in the health sector. To relax, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, walking and travelling.

Dedication Dedication: To Lisa, for showing me the real Italy. Mille grazie, bella.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Copyright

Dear Reader

Tuscany is one of my favourite parts of the world, and some readers will know that Africa is also very close to my heart. In this book I have brought these two places together as my hero and heroine learn about themselves and each other.

Alice meets the gorgeous and dangerously sexy Dr Dante Corsi in Florence, and has a brief but intense affair with him. But Dante doesn’t know that Alice is keeping a secret from him. She is not the woman he thinks she is, but is Lady Alice Granville, daughter of one of the richest men in England.

When Dante discovers the truth, and that Alice is planning to come to work as a volunteer in Africa, where he works as one of the camp doctors, he is dismayed. Not only does he not believe she will be able to cope with the harsh conditions of camp life, but he has sworn not to let her back into his heart.

As they work together Dante learns that, despite her high heels and manicured nails, Alice is determined to make herself useful, and she is soon an essential part of the camp—and his life.

But can he trust this woman? And, even if he can, does he have the right to take her away from her privileged life? Can Alice make him believe in love again?

I hope you enjoy finding out.

Best wishes

Anne Fraser

ANNE FRASERwas born in Scotland, but brought up in South Africa. After she left school she returned to the birthplace of her parents, the remote Western Islands of Scotland. She left there to train as a nurse, before going on to university to study English Literature. After the birth of her first child she and her doctor husband travelled the world, working in rural Africa, Australia and Northern Canada. Anne still works in the health sector. To relax, she enjoys spending time with her family, reading, walking and travelling.

Dedication:

To Lisa, for showing me the real Italy. Mille grazie, bella.

ALICE picked up her pencil and made a few more strokes on her pad. Somehow her depiction of Michelangelo’s David wasn’t going according to plan. In her drawing he looked more like the Incredible Hulk than one of the world’s masterpieces.

She had come to the Piazza della Signoria as soon as it was light so that she would be there before the tourists. Florence was teeming with them and it wasn’t really surprising that the Italian city was so popular, it was an art lover’s dream. Everywhere Alice looked there were statues, stunning architecture and amazing works of art that she’d only ever read about. Only yesterday she had seen the original statue of Michelangelo’s David and had been moved to tears. Now she was here in the square to sketch the copy.

Even at eight o’clock in the morning the square was filling rapidly. She decided to give it another hour before packing up.

Picking up her pencil again, she sighed with pleasure as the sun warmed her skin. This was the first time she’d been truly content for as long as she could remember. Here in Florence she could be anonymous, nobody knew or cared who she was and that suited her just fine. There were no paparazzi ready to leap out at her to snap a photograph that would be splashed all over the next day’s gossip magazines. No dinners or functions to attend. No home to run. For these, all-too-short three weeks, she was simply Alice Granville.

She held her pad at arm’s length and surveyed it critically. She wasn’t much of an artist and never would be, but she was bored with hanging about the villa and wanted to record some of the great stuff she had seen. When she’d finished here she’d go and have a coffee and one of those delicious pastries at a café. It was her daily treat. The trouble was that she liked food. Every time she passed a pastry shop, Alice would look longingly at the display in the window—and unfortunately Florence had them on practically every street corner—noticing yet another type of cake she simply had to try.

The Italians also loved their food but Alice had to be careful—just one look at all the delicious food and she felt her hips expand. Not that she was really overweight, just more curvy than she would have liked.

She was about to pack up her bag when her eyes were drawn to a figure sitting on a bench opposite her.

Dressed in a pair of thigh-hugging faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, the man was muscular without being bulky. His face was turned upwards as if he was drinking in the rays of the sun. The muscles of his arms rippled as he lifted his arms and pulled his T-shirt over his head. Alice took a deep breath. He was a real-life copy of the statue of Michelangelo she had been attempting to draw. His chest and arms were tanned and fine dark hair formed a V down to the top button of his jeans.

She started to sketch his face. Dark, almost black hair flopped across a broad forehead. He had a long Roman nose and a strong jawline.

She moved to the mouth: full lips, the edges turned up at the corner as if he was a man who was used to laughing. As if he could read her mind, he smiled, stretched and opened eyes framed by eyelashes that were longer than hers. His eyes were not quite brown with a glint that made them almost amber. Perfectly straight white teeth. Of course. This man couldn’t possibly have an imperfection. He was without a doubt the most beautiful man she had seen in real life—and that was saying something.

As she ran her eyes over his chest, her pencil scribbling furiously on the paper, she saw that he wasn’t perfect. Across his chest was a scar. A few inches long, it ran in a diagonal line from his shoulder down towards his abdomen.

Alice took a long swig of tepid water. For some reason her mouth was dry.

The man shifted slightly before lifting his T-shirt from the bench beside him. As he raised his arms to put it back on, his muscles bunched.

Alice fanned herself with a piece of paper from her pad. Florence was hot in midsummer.

Ten more days and she’d be going back to her life in London. She sighed. Why did the thought fill her with dread? Most women would give their eye teeth to live her life. But to her it felt empty, almost pointless. On the other hand, since she’d come to Italy she’d had the strange sense of coming home. It was crazy. She could barely speak the language and as far as she knew there were no Italians in her ancestry. Perhaps it was because here she could be anonymous Alice instead of Lady Alice Granville, daughter of one of the richest men in London.