It seems like Iris Danbury specializes in aloof H's who are marriage-shy and for some inexplicable reason, catnip to women. That's not unusual; what is, though, is that these men simply don't seem worth the effort, ever.
A somewhat plodding read that's more travelogue than romance. The hero is hardly ever on the page, and when he is he's flirting with two other women instead of the heroine. Meanwhile the heroine spends all her time with some dude called Niccoli and her boss. There is so much OM/OW stuff going on it's rather tedious.
Speaking of tedious, this book is really the heroine being chauffeured about various tourist spots on Sicily by a load of men who are not the hero. So we the reader must endure endless restaurant scenes as the heroine must try literally every local specialty on offer, then she goes to locals bars, local cafes, music evenings, boat trips, puppet theatres, religious processions, a local wedding etc etc.
The romance? Pretty much non existent. The hero is a stodgy, fun-hating bore who spends the whole book avoiding the heroine. The heroine is a stuffy, fun-hating bore who spends the whole book lecturing the hero.