Anais LaPrell, lovely young heiress, is summering in Rome when she meets--and immediately adores--rising young concert pianist Gathen Bentley. ("". . . he found her lips. They were waiting to receive his kiss. A galaxy of stars exploded. . . ."") Anais, however, is engaged to old beau Elliott back in N.Y.--and, this being the sort of romance where everyone seems to be stuck in a 1932 B-movie, she therefore flees from Gathen's love. . . only to find some tepidly gothic doings back home on Park Avenue. Why is Elliott meeting with arch-conservative politicians? Who is the stranger lurking in the shadows? Could it have something to do with Anais' motherless, super-rich little nephew? Well, both Elliott and Anais' brother-in-law turn out to be involved in some hilariously unconvincing evil--which, of course, clears the way for the return of Gathen: ""Anais had surrendered to the happiness that awaited her in Gathen's arms."" Sub-Harlequin and sub-literate (""She was just as much their little girl as she was to her parents"")--but romance readers disturbed by the trend toward heavy breathing can count on utter chasteness here.