The Prince's Chambermaid

by Sharon Kendrick

  Cathy moaned softly. If he had stripped her bare and taken her there, without formality on the marble floor of the elaborate room, she would have let him—welcomed it even, for then he would have been simply a man again, without all the trappings of his royal title. But he suddenly terminated the kiss, his golden eyes almost black as they scoured her face, his breathing as ragged as if he had just been running a race.

  ‘You will be my bride,’ he stated, necessity forcing him to swallow down the urge to quickly join with her sweet, supple body, and then he put his lips to her ear. ‘Won’t you?’

  And despite the misgivings which ran as deep as her desire, Cathy knew that she couldn’t say no to that soft, urgent entreaty. This renewed contact with him had made her realise just what she’d been missing, how much she had ached for him during his absence—and the thought of leaving him tore at her heart like a rusty nail. It was true, he wasn’t offering her what men usually offered when they asked a woman to marry them—but he was offering himself.

  And wasn’t that enough?

  Couldn’t she make it enough?

  ‘Yes, Xaviero,’ she said slowly, her heart thudding beneath one swollen breast. ‘I will be your bride.’

  Chapter Nine

  IT WAS, by necessity, a quiet and hasty wedding. With the young King lying hovering between life and death in a hospital bed, any lavish display of celebration would have been seen as being in extremely bad taste.

  In the event, Cathy found the low-key tone of the event a relief. Imagine if it had been a full-blown royal wedding, she thought—attended by all the world’s top dignitaries and politicians? The kind of nuptials which had apparently been enjoyed by Xaviero’s own parents and which had been splashed over glossy magazines the world over. How on earth would she have managed to pretend that her own union was all for real—and that her royal groom was madly in love with her—if there were battalions of cameras around? Until she reminded herself that she wouldn’t be here if it were a ‘normal’ royal wedding—because Xaviero wouldn’t have needed a bride in such a hurry.

  Flavia was assigned to help Cathy settle into the beautiful and closely guarded house within the palace compound which was to be her home until the marriage—and to school her in the automatic changes which the ceremony would bring.

  ‘You understand that with the making of your vows, you will automatically become a princess?’ the older woman asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that in future, you will be known as Catherine.’

  Cathy smiled. ‘I prefer Cathy, if you don’t mind.’

  Flavia’s expression hadn’t changed. ‘Actually, that won’t be possible,’ she said apologetically. ‘The Prince Regent has ordered all your stationery to bear the name Catherine.’

  For someone whose identity had already been in crisis, this was the final straw—and Cathy went marching off to the Prince Regent’s room. And then was humiliatingly forced to endure an hour-long wait while Xaviero finished off with some government business before he could see her.

  When she was eventually ushered into his office, he took one frowning look at her and then dismissed all his aides until they were alone together—something which had not happened since the day when he had proposed marriage to her.

  His eyes narrowed as he indicated the seat in front of him, knowing that he had a meeting with the transport secretary in half an hour and a whole stack of reading to get through before then in order to get his head round the new road plans. For the first time in his life, he was realising that he couldn’t use his immense wealth to delegate—that the buck really did stop with him. And that maybe this kind of power wasn’t all it was cracked up to be…‘Sit down,’ he said.

  Distractedly, she shook her head. ‘I don’t want to sit down!’

  He let that go. For now. Was the frustration of being apart so much getting to her as much as it was to him? If that were the case, then he would forgive her discourtesy—but she would have to learn soon enough that he would not tolerate being spoken to like that. Not even by his wife. ‘Something has upset you?’

  ‘I won’t change my name!’

  He laid down his fountain pen and studied her, a nerve beginning to work in his cheek. ‘You have interrupted my busy morning schedule to talk to me about a name?’ he questioned in disbelief.

  Couldn’t he see that it was more than just the matter of a name? That she was left feeling like a puppet which was having its strings jerked—and that now even her identity had been torn from her? ‘I won’t change it, Xaviero.’

  ‘It is not a question of choice. You must.’

  ‘Must?’

  Compliance had been one of the main reasons he had selected her as his wife—but she was displaying none of that compliance now. Xaviero’s mouth hardened. If she was to learn the hard lesson of obedience to her royal husband, then was it not better she did so as soon as possible?

  ‘Yes, must,’ he bit out, ignoring yet another phone sending out its silent, flashing demand. ‘Which part of the word don’t you understand?’

  Cathy flinched. ‘Am I…?’ She was aware that her voice was trembling—but that was less to do with her sudden sense of powerlessness and more to do with the gleam of quiet fury which was emanating from the golden eyes. ‘Am I allowed to know why?’

  He didn’t want to hurt her, but she had pushed him into a corner and she would learn not to do so again. ‘Because Catherine is the name of a possible future Queen, while “Cathy” is the name of a—’

  She swallowed as the great gulf of inequality stretched between them like a black chasm. ‘A chambermaid?’

  ‘Precisely.’ He saw the aquamarine eyes begin to take on a suspiciously bright glitter and he felt a momentary wave of irritation. His brother might be dying and she was making a fuss about a damned name? Appeasement did not come easily to him, but with an effort he sought to embrace it now. ‘Look,’ he said, in as placating a tone as he had ever used. ‘Catherine is a very pretty name. It suits you. Is it such a big thing to ask?’

  Maybe it wasn’t—but Cathy was already reeling from the list of ‘dos’ and ‘don’ts’ she’d been given by Flavia. Don’t stand up unless you want the entire room to follow suit. Don’t spend too long in any line-up. Don’t forget that everyone who tries to make your acquaintance will have their own agenda—and will try to use their royal connection to better themselves. But the one which had scared her the most was: Don’t trust anyone without first running it past the palace. No wonder Xaviero was so cynical.

  She had spent the morning with a dress designer who had been unable to hide her faint surprise when she’d seen Cathy’s existing clothes—before revealing her planned designs for her new, royal wardrobe with the air of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat. And Cathy had looked at all the different clothes she was going to need with a sense of wonder. The brand-new outfits she would require when she took her place in royal life would have excited the heart of most young women. But she was left wondering whether all traces of the real Cathy were going to be completely eradicated by her makeover. And now this.

  ‘Maybe I would have liked to have been consulted about the name change before it was decided,’ she said, in a small voice.

  ‘And you will be in future,’ he assured her suavely. ‘I promise.’

  She felt like a child being placated with a spoonful of sugar after an unexpected dose of particularly nasty medicine. It seemed so long since Xaviero had actually touched her. And wasn’t that part of the trouble—that she was left feeling insubstantial, as if she didn’t really exist any more?

  ‘And I really want to kiss you,’ she said boldly.

  He felt the hot jerk of arousal as he got up from behind the desk and advanced towards her, his face darkening with frustration. ‘You think I don’t? You think I don’t lie awake at night realising that you’re on the other damned side of the compound surrounded by guards? Why, I am so hot for you that I hardly dare trust myself in your company,’ he groaned, b
efore pulling her into his arms and kissing her with an intensity which made him think very seriously about locking the door.

  Instantly, she began to melt beneath the seeking heat of his lips—feeling the warm pooling of her blood, the faint tremble of her knees. ‘Xaviero,’ she breathed against his mouth. ‘I want you.’

  Splaying his hand greedily over the curve of one magnificent breast and feeling its bursting tightness, he found himself wondering whether there would be time to…to…

  And then one of the phones on the desk began to ring and silently he cursed her for inflicting desire on him before so vital a meeting. This was madness! For a moment back there, he’d actually been contemplating…

  ‘You see?’ he demanded heatedly. ‘Now you have driven me into a state of intense longing!’

  ‘And that was wr-wrong?’

  ‘Of course it was wrong!’ He looked down into her darkened eyes and saw the way her lips now quivered with uncertainty. For a moment his voice softened as he traced a featherlight outline over their trembling surface. ‘You must learn that duty always comes before desire and we can’t do this, mia bella. Not now—and certainly not here.’

  His soft censure sliced through her like a knife and Cathy’s hand reached out to a nearby chair to steady herself on its gilded support. Had she made a complete fool of herself—trying to seduce him away from his frantic workload? ‘I’m sorry.’

  He shook his head impatiently. ‘It’s forgotten—but if you embrace the rule from the beginning, then there won’t be any need to apologise. There are certain protocols to be observed and one of them is that it is unwise for us to be alone together before the wedding. We certainly can’t make love without causing a national scandal and that is something I am not prepared to do in the current circumstances—no matter how much I want you. The wedding takes place the day after tomorrow—so you won’t have much longer to wait. Do you think you can hold out until then?’

  Cathy felt the sting of colour to her cheeks. ‘There’s no need to make me sound like some kind of…of…sex maniac.’

  Softly, he laughed. ‘Oh, I’m not knocking it, mia bella. Your unashamed eagerness is one of the very things which makes you so very irresistible. It’s just a question of timing.’ His eyes glittered as they raked over her flushed face. ‘And think about how good it’s going to feel, mmm?’ He went back behind the sanctuary of his desk and picked up the golden fountain pen before flicking her another quick glance. ‘Oh, and in the future, you are to be known as Catherine—is that understood?’

  He had waited until she was soft, vulnerable—and then he had driven his point home with ruthless disregard for her feelings. Cathy bit her lip. But what could she do, other than agree?

  Because by then a whole train of events had been set in motion and she knew that it was too late to stop them, even if she wanted to. And when it boiled down to it—did she really want to escape from all this, and, more importantly, from Xaviero himself? To do what? Go back to London and her job in the bookshop? Deep down she knew that there was no contest—even if instinct told her that she was laying herself open to possible heartache.

  And so it was that Catherine Helen Burton married the Prince Xaviero Vincente Caius di Cesere in the exquisite chapel within the palace compound and became his Princess. The only people present were the Prime Minister, the Chief Minister of Justice and their partners as well as Flavia and her husband, Marco—the Prince’s aide.

  Naturally, there was no one from Cathy’s side and it seemed that this was another point in her favour—that she arrived unencumbered by any emotional baggage. Thus there was no chance of potential embarrassment from loud-mouthed relatives—because she didn’t have any. No kiss-and-tell stories or embarrassing photographs dredged up from the past. In fact, no press were present, either—although a brief statement was to be issued to the world’s media afterwards.

  Cathy wore a pearl-coloured dress of silk chiffon, ornamented by a short, lace bolero jacket worn during the service, which added a touch of formality. She had wanted something knee-length and more relaxed—something which seemed more appropriate for the occasion. But in this, as in so much else, she was overruled. As Flavia crisply informed her—princesses didn’t wear day-dresses when they married. They wore fairy-tale dresses which little girls would drool over when the photos appeared in the island’s newspaper the following day.

  So Cathy tried to appreciate the thousands of tiny seed pearls which had been sewn into the bodice and filmy skirt of the dress and which gleamed as she moved. And to acknowledge that the pearls and diamonds which glittered in the tiara which adorned her carefully coiffured hair were real jewels. How many women would long to wear something this magnificent? Yet their cold brilliance was slightly intimidating as well as beautiful—their weight as heavy as the burden of expectation which she knew hovered over her.

  But she would be a good Princess, she told herself fiercely. She would care for her Prince in any way that he would let her—and she would use whatever talents she had to try to make the people of Zaffirinthos happy.

  There was no triumphant peel of bells as they emerged from the chapel into the bright sunshine and she wondered whether there might be a public kiss to seal the union. But there was not. Just the golden gleam of his eyes as he looked down at her.

  ‘So, Catherine,’ he said softly. ‘Princess of Zaffirinthos. How does that feel?’

  ‘It feels unreal,’ she admitted with a whisper and saw the brief shuttering of his face.

  ‘All royal life is unreal.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘That is both its attraction and its danger.’

  ‘Its danger?’ she questioned shakily.

  Lifting one olive-skinned hand, he gestured at the splendour which surrounded them. ‘Of course. Sometimes people who are not born to it find it incredibly restrictive. Or they fall in love with the heady sense of power it bestows. Few remain immune to its lure. Can’t you see the danger in that, Cathy?’

  ‘I…suppose so.’ She wanted him to tell her not to worry, that it was all going to be okay—especially today, of all days. She wanted to feel part of everything—but most of all she wanted to feel part of him in the way that all new brides were supposed to. Her fingers dug into the tight white roses of her bouquet. ‘But I’d prefer to think about happier matters on my wedding day.’

  He looked down at her. With her pale hair caught up in a sophisticated chignon and threaded with glittering jewels, she looked incandescent. Already, the image of the simple little chambermaid she had once been was fading—though her naïve statement reminded him that, essentially, she was the same woman underneath. ‘Yes, of course you do. So come on. Big smile—and then let’s go and say hello to the staff.’

  All the palace personnel were lined up along the marble steps to greet the newlyweds and Cathy was grateful that Flavia had told her to stop and chat only every few places—otherwise they would have been there all day. But she saw a couple of crestfallen faces from the younger maids she didn’t actually get to speak to—and she determined to make their acquaintance on another occasion. Because hadn’t she been there, where they were—a small, anonymous face looking out at all the splendour as the moneyed people went by?

  Suddenly, Cathy felt a pang for the old life—the life she had left behind. One where feelings were allowed precedence over rules, and where it would have been perfectly acceptable for a new bride to fling her arm around her husband’s neck and to kiss him.

  The wedding breakfast was held in what she had learned was the smallest and most intimate of the three dining halls—though intimacy was not a word which married well with such a room. How could it when every piece of cutlery they used was made of solid gold and studded with rubies? Even the crystal glass containing priceless wine was so heavy that she needed to use two hands to pick it up.

  And Cathy suddenly realised that she had nothing to say! Not unless she started advising the noble assembly how to make a bed—or the best way to fold sheets—and Flavia had t
acitly advised her not to dwell on her former life. Her words and her thoughts seemed to have dried up, leaving her feeling empty. Not that anyone seemed to mind. It was clearly Xaviero who was of prime importance. Xaviero whose jokes they laughed at and Xaviero whose observations were met with nodding interest.

  Cathy sat listening, absorbing everything she heard—trying to learn as much about her new royal life as she could. But the meal seemed to drag on and on—course after course of it—all amazing little delicacies, most of which she’d never tasted before and were much too rich to lay comfortably in a stomach already churned up with nerves. Especially when all she really wanted was for Xaviero to take her in his arms and to kiss away all her fears and insecurity.

  Yet despite the fact that they were newly wed, they were still surrounded by onlookers and protocol. She tried sending him looks of appeal across the glittering table—and was it her imagination, or did he simply ignore her silent entreaty?

  By the time the meal was finished she was a mass of insecurity, but consoled herself with the sight of her new husband as he stood up. In his dark naval uniform awash with medals as golden as his eyes, he looked so tall and so handsome. And in that moment Cathy simply felt an immense and quiet pride that she had married such a man.

  It didn’t matter what had gone before—it was the now which mattered, and soon she would be locked in his arms again. Her bare skin would be close to his in a way she had hardly dared remember, for fear that it would never happen again. But tonight it most definitely would. Hadn’t they always been magic in bed together—and wouldn’t her pleasure only be enhanced by knowing that she was now legally his wife? She could show him love in the privacy of their bedchamber and Xaviero would learn to accept it—maybe even one day to return it.

  Slanting him a demure smile, she rose to her feet—smoothing down the silk chiffon of her wedding dress and imagining him peeling it from her body very soon.