‘C-c-contraception!’ she gasped out.
Xaviero’s mouth hardened as he haltingly complied with her wishes—the mood not exactly broken, but certainly changed by her shuddered command. And something in the act of putting the barrier between them distilled some of the jubilant wildness which had been heating his blood. His thrust was still deep, but his movements were more measured. Instead of the fiery, fast consummation he had sought, he now controlled the pace almost cold-bloodedly—nearly bringing her to fulfilment over and over again until at last she sobbed out his name in a helpless kind of plea.
Only then did he let go, feeling her convulse about him before allowing his own—strangely bittersweet—orgasm to follow. Afterwards he carried her over to the bed and ripped the silk gown from her body—thus ensuring she would never wear it again, for its associations were now too strongly linked to powerful emotions he would prefer not to remember.
It was a long and erotic night. He made love to her over and over again and, even while Cathy revelled in the incredible sensations he evoked in her, it felt almost as if he were trying to prove a point. What point was that? she wondered distractedly. To establish that he could reduce her to boneless longing any time he wanted to?
She woke to find him already dressed, and realised that it was the first time she had seen him in jeans since she’d arrived on the island. It was a strange moment—as memories fused and became tangled. It reminded her of the first time she’d seen him, when she had been crazily convinced that he was an itinerant worker!
Was he dressing down and reverting to the old Xaviero now that he had been freed from the burden of responsibility? And were his shadowed eyes an acknowledgement that perhaps he had been a little too hasty in acquiring a bride—that maybe he should have waited a little longer before encumbering himself?
She sat up in bed, pushing back her tousled hair—aware of the aching deep inside her body and the soft glow of her flesh. ‘You’re—you’re up early.’
Golden eyes flicked over her. ‘An emergency meeting of the government has been called.’ The sight of her rosytipped breasts was making him want to tumble her back down among the already-rumpled sheets and Xaviero walked over to the safe distance of the window. ‘We have to discuss what kind of statement we need to issue to the press,’ he added tersely.
‘Oh. I see.’ He was standing in the shadows—she could barely read the expression on his face, but that wasn’t such a new thing, was it? Wasn’t his face fathomless even in brightest sunshine—the man who never gave anything of himself away? Tell him now. Tell him while you have the courage. ‘Xaviero…this…changes everything.’
‘I know it does.’
His instant confirmation added yet another brick to the fast-building realisation that what they had between them was as fragile as one of those flowers which bloomed in the desert. Glorious for one short day—and then gone for ever.
‘You won’t want to stay on the island once Casimiro is fully recovered.’
‘I think I might cramp his style somewhat,’ he observed drily, and sent her a sarcastic glance. ‘Don’t you?’
Don’t be swayed by that glimpse of mocking humour, she told herself fiercely as she pulled a silken nightgown over her head—feeling less vulnerable now that her nakedness was hidden. Concentrate on what is real and what is not. You can’t trap him—it isn’t fair. And you can’t hold him to a union which was made in haste for all the wrong reasons. So set him free, Cathy. If you really love him—you’ll give him his liberty.
‘I think we should dissolve the marriage,’ she said bluntly.
Perhaps it was the shock of a woman actually suggesting they end it which surprised him more than anything—for Xaviero had never been dumped by anyone. But an innate sense of his own self-worth meant that he couldn’t quite believe it. He stared at her with a sense of growing disbelief in his eyes. ‘You want that?’ he queried incredulously.
She remembered what he had said to her just yesterday, when she had been dressing for dinner. How I hate this life. Well, now he didn’t have to live it any more, did he?
‘I think it would be for the best,’ she answered carefully, praying that her voice wouldn’t tremble and give her away. ‘You’ve just said you aren’t going to want to stay here.’ The face he presented her was a cold, dark mask as she strove to make him understand. ‘So what will happen? Imagine it, Xaviero. You’ll go to South America to look at polo ponies as planned—taking with you a wife you only married because you envisaged that circumstances would be entirely different? And then what? You return to Colbridge and start up your polo school with the hotel all tarted up and me, the ex-chambermaid installed as its new chatelaine? Come on—it’s a crazy idea. Laughable. Why, the press would have a field-day!’
He couldn’t deny the essential truth in her words but what struck him was how ironic life could be. How determined and how level-headed her argument! His compliant little chambermaid sounding so quietly confident as she told him that their marriage should be dissolved. Her telling him?
Pride made him shrug, telling himself that it was ego causing this sharp pierce of blistering pain. What did she think he was about to do—start begging her to stay? Had she overdeveloped a sense of her own importance since she’d been using the title ‘Princess’ before her name? Well, she would soon learn another lesson—that Xaviero di Cesere was dependent on no woman!
He nodded. ‘We’ll need to think about how best to go about it.’ Dark lashes shaded the golden gleam of his eyes as he set his lips in a cynical line. ‘In fact, I’m wondering if maybe we might be able to bury the story in the good news about Casimiro’s recovery.’
Didn’t part of her crumple then, because hadn’t she—against all the odds—been holding out for more? All he had needed to do was to show her something—some sign that she meant more to him than compliance and passion. But there was nothing. That icy inaccessibility was back and all that concerned her husband was the most diplomatic way to announce their divorce to the press!
‘Perhaps you could let me know what you decide is best,’ she said as she pushed aside the sheets and got out of bed. ‘I’ll stay on the island for as long as you think I should—though, obviously, I’d prefer it if that time was as short as possible.’
‘Obviously,’ he echoed sarcastically, but the sight of the buttery fabric clinging to her voluptuous curves was a temptation beyond endurance and he swiftly turned his back and slammed his way out of the bedroom.
Chapter Twelve
‘CASIMIRO wants to see you.’
Cathy looked up from where she’d been studying the drawer lined with soft pastel piles of silk lingerie and debating how many of the sensual little sets she could reasonably take back to England with her. Or maybe she should leave the whole lot behind. Wouldn’t it be easier that way? Easier to forget…
‘Cathy?’ Xaviero’s voice cut into her thoughts. ‘Did you hear what I said?’
Sitting back on her heels, Cathy forced a smile. ‘He wants to see me? Why?’
Xaviero’s mouth hardened. ‘How the hell should I know? I’m not privy to his thoughts. He just said he’d like to see you before you leave.’
‘Oh, right.’
Xaviero glanced at his watch. ‘Everything’s all been arranged. A car will be here to pick you up just after two. If there are any problems, then just speak to Flavia.’
She stared at him. ‘You mean…you mean, you aren’t going to be here?’
‘To wave you off as the car drives away?’ His lips curved into a cynical smile. ‘No, Cathy, I am not. I don’t do goodbyes—I don’t find them particularly palatable.’
Who did? She swallowed down the sudden lump which had risen in the back of her throat along with the telltale taste of tears. ‘So…so this is it?’
‘Yes, this is it,’ he said implacably, doing his best to ignore the bright glitter of tears in her eyes which made them look as blue as a Californian swimming pool. ‘This is what you wanted.’
> ‘What I thought was best.’
‘And you’re right,’ he agreed steadily. ‘It is. Every single reason you gave as to why we shouldn’t be together made perfect sense. And there are positives, of course. You’ll leave this marriage a considerably wealthy woman—’
‘I don’t want your damned money!’
‘Well, you’re going to get it whether you like it or not! No ex-wife of mine is going to go back to being a chambermaid!’ he bit out.
‘You can’t stop me!’
‘No,’ he concurred. ‘I can’t. What you do when you leave here is up to you. You’re on your own. But what I can do is to make over a house and an income for you to do with as you see fit—because I will not be accused of having married a woman and then leaving her in penury!’
Cathy closed her eyes. Of course. This was all about image, wasn’t it? And ego. His ego. How he would be perceived and judged by the rest of the world. If ever she had needed convincing that her decision was wise, he had just reinforced it with that damage-limitation statement of his.
‘Now you’d better go to see Casimiro,’ he continued, hardening his heart to the sudden chalky whiteness of her face. ‘He may be grateful to be alive, but his old monarchical attitude has set in—and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’
‘So this really is goodbye?’ Her voice was a tremulous little whisper, the realisation driving a sharp twist of pain through her heart.
‘Yes, Cathy—it really is.’
His hand reached out—and for one moment Cathy thought that he might be about to pull her into his arms. And if he did that—she would be lost. Completely lost. As lost as she had been when he’d proposed this farce of a marriage. So do it, her eyes begged him silently. Make me feel you need me.
Instead, he merely caught hold of her own inert fingers and slowly brought them up to his lips—his mouth brushing against their unmoving tips in a parody of courtly manners. She could feel the warmth of his breath and could do nothing to stop the involuntary shudder of longing which shivered its way down her spine.
‘Goodbye, Cathy.’ Their eyes met in a long moment and then he let her go. ‘Now run along and find the King,’ he said softly.
Somehow she managed to leave the room without stumbling—but the tears had started spilling down her cheeks and she took a couple of moments’ refuge in one of the out-of-the-way cloakrooms before she dared head for the King’s quarters.
A quick glance in the mirror at her deathly pale face and the shadows beneath her eyes bore testimony to the strain she’d been living under in the days since Casimiro’s recovery.
During Casimiro’s convalescence, her husband had spent much of his time with his brother—being close to hand as the King’s health and strength had rapidly returned. He had also been making arrangements to travel to South America—and for a trust to be set up in Cathy’s name, as well as a house in London which was to be hers. Her threats to immediately sell the pretty Georgian property and donate all the money to charity had been met with a careless shrug.
‘I don’t care what you do with it,’ he had drawled.
And why should he? Her decision to leave had been made and Xaviero had accepted it. In fact, to Cathy’s horror, he seemed to have compartmentalised her—it was as if she were already in his past. As if she had ceased to exist.
Only in bed at night was there a temporary type of truce when they came together for some pretty explosive sex. And, while Cathy had no real experience of other men, she had learned enough to realise that they viewed sex in an entirely different way from women. Xaviero could still enjoy her body and give her delirious amounts of enjoyment in return—it didn’t actually mean anything, not to him. Whereas for her…
For her it was something else entirely. Every poignant and exquisite caress entranced her. As she gasped out her orgasm beneath his hard, powerful body she was haunted by the terrible knowledge that she would never know pleasure like this again. But she also knew that deep down her reasons for leaving were sound—and that Xaviero had made no attempt to talk her out of them.
Brushing the last rogue tear from her eye and realising that she was keeping the King waiting, Cathy hurried from the cloakroom to his offices at the far end of the palace, where an aide showed her straight in. Casimiro was seated at a huge desk and he looked up as she walked in.
‘Catherine,’ he murmured. ‘At last.’
She sank into a deep curtsey. ‘I’m sorry I’m late—’
‘It isn’t something which happens very often,’ he said drily. ‘Come in, and sit down.’
She slid onto the seat opposite him and, even though it was probably discourteous to stare at the monarch, Cathy simply couldn’t help herself. Because his recovery was like a miracle. Like something you might see in a film but could never imagine happening in real life. The pale and unmoving figure who had been hooked up to all those wires and tubes in Intensive Care was now looking as vital and as vibrant as life itself.
The ebony hair, which had been shaved during his time in hospital, was fast growing back, showing the hint of a recalcitrant wave. Regular exposure to the sun meant that his olive skin had lost its pallor and now glowed with good health. He had been receiving physiotherapy, too—and had hit the gym with his trainer, so that lean muscle had returned to bulk out a fairly formidable physique.
He was an amazingly handsome man who looked, Cathy thought, very like Xaviero. But Casimiro’s eyes were a much darker gold than his brother’s and, curiously, his lips—although innately arrogant—were not nearly as cynical.
‘So, Catherine,’ he said, in a voice which sounded faintly amused. ‘You study the King very intently today. What is your verdict?’
‘You are looking very well, Your Majesty.’
He smiled. ‘And I am feeling very well,’ he said in a satisfied voice before his eyes narrowed and his voice grew thoughtful. ‘Such praise is praise indeed from you, who saw me at my very sickest.’ He looked at her and gave a soft sigh. ‘You know I have a duty to thank you.’
‘You don’t have to thank me, Your Majesty.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ he demurred, his voice now underpinned with a stubborn quality which reminded Cathy painfully of Xaviero. ‘The doctors don’t know why I came out of the coma—and perhaps they never will—but they said I should never underestimate the healing power of another human voice. And your voice was the one I heard most of all during my time in hospital.’ His voice grew even more thoughtful. ‘In fact, the only one I heard so consistently.’
‘Well, Xaviero was too busy with affairs of state—’
‘How faithfully you defend him!’ he murmured. ‘And women are better at talking than men. Yes, he told me.’
For some stupid reason, Cathy found herself blushing. ‘He told you that?’
‘Yes.’
There was an unmistakable question in his dark gold eyes but Cathy clamped her lips tightly closed and knotted her fingers together in her lap. The last thing she wanted to do was to break down and dissolve into tears in front of the King.
‘Catherine, why are you leaving?’
She swallowed. Act normal. Stay calm. ‘Because there is no need for me to stay now that you are returned to health, Your Majesty. You have resumed your rightful place on the throne and Xaviero will soon be leaving the island.’
‘That wasn’t what I mean and you know it,’ he said.
Cathy could hear the impatience in his voice, but it wasn’t really his place to get impatient, was it? ‘Wasn’t it?’
For a moment he studied her impassive face. ‘Xaviero told me how you met,’ he said suddenly.
‘He…he did?’
‘He did. He said he was playing at being ordinary. It was something he used to do all the time when we were younger—a game he used to play.’
Cathy swallowed. A game? ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ His eyes narrowed and he leaned back in his gilded chair, the fingertips of each hand meeting to form a spire. ‘You know, most peop
le think that the younger son always has it easy.’
He was looking at her as if he wanted her to make some kind of comment and Cathy shrugged. ‘But not when you’re royal, I suppose?’
‘No. Not when you’re royal. It’s the heir who always gets the attention. My father spent most of his time with me—instructing me about my inheritance—and Xaviero was pretty much left to his own devices. He was adored by our mother, of course.’
Casimiro paused for a moment and this time Cathy said nothing.
‘Nobody told Xaviero just how sick she was,’ he continued slowly. ‘They led him to believe that she would recover. I think it was the way they dealt with children back then—never acknowledging the darker side of life. He wasn’t even allowed to go to the funeral—it was decided that it would be too distressing for him. And after her death, my father turned all his attention on grooming me to succeed him, so that in a way it was as if Xaviero had lost both parents.’
Cathy bit her lip. ‘Why…why are you telling me all this?’
‘Because you told me about your life while I lay in a coma, Catherine…and some of those words have remained fixed in my mind—they must have done, else how would I have known them when I awoke?’ His mouth curved into a fleeting smile. ‘About your tenants and your beautiful garden in England. The same garden in which you and Xaviero used to sit on long summer evenings and drink wine from cheap glasses.’
‘But I didn’t tell you about that,’ she breathed.
‘No. Xaviero did. My brother and I have talked long and often since my recovery.’
She stared at him. ‘I don’t understand where this is going,’ she whispered.
‘Don’t you? Listen, Catherine.’ Casimiro leaned forward, the spire dismantled as he placed his palms on the desk, almost in a gesture of supplication. ‘If you were prepared to go to him. To seek his understanding and explain that you acted with undue haste in telling him you wanted to leave. If you were suitably contrite…’ there was a moment’s pause ‘…then I think he may be prepared to give you a second chance.’
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