How to Love a Princess (7 page)

He went rigid at her
touch. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, Catherine.” His eyes fixed on her
hand and stayed there until she slid it from his arm. “We don’t know anything
yet, but I’m keen to take a close look at those pills.”

He continued walking and
this time she let him go, still burning from his rejection.
You’re getting
ahead of yourself, Catherine.
Oh, she knew exactly what he’d meant with
that double
entendré
. Damn the arrogant man.
He’d
grabbed
her
down by the stream. If he carried on this way, she’d soon forget what she loved
so much about him.

Which wouldn’t be all bad,
she told herself, trying for cheerful optimism. She failed. She didn’t want to
stop loving Nicolas. She didn’t want to let him go from her heart.

“Dammit all,” she
exclaimed aloud to the empty hall. She was just stubborn enough to spend the
rest of her life mourning a love lost rather than give him up from her heart.
What was the matter with her?

“Princess Amelia,” Serge
called, slipping into the hall from a side door and hurrying closer. “I’ve
received a call from the limousine. Master Geoffrey has arrived and they’re
leaving the landing strip now.”

“Oh, for goodness sake.”
Catherine threw her hands up in the air, drawing a curious frown from Serge who
was not accustomed to seeing the royal princess lose her cool in public.

Catherine hadn’t just lost
her cool, she was hot enough to caramelise the volcano that was a mix of
Nicolas’s tepid disdain and her own lost cause. “Put Geoffrey in the Freesia
room and inform him that I’m indisposed for the afternoon. I’ll see him at the
supper this evening.”

She didn’t dare face
Geoffrey in her current scathing mood.

3

N
icolas
stood in the shadows at the bottom of the stairway, the breath knocked out from
him as he watched Catherine descend.

Her dress was silk, a
shimmering blue that caught the fire in her eyes. The cut was plain, a modest
neckline with spaghetti straps, the rest caressed her figure all the way down
to the toes of her high-heeled sandals. The effect was astounding and it was
her curves that did all the work. The seductive swell of breasts, narrow waist
and slender flare of hips, and then there were those splendidly long legs. The
silk embraced her thighs with every step, teasing his throat dry.

Her hair was unadorned and
hung straight down her cheeks, the feathered edges reaching just below her
breasts. As enticing a picture as she made, there was more. Her smile. Warm and
wide and genuine, tipped at the sides with a hint of flirty mischief. The
sparkle reflected in her eyes.

“Geoffrey,” she called,
holding out her arms as she took the last step.

Startled, Nicolas spun
about to see a well dressed, reasonably attractive blond man come from
seemingly nowhere to take her hands in his and drop a kiss on either cheek.
Who
the hell is Geoffrey?

“Catherine,” the man
returned, standing back to admire her. “You are more beautiful than ever.”

That he’d used her second
name, Catherine instead of Amelia, was a red flag to Nicolas’s deteriorating
mood. He’d quickly picked up that she let few in on her preference for her
second name. In her very public life, it was a way, he realised, for Catherine
to bind herself to a handful of intimate friends.

And then there was that
smile, the charging bull.

Catherine took her hands
back and gave a sultry laugh. “Charming as always, Geoffrey darling. Come,
let’s find you a glass of champagne.”

She tucked her hand into
his arm, leaving Nicolas to stare after with a heavy scowl.

“The others won’t be here
for a while,” she was saying as they disappeared through a set of double doors
thrown wide open for the evening.

Nicolas tried to tell
himself that she was hosting an official dinner. In all likelihood, Geoffrey
was some or other dignitary that had to be entertained and charmed. Only,
Geoffrey didn’t look like any ambassador he’d ever seen. The man was too young.
Too smooth. Besides, his own presence was all the proof needed that not all the
guests tonight were work related.

“I don’t have to stay
around to witness this,” Nicolas muttered, leaving his hiding place to go back
up the stairs.

“Nicolas, I almost didn’t
recognise you in that suit.”

One foot on the first
step, Nicolas glanced over his shoulder to glare at Gascon. He did manage to
refrain from saying that he wished the man hadn’t recognised or spoken to him
at all. Instead, he said coolly, “Good evening, Gascon. I suppose I should know
by now that wherever Catherine goes, you’re no more than a pace behind.”

Gascon grinned at him.
“That is the duty of a bodyguard.”

“Be my guest.” Nicolas
waved a hand at the doorway Catherine had passed through.

“You
were
about to
join us, weren’t you?” Gascon raised a brow that Nicolas found impossible to
ignore.

He brought his foot down
from the step and turned about. “Of course. Where else would I be going trussed
up like a penguin?”

Gascon chuckled.

“I wouldn’t have thought
the hired help were invited to state dinners,” Nicolas commented dryly as they
walked to the double doors.

“I’m not. Don’t worry,
once the official guests arrive, you’ll be pleased to see me make myself
scarce.”

“Scarce to the eye, maybe,
but I doubt you’ll be far away.”

Once again, Gascon
chuckled. He couldn’t help himself. He liked this Nicolas and he enjoyed
matching wits with him in the truce of baiting each other just short of drawing
blood that they’d arrived at during the weeks. “Afraid I’ll be skulking in the
shadows?”

Nicolas’s smile hardened
at the reference to his own reticence. Gascon was like the proverbial chameleon
that could blend into a wall, seeing and hearing all without one knowing he was
there. A commendable quality for a body guard, but Nicolas would never forgive
the man for plucking Catherine from his home; the chameleon had unrolled his
tongue to snatch a tasty fly from the bosom of its family.

They entered the receiving
room and Gascon’s casual stroll toward the intimate pair by the fireplace
brought home the unhappy confirmation that Geoffrey was pleasure and not
official. He shouldn’t care, of course. But no matter what he said or did, what
he wanted for himself or not, it would never be easy seeing Catherine’s
affections turned to another man.

“Nicolas,” Catherine drew
him in with that warm smile as he approached. “Meet Geoffrey Talacon, a close
family friend. Geoffrey, this is Nicolas Vecca, the brilliant doctor attending
my mother.”

And ex fiancé, Nicolas
added grimly to himself.
He shook the man’s outreached hand quickly,
then stood aside.

“I’ve heard of you,”
Geoffrey said with a congenial smile. “Then again, who hasn’t? We’re grateful
for your help and time.”

Nicolas didn’t like that
royal
we
. He nodded abruptly and, when a server came up to him bearing a
tray of crystal chutes filled with bubbling champagne, he asked him, “Any
chance of a whiskey?”

“It’s okay, Alfred,”
Catherine intervened. “I’ll show Dr. Vecca the bar and he can select his
favourite brand.”

Nicolas fell in line with
her as she crossed the room, her heels clicking on the polished oak
floorboards. “Should I be insulted that you’ve forgotten already?”

She glanced at him, a
sparkle in her blue eyes, but said nothing as she pushed a button on a wall
panelled with the same oak as the floor. The wall slid apart on a thin railing
cut into the floorboards to reveal a built-in bar that stretched the width of
the room.

“Four years is a long
time,” she said, going behind the bar. She dipped out of sight, then came up
with a bottle of the eighty-year-old single malt he favoured. “Some things,
however, are impossible to forget.”

Content to be served,
Nicolas hitched a leg over a nearby stool and rested his elbows on the counter.
He watched her spin about and reach up for a tumbler, agreeing whole-heartedly
with her sentiments. Some things were impossible to forget.

The wave of her auburn hair
falling down her back.

The touch of her slender
back beneath his fingertips.

He wasn’t just
remembering. He was feeling the satin softness of her skin, reliving the
trembling passion he’d awakened in her, that she’d awakened in him. He took a
deep breath as she turned about to slide the heavy crystal tumbler over the
counter with delicate, slim fingers.

“Two cubes of ice,” she
murmured. “Three fingers of whiskey.”

His gaze settled on her
lips as she described what she was doing. Soft, firm, delectable. How was it
possible to have had so much and lost it all so quickly? For one insane second,
he almost wished that she had
died. Because every time he was in her
presence, he felt as if he were losing her anew.

She lifted the tumbler,
attracting his gaze to the expensive clear-cut glass and golden liquid. “One
gentle swirl.” With a soft laugh, she held it out to him.

Forcing away his dark
musings, stamping out the nostalgia that swamped him, Nicolas grinned and met
her eyes. “If the kingdom of Ophella ever collapses, at least you have a
promising career as a bartender.”

“You taught me well,”
Catherine responded lightly. Their fingers brushed as he took the offered glass
and shot a warm tingle up her arm. She lost her smile in his dark, lingering
gaze. “Nicolas.”

“Hmmm?” He put the tumbler
to his lips and took a shallow sip, watching her all the while over the glass
rim.

He looked so darkly
handsome. His face was shadowed in the angles and planes of his strong jaw and
prominent cheekbones. His eyes held a touch of vulnerability, softened to the
edge of anger and disdain she’d come to accept as inevitable.

She caught her lower lip
between her teeth, horrified that she’d almost blurted out what was in her
heart. She tried to summon up her earlier anger, but she’d already had the
argument and Nicolas won hands down. Her quick temper might flare now and
again, but Nicolas had just cause for everything he said and did and she was
fair enough to admit it each time the stew of guilt, rejection and despair
settled. “Nothing. We should get back to the others.”

As she turned, he caught
her wrist. He set his glass down on the counter to take both her hands in his.
When he spoke, his voice rumbled the air between them. “You look very beautiful
tonight, Catherine.”

“So do you,” she
whispered, barely able to breathe. “Handsome, I mean, you look very handsome
tonight.”

“Then we’ll make a perfect
couple.”

Her heart buckled. Even as
she opened her mouth to protest, he released her, slid from the stool as he
lifted his glass and walked back to the fireplace. Leaving her to stare after.
They’d never be a couple again. Not even for one night. She couldn’t have it
and he didn’t want it.

What game was he playing?
Her eyes turned to the bottle of whiskey, knowing a sudden urge to down a
couple of mouthfuls straight from the bottle for courage.

And then she laughed. At
herself. At this ridiculous situation. At this rate, she was the one on the
path to self-destruction. She had to focus on the future. On her destiny.

Bracing her shoulders,
Catherine left the bottle out for him and slipped from behind the bar counter.
By the time she reached the fireplace, her smile was intact. A genuine smile
that came from her heart and reached her eyes. After all, she’d had so much
practice, so many years of pretending that everything was all right, that she
was content and happy with this life, that it was as close as real to the
genuine thing. And if she forgot for a moment or two… She shrugged a shoulder
and smiled a little harder.

“Geoffrey was just telling
us about his skiing weekend in Austria,” Gascon said as she joined them. “They
were caught in a blizzard and forced to take refuge in a cabin they came
across. Luckily, they had a convenient supply of alcohol in their backpacks. To
keep them warm and stave off a chilly death, naturally.”

The caustic bite in his
tongue was completely lost on Geoffrey, who laughed and turned to Catherine.
“Good God, we had an amazing
time. You should have been with us. Promise
you’ll come sailing with us in Barbados next weekend?”

“I wish I could,”
Catherine said, inserting a wealth of warmth and intent into her words.
“Unfortunately, with my mother’s illness…”

Not to mention a little
country that needed to be run, she thought dryly. Then again, his single-minded
pursuit of pleasure was his one redeeming quality as far as her needs went. The
second son of a second son of an American billionaire, Geoffrey had no
ambition, no arrogance, no backbone, no desire at all to do anything other than
sail his yachts and party through the night.