Кристина Холлис – His to Command: the Housekeeper: The Prince's Chambermaid / The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress / The Tuscan Tycoon's Pregnant Housekeeper (страница 20)

But only momentarily—because her attention was immediately drawn to the tall figure who stood by one of the long windows. His face and powerful body were shadowed by the light behind him, but just seeing him again made Cathy realise how much she had missed him and how she had longed and craved to feel his embrace.

‘Xaviero!’ she cried, and impetuously started to move towards him until the brief elevation of an imperious palm stopped her in her tracks and the words dried on her lips.

He stepped out of the shadows then and, with a shock, she could see that he had lost weight. The flesh was stretched tightly over the autocratic bones of his face and his golden eyes were darkened by lack of sleep. But more than that—they were cold and distant. Gleaming out a warning so distinct that he might as well have held up a placard saying: Do not come near me. The only thing she could compare it to was that time when he had told her that their affair was over and he was going to South America. Back then, as now, it had been as if he’d flicked a switch to make himself icily inaccessible—and a sudden feeling of foreboding made her heart miss a beat.

‘It is good to see you again, Catherine,’ he said, in a voice she’d never heard him use before. Cool and diplomatic—it made her feel as if she were little more than a stranger to him.

And Catherine? What was it with all this ‘Catherine’? First Flavia and now him. Dazed by the sheer magnificence of her surroundings and more than a little intimidated by Xaviero’s daunting presence, she stood before him mutely and waited for some kind of explanation which might clear this confusing fog she seemed to be standing in. ‘It is good to see you too,Your Highness,’ she said, echoing his formal tone.

Xaviero looked at her. Wearing some crumpled and cheap little dress, she could not have looked more out of place in the splendour of the palace setting and for a moment he wondered if he had undergone some kind of temporary insanity by bringing her out here.

But what choice did he have in a situation which showed no sign of ceasing? What was it they said? he thought bitterly. Be careful what you wish for…

‘Flavia,’ he said steadily, with barely a glance at the middle-aged aide. ‘I wonder if you might give us a few moments?’

‘Of course, Your Highness.’ Flavia bobbed a smooth curtsey before exiting the room and quietly shutting the massive doors behind her.

And it was the curtsey which stirred a distant memory and shook Cathy out of her torpor. ‘I thought you didn’t like formality,’ she said slowly.

He gave a grim kind of smile. ‘Unfortunately, it has become a necessity I am fast learning to deal with. There are fairly rigid definitions of acceptable behaviour here—and you running across the room and hurling yourself into my arms in front of an aide isn’t really one of them.’

The criticism stung—but how had she been expected to know the rules of royal protocol when all she had been trying to do was console him? ‘How…how is your brother?’

The golden eyes seared through her. Could he trust her? Really trust her? And yet would he have brought her out here on this crazy mission if he did not? ‘What I tell you is in strictest confidence.’

‘Of course.’

‘His condition remains unchanged. The King lies in a coma, unresponsive to all stimuli.’ Xaviero’s mouth thinned into a bleak line. ‘He is alive and yet not alive—for he can engage none of the senses which really constitute living.’

She heard bitterness mixed with sadness in his voice and something else, too—something she couldn’t put her finger on. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Yes. We’re all sorry.’

She lifted her eyes to his, realising that he still hadn’t touched her—and that something in his body language was deeply forbidding, as if daring her to touch him. And she didn’t. How could she after everything he’d just said? She stood there feeling as if he were nothing more than a distant stranger. He seemed like a man she had known briefly in another life—and yet she couldn’t even imagine it now. It seemed impossible to think of him in her arms and in her little bed, making love to her and teaching her how to pleasure him. He looked cold, untouchable—like some gleaming golden statue.

‘Xaviero,’ she whispered. ‘Why have you brought me here?’

By the shafts of his powerful thighs, Xaviero’s fingers briefly flexed—a split second of unfamiliar indecision making him hesitate. Because the repercussions of what he was about to say were enormous. He regarded her steadily. Should he go through with it? Could he go through with it? And yet, did he really have any choice in the matter if he was to live any kind of tolerable life here on an island where his every move was watched and analysed? Drawing a deep breath, he stared down into the wide-spaced aquamarine eyes.

‘I want you to marry me,’ he said flatly.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CATHY suddenly experienced the strangest sensation—almost as if she had moved outside her body, and were now looking down on it. As if she were distanced and removed from the moment.

She could see the imposing physique of the Prince radiating power and privilege—and that slightly hunched woman in the crumpled floral dress must be her. She was staring up at him, an expression of disbelief on her face—as if she couldn’t believe that such a man had just asked her to marry him. Her lips were dry and she couldn’t utter a word—even if she’d had a clue how to reply.

‘Cathy? Did you hear what I said?’

His voice interrupted the swirling confusion of her thoughts and brought her telescoping back into her own body with a shock. Swallowing down the sudden clamour of fear as her senses returned, she felt the cold prickle of sweat at her brow and prayed that she wouldn’t do something foolish, like slide to the ground in a faint.

Yet her heart wasn’t beating wildly with the exultant joy she might have expected. Wasn’t it strange how something you’d longed for only in your wildest dreams could have the ring of the nightmare about it when it actually came true? This man—no, this prince—had flown her out to his Mediterranean island and just proposed marriage to her. Cathy’s eyes searched the hard contours of his face, wanting him to repeat it—no, needing him to repeat it, for fear that she might be quietly going insane.

‘I’m not sure that I did,’ she said. ‘Say it again.’

‘I want you to marry me.’

Her voice was now little more than a hoarse whisper. ‘But…why?’

‘Because…’ He knew the words she wanted—the words were traditional at such a time. Words of love and hopes for a shared future. But he couldn’t do that. Xaviero wasn’t blind to his faults—though the power afforded him by his position in society meant that they were always tolerated, even indulged—but he had never been a hypocrite and he wasn’t going to start now. ‘Because I need a wife.’

Need. It was an interesting choice of word and usually it implied some kind of emotional depen-dence—but Cathy suspected that it didn’t mean the same for Xaviero as it did for other people. His face was nothing but a cool, dark mask of near-indifference. He wasn’t exactly flinging his arms around her and telling her that she was the only woman in the world for him, was he? That his life would never be the same unless she said yes.

‘Why?’ she questioned again. ‘I don’t understand.’

Again, he chose his words with care. The truth was vital, yes—but how much of it could she take? And yet if he were anything other than completely candid with her—might she not in future turn round in that hysterical way that women sometimes had when life didn’t turn out the way they wanted it to, and accuse him of having tricked her?

‘Because…’ The lump in his throat momentarily restricted his speech. ‘Because my brother lies insensible in his hospital bed and thus is powerless to act in the interests of his people. It is an impossible situation which cannot continue and I have been charged to govern my country as Prince Regent until he recovers.’

‘Until?’ Cathy seized on the single word. ‘You mean there’s a chance he will recover?’

His eyes narrowed. He had forgotten her native intelligence which seemed to shine through despite her formal lack of education. Had he implied that Casimiro’s prognosis was hopeful? ‘If he recovers,’ he allowed unwillingly and then met the question which clouded her brilliant aquamarine eyes. ‘The doctors think it unlikely. They say that he could lie in this vegetative state for years. I am to be sworn in as Prince Regent—and if I am to rule, then I need a woman at my side.’

To help and support him? she wondered—as her heart gave a sudden leap of hope. To be his solace and his comfort in times of need? Wouldn’t she gladly do all that—and more—for this complex and compelling man? Wouldn’t she be honoured and thrilled to stand by his side? Trying not to let the sudden rise of happiness show on her face, she clasped her hands together. ‘Do you?’

He nodded. ‘Sì. The people are obviously unsettled by what has happened. But a new Princess would give them hope—something bright to lighten the gloom of the accident and the dark days which have followed. Someone to open their hospitals and visit their schools.’ There was a pause while his golden eyes gleamed out a different message entirely. ‘While I cannot live without the physical comfort which only a woman can provide. A comfort which you provide so exquisitely,’he said, his voice growing husky with memory. ‘As we both know only too well.’