It was the most straightforward thing anyone had said to him in a long time and she sounded as if she really meant it. For a moment Xaviero looked down into her upturned face, thinking how simple her life must be. How unlike those glittering and bejewelled women with their bony shoulders who had vied shamelessly for his attention all evening. And suddenly, the memory of her smile the first time she'd seen him stirred in him a distant memory. Sunny and uncomplicated and full of innocent promise.
'Come on, we're leaving,' he said suddenly.
She glanced down the corridor into the still-packed ballroom and thought about their two glaringly empty chairs. 'But won't … won't people mind?'
'Mind? I don't care if they do,' he murmured, meeting her wide-eyed question with a smile. 'It is time for your next lesson, my beauty. It's going to be a very long and extensive lesson-and I, for one, can't wait for it to begin.'
Chapter Six
'GOING out somewhere tonight, are you, Cathy?'
Momentarily, Cathy froze in the act of picking up her handbag as Rupert's words stopped her in her tracks. Composing her face, she turned around, preparing to face him-remembering what Xaviero had told her when she'd worried aloud about people finding out that they were lovers.
'So what? You have nothing to hide, cara,' he had murmured casually. 'And neither do I. Every man is entitled to a mistress.'
It had made her briefly wonder why he had used the term 'mistress' instead of 'girlfriend', when he wasn't even married. But maybe that was what princes did when they acquired a lover who was also a commoner. They erected boundaries-so that the lover wouldn't ever make the mistake of thinking that there might be some kind of future in their affair.
Trying to hide her nerves, she gave a slightly wobbly smile because Rupert was still standing in front of her, blocking her way and clearly expecting some kind of answer to his question.
'Actually, I'm staying home tonight,' she said, noticing her boss's eyes straying to the bulging carrier bags at her feet. She'd rushed down to the village at lunchtime and had bought crusty wholemeal bread and some thick slices of ham from the butcher.
'Cooking dinner for lover-boy, are we?' he sneered.
Cathy swallowed and then drew her shoulders back. If Xaviero liked her enough to want to spend time with her, then there was no way she was going to let Rupert Sanderson look down his nose at her! 'No, we're having salad tonight,' she answered calmly.
Rupert looked irritated. 'He could have a silver-service dinner any night of the week right here and yet he seems to prefer slumming it with you! And we all know why that is, don't we?' His petulant voice lowered to a kind of hiss. 'But better not get too used to it. You may have managed to entice a prince into your bed, Cathy-but he'll drop you like a hot potato once the novelty has worn off.'
Cathy froze-because wasn't her boss only articulating thoughts she'd had a hundred times herself since she'd become Xaviero's lover? Heart pounding, she lifted up her chin and looked him directly in the eye. 'May I please pass?' she questioned politely.
'Feel free.' He fixed his gaze on her breasts. 'Nice blouse, Cathy-is it new?'
As she passed by Cathy blushed-because yes, it was a nice blouse. In fact, it was an extremely beautiful blouse-made out of the softest silk chiffon imaginable, and covered in lots of tiny little flowers so that it resembled a summer meadow. And Xaviero had bought it for her.
It had arrived in a fancy box, which she'd had to collect from the village post office. Cathy had no experience of costly clothes, but even with her untutored eye she immediately sensed that the blouse was worth a small fortune. It transformed an old pair of jeans into an eye-catching outfit and had made Xaviero's eyes narrow with appreciation.
Next, a large box of fine French lingerie had been delivered-and the Prince had waved her protests aside with a careless gesture of his hand. He didn't care that she was reluctant to accept gifts from him, he told her-he wanted to give them to her, and his wishes were paramount.
'I don't want you in cheap underwear,' he had murmured as he'd slowly peeled off a pair of sheer lace camiknickers and watched her squirm with delight. 'My mistress must be clothed in silk and satin.'
It had made her feel rather odd. A bit like an object. But then his expert lips and seeking fingers would get to work and dissolve any lingering doubts-replacing them with a sense of wonder that he should desire her as much as he did.
As she walked down the flower-banked path to her cottage Cathy reflected that her weeks with the Prince had been everything that any woman could ever have wished for.
Well, maybe some women might have objected to the fact that they didn't go out very much-though he had certainly offered to take her. The trouble was that going out with a prince was beset with difficulties. A supposedly incognito visit to the cinema had been spoiled when word had got out that a European royal was present. Maybe it had been the attendance of his bodyguards who had given the game away, no matter how discreet they had tried to be. And consequently, the staff had made a fawning kind of fuss of him.
Cathy had noticed how much he hated being recognised; she hated it, too-and not just because she was thrust aside into the shadows. Understandably Xaviero was much more uptight when he was being observed by other people. So she had suggested that they stay at home, in her little cottage. They could eat supper outside if the weather was fine-in the seclusion of the small garden. And if it rained, then they could watch DVDs while cuddled up on the sofa, just like any other couple.
To her surprise, he had agreed-and to her even greater surprise, he hadn't grown bored with the arrangement. On the contrary, Xaviero seemed to love the simple life, which was all she could offer him. And it gave Cathy almost as much pleasure as his love-making-to see her prince relax in the relative anonymity of her little home.
He's not your prince, she reminded herself fiercely as she dumped the two carrier bags on the kitchen table and went out into the garden to pull some potatoes from the ground.
She was so busy tugging at the tiny little vegetables that she didn't hear anyone come into the garden. In fact, the first she knew that Xaviero was present was the touch of his hands at her waist. Such an innocent touch and yet it had the power to make her feel weak with wanting.
'Xaviero,' she breathed.
'You were expecting someone else?' came his wry reply as he turned her round to face him.
'I'm all muddy!'
He stared down into her flushed and healthy-looking cheeks-at the bright aquamarine eyes which sparkled like blue stars. She was … enchanting. Completely without guile or affectation. 'Who cares?' he murmured as he lowered his head to kiss her.
The kiss became breathless-and the potatoes scattered around their feet. Inside, she quickly washed the mud from her hands and then her lover carried her to bed, where they made love with an urgent kind of fervour which suggested that they might have been apart for weeks, rather than mere hours.
And afterwards he pulled her up to lie against his warm body, kissing the top of her head and breathing in the silky scent of her hair.
'That was … amazing,' he murmured, his fingers settling over one soft breast. 'Who taught you to do that?'
'You did,' she whispered. Just as he had taught her everything. Tightening her arms around him, Cathy felt the powerful body relax against hers and wished that the world outside this cottage didn't exist. That they could stay marooned in here in a world of make-believe, where she could pretend that he was simply Xaviero-the man whose golden-eyed beauty had grown to dominate her world.
He began to drift off to sleep beside her and she could hear nothing but the steadying of his breathing, and the ticking of her bedside clock. Oh, how she hated that little clock which ruthlessly whittled away the minutes they spent with each other. Hands which crept round so agonisingly slowly when Xaviero was absent that they seemed almost stationary. But when he was here … well, that was when time would play cruel tricks-greedily running away with itself until the alarm on his cell phone reminded him that it was time to leave.
Then, in the early hours he would prise himself from her warm embrace, pulling on his clothes to slip out into the balmy summer air where his chauffeur was waiting patiently at the end of the lane, ready to drive him the short distance to the hotel.
'Why don't you … stay?' she had ventured, on that blissful first night in his arms-when she had lain there dazed in the sweet aftermath of his love-making.