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, before 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?'