Instead she’d deviated from the script for the first time in a decade, stepped out of her comfort zone and into disaster.
‘Instead you ended up with me. It doesn’t make sense. As far as I can tell, from the publicity that surrounds you, you are the personification of discretion. You’ve never so much as been caught tipsy, and any relationships you have had haven’t caused even a breath of scandal. As for you and Prince Frederick—you haven’t even been seen holding hands in public...’
Impossible to explain that there was no spark between her and Prince Frederick—had never been a spark with any man until Daniel. Dating Frederick was calm, correct and dutiful. In truth that had surprised her as much as it had relieved her. Prince Frederick of Lycander had once been a noted playboy—had ‘dated’, for want of a better euphemism, plenty of women, and been photographed on yachts and in night clubs. But clearly that wasn’t the way he treated a possible wife. Formal duty characterised their relationship, and that suited her fine.
‘I agree it didn’t make sense. I acted out of character and it was a mistake.’ Of enormous proportions.
The sparks between her and Daniel had set off an inferno that could affect the rest of her life.
‘So now you’ve decided to enter the gilded cage? That’s the gilded cage you were talking about in Barcelona, isn’t it?’
The words slammed into her—seemed to echo across the months.
‘The Lycander marriage.’
Kaitlin summoned as much aristocratic hauteur as was possible. ‘My marriage is my business and I know what I’m doing.’
Amazing she could say that with a straight face. No! She did know what she was doing; it was just this man, this horrible scenario, that was messing with her head.
‘There is nothing wrong with a gilded cage.’
‘Dammit. There is everything wrong with a gilded cage.’
The force in his voice made her jump, caused her heart to pound.
‘It’s a prison of the worst kind.’
Bleakness flashed across his blue eyes and for a mad second she wanted to reach out and offer comfort. Ridiculous. She had to focus on what was important here.
‘You are entitled to your opinion, but I disagree.’
His fingers drummed the snowy white linen of the tablecloth and his gaze seemed to bore into her soul. ‘That’s not what you thought nine months ago.’’
‘Yes, it is. I had a moment of insanity that night, but however mad I was I always knew what my future held.’
Daniel shook his head and she wondered why this mattered so much to him. She felt an urge to ask—a wish that this conversation didn’t have to be so antagonistic. A sudden memory of the conversations they’d shared that Barcelona night clouded her mind: the ease, the banter, the sharing of opinions. Compared with the sophisticated, carefully constructed exchange of her talk with Frederick. Enough. Bad enough that her body was on alert—heaven help her if her mind joined the party.
‘And I should never have jeopardised it with a meaningless one-night stand.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Meaningless?’ he repeated softly.
‘Meaningless on any real level.’ It was impossible to infuse her words with more than a mocking semblance of truth—not when she knew that their night together had been little short of a miracle for her.
‘You sure about that?’
His voice deepened and Kaitlin caught her breath on the smallest of gasps. She dropped her gaze from the look in his eye. The ice-blue had darkened to cobalt and she knew what she would see in their depths—the memory of the levels, the sheer heights of the passion they had scaled. Heat crept up her cheekbones and her gaze lingered on his hands, on their strength, their capability, and an image flashed into her brain. The touch of his fingers as they’d caressed her skin...her own fingers trailing down the skin of his bare back...the ripple of muscle, the taste of...
Momentarily she closed her eyes, made dizzy by a mix of horror and sheer sensuous memory. Enough. That had been a night of madness, and if anything it had shown her that spontaneity led to disaster. Reinforced her need to be Lady Kaitlin Derwent—poised, calm, serene and safe. Th
at was who she needed to be now; being ‘Lynette’ had landed her in a mess of horrific proportions, and right now she needed to stay focused on getting herself out.
She could only hope that the effort it took to keep her voice steady wasn’t beading her brow with perspiration.
Kaitlin looked down at the croissant on her plate...realised that at some point in this quagmire of a conversation she had crumbled the flaky pastry into a pile of crumbs. It was not her usual behaviour, and impatience rippled through her along with a touch of panic. She could not afford to unravel now.
‘Meaningless,’ she repeated, and this time she succeeded in imbuing her voice with aloofness. ‘Surely you aren’t claiming it meant anything to you?’
If she’d hoped to gain his agreement she was disappointed.