The Prince's Chambermaid

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.