The Prince's Chambermaid

Cathy was suddenly acutely aware that she was dressed in a scarlet evening gown—even though her shoulders were covered in a pashmina which had been thrust at her by an aide before their hasty departure. And aware too that her presence was superfluous to what would—and should—be an emotional reunion   between the two brothers. She shook her head. ‘No. Better that you see him alone,’ she said quietly.

Eyebrows arrowed together in a frown. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Quite sure.’

She sat drinking coffee while she waited, unable to stop the stream of thoughts pouring into her mind—no matter how much she tried to stop them. But shamefully the one which dominated all others was purely selfish. And while Cathy’s heart felt fit to burst for joy that the young King should have come back to life, she wouldn’t have been human if a deep dark wave of fear hadn’t washed over her.

Because my place here is now redundant.

Xaviero didn’t need her any more. He didn’t need a wife by his side to ease the burden of unwanted duty thrust upon him by circumstance. He didn’t even need to be here himself—not now. Judging by what the doctor had told them, the King was well on the way to recovery and would soon resume his rightful place on the throne.

She was so caught up in her troubled thoughts that when Xaviero appeared in the doorway for a moment she scarcely recognised him. Because this was a man she had never seen before—one transformed by a sudden sense of joy. It was as if he had been carrying around with him an impossibly heavy burden—and someone had suddenly lifted it from his shoulders and the weight had vanished. He was free, she thought—with another shiver of foreboding.

‘How…how is he?’ she asked.

‘It’s unbelievable.’ Xaviero expelled a ragged sigh—because hadn’t the past come back to haunt him as he had stood beside his brother’s bed? Didn’t he know better than anyone that doctors sometimes raised hopes when those hopes were better to let wither, and die? But the spectre of his mother’s own failed recovery had been banished by the first sight of his brother’s smile. ‘He’s…’

He had been about to say that Casimiro was the same as he’d ever been, but that would be a lie. His brother had changed—Xaviero had sensed that from the moment he had walked into the intensive care unit. And when you stopped to think about it an experience like that was bound to change you profoundly—for didn’t death’s dark shadow throw the rest of your life into focus and force you to reevaluate it?

‘He’s going to be okay,’ he said, in a shaky voice which didn’t sound like his own voice.

Her own fears forgotten, Cathy went to him then—putting her arms very tightly around him and resting her head against his shoulder, breathing in the raw masculine scent that was all his.

‘Oh, Xaviero,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so very happy for you. So happy for him.’

‘Not as happy as I’m feeling right now,’ he whispered, his arms snaking round her waist as he buried his face in the silken tumble of her hair.

The car took them back to the palace, and, after telling the assembled staff the news, they hurried to their suite with matched and urgent steps. Xaviero was on fire, and so was she—he barely waited until the door was shut before impatiently sliding the soft silk-satin up over her hips. Questing fingers found her searing heat and he didn’t even bother to remove the delicate lace panties—just hurriedly thrust the panel aside, as he unzipped and freed himself and pushed her back against the wall.

Cathy gasped as she felt the tip of him nudging intimately against her—wanting to squirm her hips to accommodate him—longing to feel his hard power filling her and completing her. But as he prepared to thrust into her—it was she who realised what was about to happen. Who cried out a little protest before firmly pushing against his chest before it was too late—before he risked trapping himself again, only this time by something which was preventable.

‘C-c-contraception!’ she gasped out.

Xaviero’s mouth hardened as he haltingly complied with her wishes—the mood not exactly broken, but certainly changed by her shuddered command. And something in the act of putting the barrier between them distilled some of the jubilant wildness which had been heating his blood. His thrust was still deep, but his movements were more measured. Instead of the fiery, fast consummation he had sought, he now controlled the pace almost cold-bloodedly—nearly bringing her to fulfilment over and over again until at last she sobbed out his name in a helpless kind of plea.