The Prince's Chambermaid

Lifting a finger, he caught hold of a bright golden strand of hair which had fallen over her eyes and pushed it away from her flushed face. ‘Why not?’ he questioned softly.

‘Because it’s just…just sex.’

‘I thought you liked sex.’

‘You know I do.’ She looked up at him. ‘But it’s not enough. I thought it could be, but it can’t. You wanted me compliant—and maybe I was, but not any more. I seem to have changed—when you think about it, I suppose it was inevitable I would. And I can’t just be what you want me to be—not any more. Can’t you see that? I am not the same person. I’m no longer just someone you can mould—so I no longer fit the bill of what you really want from a wife.’

Xaviero’s heart twisted and his breath felt hot and harsh in his throat. He knew what she wanted from him—but couldn’t she at least meet him halfway? Because there was a sense that if he let go—really let go—and told her what he knew deep down she needed to know, he would make himself weak in the process. That he would lay himself open to all that terrible pain he’d experienced when he’d discovered that love made you vulnerable.

And yet, did he really have an alternative? Because hadn’t the pain of knowing that she was going to walk out of his life been more than he could bear? He had tried to ignore it and then to block it—but it had kept coming back at him like a persistent mosquito in the dead of night. Did he somehow think he was immune to all the emotional stuff that other people had to deal with—that he could get away with behaviour which would be tolerated simply because of his royal status? Yes, he did. And up until now, he always had.

But then he had discovered that, for all his protestations about wanting to be treated like any other man—the truth was that he wanted it both ways. All ways. That he donned the protection of his royal mantle whenever it suited him.

‘And if I told you that I think I was fooling myself all along?’ he grated. ‘What then?’

‘That kind of admission doesn’t sound like the Xaviero I know,’ she answered quietly.

‘No. It doesn’t feel like the Xaviero I know, either. Maybe you aren’t the only one to have changed, Cathy.’ He gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘When I gave you that cold-blooded list of requirements for a wife I thought I was being completely honest with you—and I’ve since discovered that honest was the very last thing I was being.’

Cathy frowned. ‘You mean you didn’t want someone—’

‘I mean that there were a million women out there who would have fitted the bill for a marriage of convenience—even at such short notice. Pure women. Aristocratic women. Heiresses who would have found royal life no great challenge. I could have picked up a list of my exlovers and any one of them would have come running.’

‘But you didn’t do that,’ said Cathy slowly.

‘No. That’s right. I didn’t. I chose the most unsuitable woman of all—but she was the one who happened to make me feel stuff. The one who provided an oasis of calm in her simple little home. The one who had wanted me just as much when I walked into the hotel covered in mud and sweat from a hard morning’s riding as when she discovered who I really was.’ He looked at her, his eyes full of question.

‘Sometimes I wanted that man more,’ she admitted. ‘I wanted you without all the trouble of the trappings.’

‘I know,’ he said simply. ‘And can you understand how much that means to me? To be wanted for who you are, rather than what you are? I’ve never had that before. It made me feel…emotion.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘And that’s why I fought it, just like I’d fought it all my life.’

When, as a lonely and bereaved little boy, he had sought comfort in his horses. She pictured the isolated little figure he must have been—brave and handsome and lonely as hell. ‘Xaviero,’ she whispered.

‘No.’ His voice was husky, thick with emotion. ‘Say nothing. Just hear me out. What I have given you and what I have offered you has not been enough—not nearly enough. In fact, it makes me ashamed to think of how little I was prepared to give you. I know you’re not into jewels or palaces, or fast cars or fancy planes, but I wondered if there was something else which would win your heart and persuade you to stay with me?’

Cathy held her breath as she stared at him, her heart missing a beat as she dared not hope. But her fingernails dug painfully into her palms all the same. ‘Th-that depends what you’re offering,’ she said shakily.