How to Love a Princess (13 page)

“What?” But she did as he
asked. Her breath caught as she watched him charge the bordered up entrance,
ramming into the planks with a shoulder.

“Nicolas!” she cried out,
too late. He went crashing straight through the splintered wood and tumbled
into the darkness beyond.

Heart hammering, she ran
after, through the forced opening, and immediately tripped. She put her hands
out to break the fall and they found Nicolas. His arms came around her
automatically as she landed on top of him, her head striking his chest with a
loud ‘oomph’ that could have come from either of them. Probably both. Stunned,
they lay like that for a moment, gasping for air.

“That wasn’t very clever,”
he panted.

“Me? Or you?”

His ragged chuckle rumbled
at her chest. “Take your pick.”

As her breathing evened,
Catherine became intensely aware of the heart beating against hers, of the arms
tightening ever so slightly around her. At once she was battling to breathe
again, struggling in his arms, wriggling over his hard body.

More calmly, Nicolas
rolled onto his side, moving a hand to cradle her head just before she was
tipped onto the ground beside him. He went on to his knees, leaning over her.
“Are you hurt?”

Catherine pushed him off
and sat up. “I had a soft fall.”

He gave an exaggerated
groan. “Tell me about it.”

She tucked her chin in and
fiddled blindly on the front of her hat, found the lamp switch and clicked it
on. The concentrated beam pooled onto her lap.

“I’m going to fetch my
things,” Nicolas said, leaving her alone with her small circle of light for
company.

Catherine shivered in the
damp darkness, feeling a chill that hadn’t been there a second ago. But the
chill didn’t come from the tunnel alone, she knew. It came from the sure
knowledge that one day soon Nicolas would leave and not return, and she’d never
be warm again.

Outside, Nicolas took his
time, recovering from the shock of holding Catherine in his arms, trying to
plan a strategy that was nowhere near to coming together.

He’d apologised to Catherine.
He’d admitted that he had no right to accuse her, cross-question her, doubt her
decisions.

The apology was sincere.

He probably had no right.

And he didn’t give a damn.
Back there, she’d allowed him a glimpse inside her heart and it wasn’t dead, it
wasn’t made of stone. It was bleeding. She could choose duty over tender
feelings, but she’d have to get through him if she tried that on with love.
She’s
still in love with me.
He was struck with both elation and anger. Both
would have to wait for later.

Who was rejecting him?
Catherine, or a team of Ophella advisors? And why? He had a pretty clean rap
sheet, so to speak. What did Geoffrey have that made him the better choice?
But
not the better man.

The more his mind probed
their every conversation, their every encounter, the more convinced Nicolas
became that he could win Catherine back. All he had to find was that one
missing piece of the puzzle. Why was Geoffrey a better choice?

Frustrated, Nicolas kicked
the dust with the point of his boot and headed back inside the tunnel. In the
meantime, he had work to do. He clicked the torch on and the powerful beam lit
up a good twenty feet either way.

Catherine hurried over.
“Right. What are we looking for?”

“Anything and everything.”
He set his case on the ground and snapped it open to remove two pincers, two
pens and a couple of vials. “We need to sweep the tunnel from one end to the
other. Take a soil sample every couple feet, from the walls and the ground.
Chips of rocks. Any vegetation you come across. Mark the vials as clearly as
possible. Number the soil samples starting at one, to give us an idea of how
deep in the tunnel they were taken.”

Catherine laughed dryly at
the immense task ahead. “Isn’t this where we call in the team of experts?”

“To contaminate the
scene?” he shot back.

“Ha.” She went down on her
knees to start collecting samples in a corner opposite to the one he’d chosen.
“Someone’s watched one too many episodes of CSI.”

“Do you even get that
here?”

“We’re not exactly
archaic.”

Nicolas paused to glance
her way. “Maybe not, but you are off the map.”

“Not off it,” she quipped,
then conceded with a small laugh, “A little hard to find, maybe.”

He turned back to the job
at hand and she followed his example, only to pause again when he asked, “What
exactly is this kingdom?”

“Originally Ophella was a
Norman baronage in the twelfth century. I guess when the world restructured
into its current countries, we were forgotten in the past.”

“You guess?”

“We weren’t a terribly
civilised baronage.” She plucked a shoot of greenery growing out of a rock
crevice close to the tunnel floor. “Our history wasn’t written down until
midway through the seventeen hundreds and, by then, much was lost or tangled up
in the weeds of word of mouth. Our first king was crowned in 1756. Our first
and only king.”

Nicolas grunted a chuckle.
“Apparently you weren’t a very productive baronage as far as male heirs go,
either.”

“I intend to change that,”
she murmured softly.

The echo in the tunnel,
however, carried her words to Nicolas. It was his turn to lean back on his
knees and look up. “Do you honestly think Geoffrey would make a better father…”
than me?
He didn’t finish. What the hell was he doing? He wanted
information. He didn’t want to put Catherine on the spot. The last thing he
needed was to give her another angle from which to choose Geoffrey over him.

“Actually, he won’t make
much of a father at all. The de’Ariggo women are accustomed to raising our
children on our own.”

He stared at her bent head
for a while, watching as she labelled a vial and slipped it into her pocket.

“That sounds sad,” he said
at last and he wasn’t thinking only of Geoffrey’s poor parental qualifications.
Catherine sounded so strong, so alone, so convinced that she could take on a
country and a family single-handedly. She probably could, but it didn’t have to
be that way. It shouldn’t be that way. But, for some reason, and he was
increasingly determined to find out what that reason was, she believed it was
the only way.

“Very sad,” she agreed,
her tone matter-of-fact.
Fait accompli.
Without looking up, she filled
another vial with soil.

Shuffling ahead of her on
his knees, deeper into the tunnel, Nicolas kept his hands busy collecting
samples and his mind on the problem. Maybe he should approach this from the
other end. “Where did you meet Geoffrey?”

“I don’t think I ever
really met him.”

“That’s it!” Nicolas
exploded, his patience and good intentions suddenly ripped to shreds. The next
moment, he was on his feet and towering over her. One straight answer! That was
all he wanted. “You must have met him somewhere, sometime.”

Catherine rocked onto her
backside and glared up at him. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what? Asking a
simple question and expecting an even simpler answer? Starbucks in Addison
Street. Pre-school in Switzerland. A fly-by around the planet Mars. Think hard.
I’m sure the answer will come to you. You must have met him
somewhere.
”

“You don’t ask simple
questions,” she snapped. “You accuse and then wait to see if I can prove myself
innocent.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I
asked where you and Geoffrey met.”

Her lips turned down. “We
didn’t
meet!
Our families have been friends forever. I didn’t lie to you
when I said I was born in New York. My parents were over there on a visit when
my mother went into labour. Geoffrey was a toddler at the time. Apparently he
walked into the room a few days after I was born, came right up to my cradle
and kissed me on the cheek. Our mothers instantly agreed that it was fated,
we’d be the generation to join our families, and made a point of throwing us at
each other every chance they got. Very well, since you ask, I suppose that was
where and when we met. Satisfied?”

Nicolas dropped beside her
with a whoosh of air that deflated his lungs. He pulled up his knees, meeting
her angry eyes with resigned soberness. “No, not really.”

She shrugged. “I was
hardly old enough at the time to recall the details. All I know is that he’s
always just been around and that is all I’ve got for you.”

“So, it’s an arranged
marriage then,” he said bluntly.

That didn’t help him at
all. There was nothing special about Geoffrey that he could aspire to. Maybe
not even anything damning about himself that he could fix. It was just
something that had been arranged at birth. That is how these royal families
worked, wasn’t it? Still, there had to be a way.

“Of course not,” she
huffed. “Look, are we here to collect samples or to play twenty questions?”

He ignored her outburst.
“Not
an arranged marriage? The papers weren’t signed and sealed and
locked in a safe until you came of age?”

She rolled her eyes at his
sarcasm. “Ophella might be a little lost in time, but we haven’t just popped up
from the middle ages. The only person that gets a say in whom I marry is me.”

Now he was getting
somewhere. So, it wasn’t a team of advisors rejecting him. He wasn’t sure if he
should feel better or worse about that. “And you say Geoffrey.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I
really don’t want to think about this right now.”

Nicolas couldn’t let it
go. He got to his feet, hauling her up with him and took them both outside into
the sunlight. He put his back to the rock face, crossed his arms and locked her
gaze with serious intent.

This time, neither of them
were going anywhere until he had his answers. “What does Geoffrey have on me?
What makes him a better choice?”

“It isn’t like that,”
Catherine protested, unable to dislodge his stare. She desperately wanted to
look away; found she couldn’t.

“Then tell me what it’s
like.”

“You won’t understand.”

“I’ve an IQ of over a
hundred and forty,” he scoffed. “Try me. You might just be surprised at how
much I’m capable of understanding.”

Well aware of his
outstanding IQ, Catherine still knew he wouldn’t understand.

He’d be hurt by what she
had to say. It would be the first blow. And maybe that was what it would take
to make him back down. “You have arrogance, pride and a firm commitment to
improving the world we live in. Geoffrey doesn’t give a fig. As long as nothing
interferes with his amusements, he’s perfectly happy in his own little world.”

His brow arched high and
hers went up to match as she continued, “Geoffrey is so used to taking, he’s
forgotten to ask where it comes from. He’s never had to stand up for himself,
let alone anyone else, and would never spare the energy that could be better
used for partying. You, on the other hand, are dedicated, caring, and your
integrity will push you to fight for what you believe in.”

He stared at her, his
expression blanking, his tone dulled when he finally said, “You’re right. I
don’t understand.”

Catherine reached out to
touch him, then thought better of it. “I’m the one you’ll be fighting,
Nicolas.”

“All couples fight and
survive.”

“Not when one half of that
couple is a queen.”

“I can’t imagine you’d
ever use that over me in matters private to our relationship.”

“Imagine it,” she said.
It’s been known to happen.

“Are you seriously telling
me that you dumped me to avoid a lover’s tiff somewhere down the line?”

“In our relationship, that
inconsequential tiff could very easily be taken to a whole new level. World
politics. The running of a country.”

“You think I want to take
your precious kingdom away from you?” Nicolas fumed. “Is that was this is
about? You’re afraid that I want your power while Geoffrey is too lazy to
string two thoughts together, let alone try and take over your country?”

“You might not want power,
but you have it regardless. You’re a man used to wielding authority. What I’m
afraid of, Nicolas, is stripping
you
of that power. I am the final word
in Ophella. When our opinions clash, mine will be honoured over yours. When I
want something done that you disagree with, I’ll have the Queen’s guard to back
me up. Can you handle that?”

“I don’t want to run your
damn kingdom,” he growled, his brow heavily furrowed over narrowed eyes.

“I never thought you did.”
Catherine spun away from him on a sigh. She wasn’t getting through to him. She
should never have started this conversation. But she had. And like it or not,
she had to finish it. With another heartfelt sigh, she turned back to him. “What
have you spent your adult life doing?”

“You know my work.”