How to Love a Princess (15 page)

“Maybe not the best, but
the most amusing.”

“You deliberately set out
to tease him.”

“Um, no, that would be
you.” Nicolas closed the distance between them with one long step. “Haven’t you
kept him dangling long enough?”

Catherine gasped. “That is
none of your business.”

“Release the poor man,” he
murmured, bringing his head down low so that his breath scorched her cheek.
“Release the man and be done with it. You know you don’t want him.”

She jumped back a pace.
“Firstly, Geoffrey is hardly a prisoner. Secondly, I don’t take orders from
you.”

“Don’t be so defensive,
Catherine.” His dark eyes glittered. “Besides, it wasn’t an order, merely a
suggestion.”

But she wasn’t finished.
“Thirdly, you have no idea what I want.”

He advanced to take back
the ground she’d gained. Her initial instinct was retreat, but at the last
second she brought her feet together, folded her arms and glared up at him.
“What is this really about? And don’t tell me that you’re suddenly concerned
for Geoffrey’s welfare.”

“You want to know what
this is about?” His husky tone was warning enough, even before his mouth
started its descent. “Why don’t I show you?”

She arched backward and
brought her hand up, tipping his jaw aside with her forefinger. When surprise
registered in his eyes, she smiled. “That’s right. I might not be totally
immune to your kisses, Nicolas, but I can resist if I put my mind to it. Now,
I’d like to know what you’re up to, or are you too afraid to come clean?”

Truthfully, she was so frazzled
tonight, just about the only thing she wouldn’t
resist was a couple of
hours of reclusive peace. But Nicolas didn’t need to know that.

“You needn’t blackmail me
with the cowardice card.” He stepped back. By the way his gaze lingered, she
was left in no doubt that it was to get a better look at her and not an
acknowledgment of defeat. “I want you back.”

Her eyes went wide in
disbelief. Oh, she knew that he hadn’t accepted her reasons for rejecting him,
but Nicolas was not the kind of man to grovel once he’d been flatly denied.
Then again, he wasn’t exactly grovelling. He’d made a statement, not a plea,
and by the possessive gleam in his eye, he obviously wasn’t suffering from a
lack of confidence.

While his persistence cut
her to the quick, his arrogance raised her barriers.

“You want me back,” she
repeated dully. “If it’s a brief fling you have in mind, I’m not in the market.
If it’s something more permanent, again, I’m not in the market. I can’t make
myself any clearer than that.”

“You’ve made yourself very
clear,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed into
his, distrusting his agreeable tone. Then she scowled as his lips lifted up at
one end in the beginnings of a grin. “Are you quite sure you understand?”

“I understand you
perfectly.” He lifted the case of samples up between them, shrugged his regret,
then moved past her. “I have work to do.”

As much trouble as she was
having with the men in her life today, Catherine knew she shouldn’t have
expected any reprieve from Gascon, but the side he chose still ruffled her.

“You’ve finally sent that
snivelling snot off for good.” He actually rubbed his hands with glee, which
was just not like him. Once he’d finished chuckling, he sobered up to fix a
dark look on her. “If Nicolas wants you back, take him before he changes his
mind. The man has merit and you know it.”

Catherine shook her head.
“Geoffrey handled everything remarkably. Give him a little credit. As for
Nicolas!” She stamped a foot beneath her desk in frustration. “That man has no
concept of what ‘No’ means.”

“There’s a crater between
obtuseness and tenacity and don’t pretend you don’t know what side he’s
standing on.”

“Stop defending him.”

“Why? You’ve kicked him
down so many times, Nicolas deserves an army at his back.” Gascon grunted his
dissatisfaction. “At least you’ve got rid of the other one.”

“Is that why you coerced
Geoffrey into this visit?” Catherine hissed, angry at the sudden suspicion of
being manipulated. “To pit them against each other and show up Geoffrey’s
flaws?”

“Me? Invite Geoffrey
here?” Gascon’s voice lifted in incredulity. “You know my feelings for the dumb
wit. I thought you’d invited him.”

“No.” Her nails drummed
the desk as she thought it over. “Oh, what does it matter anyway? Geoffrey
knows he’s always welcome here. The point is, I’m not marrying either of them.”

“You have to marry
someone.”

“Maybe not,” she snapped,
aware that he was trying to back her into Nicolas’s corner. “Maybe I’ll bring
Ophella irrevocably into the twenty-first century and supply an heir through
IVF and an anonymous donor.”

Gascon erupted into
laughter at the joke.

She didn’t join in.

She’d hit out in
irritation, but now that the thought was out there, she warmed to it. Why not?
She was destined to be a single mother anyway. It was certainly a better
solution than marrying some as yet unknown entity when she knew her heart
belonged to Nicolas and always would.

Catherine was relieved
that Nicolas didn’t come down to supper. He’d said that he understood her
perfectly, but she didn’t quite believe him and she was too emotionally
exhausted to take him on in another round tonight. She’d sent a tray of food up
and, although she doubted he’d eat if he were caught up in work, she had no
intention of checking up on him. Not tonight.

Geoffrey, on the other
hand, was being affable and charming, chatting about days gone by and the
mischief the two of them used to get up to.

“I miss those days,” he
said with a hint of sad nostalgia at the end of the meal.

“So do I.” Catherine toyed
with the stem of her wine glass, feeling every bit as nostalgic as she gazed
into the pale gold liquid; not for her childhood, but for those three months in
London before her world had blown apart. “To be carefree and happy and
blissfully unaware of how easily things can change in a blink of the eye.”

The pause lasted and the
poignancy hung above the table as each recalled private memories. Somewhere in
the distance, a grandfather clock chimed the hour of ten.

Geoffrey threw his head
back on a laugh. “Oh, who am I kidding? I’m still carefree and happy and I
intend to remain as blissfully unaware of life for as long as I can manage.”

Catherine laughed as well,
determined to dispel her gloomy thoughts.

“I hate to break up the
party,” Nicolas drawled from the doorway. “But I need a word with you, Catherine.”

The laughter dried
abruptly as they glanced his way.

Catherine excused herself
and left the table to join him, at once weary again at the prospect of another
clash but unable to avoid it. He’d been in his lab since this afternoon and
might well have discovered something important.

As she reached his side,
he turned to walk out with her, placing a protective hand at the small of her
back. Just before they stepped out of sight, he grinned over his shoulder and
called out to Geoffrey, “Don’t wait up. This will probably take a while. Maybe
even all through the night.”

Catherine spun about,
forcing him to drop his hand. “Leave Geoffrey alone. To use your eloquent
words, I’ve released him, so you can stop with the taunts.”

“Good.” Nicolas didn’t
think he could manage more than that. As determined as he was to get her back,
he was acutely aware of exactly how vulnerable he’d made himself again, of how
easily he could fail. With Geoffrey out of the way, all he’d done was buy
himself a little breathing space, but it was enough.

“Stop doing that.” Her
eyes flashed an icy blue. “Trust me, my decision had nothing to do with your
suggestion.
”

“Of course not.” He wasn’t
about to argue. He didn’t even care. So long as the man was out of her life.

He was astounded when she
threw her hands up in a huff. What now? He’d done nothing but agree with her.

“Why did you call me
away?” she demanded. “Did you match one of our samples to the poison?”

He had, but time enough
for that tomorrow. They’d all had a long day. Avoiding her last question, he
said with a smile, “I wanted a private moment with you.” His smile grew lazy as
he gazed into her eyes. “To say goodnight.”

“To irritate Geoffrey, you
mean.” She spun her heels on him and marched off in the direction of the front
door.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” she snapped, not
turning around.

Nicolas made it to the
door before her, blocking her way by leaning back against it. His temper flared
as he took in her linen trousers and thin matching jacket. “It’s below zero
degrees out there.”

“Move,” Catherine ordered
in a low voice, her cheeks flushed with the heat of anger. She wasn’t a
complete idiot. All she wanted was a quick breath of air to clear her head.

She’d been kissed
senseless by this man today, as if her heart needed another blow to remember
why it was so broken.

She’d spent the morning
and most of the afternoon looking for the source of the poison that might still
very well claim her mother’s life, and all that in between fighting off
Nicolas, his accusations, his wants, his naive optimism for a rosy future that
existed only inside his head.

Oh, and not to mention
breaking off an unspoken marriage agreement that had existed since her birth,
Gascon jumping the fence to Nicolas’s side and the depressing hour she’d
browsed the internet for information on IVF and any other methods to jump start
her solitary family.

She was teetering at the
top of a sheer cliff and was just looking for a reason to jump.

Nicolas swung his head
slowly from one side to the other, his dark gaze boring into her. “You’re not
going outside, Catherine.”

“You can’t stop me.” Her
gaze was as hard and dark as his.

“I already am.”

She was half aware that a
churlish argument had turned into a battle of wills, but was not about to
acknowledge it. A greater power hung in the balance here and, by the stubborn
set of Nicolas’s jaw, he knew it as well.

Neither had any intention
of backing down.

“Guards!” Catherine
shouted.

His jaw clenched so
tightly, it locked his entire face down in stone.

Her lips thinned in
retaliation.

The sound of doors
clicking softly, the dull stomp of boots on thick carpet, the silent noise made
by a dozen guards trained to move quietly and follow commands without a word
filled the air behind her.

“Remove this man from the
door.” She didn’t speak loudly, but the ring of authority carried into the hall
behind her.

Nicolas shifted his gaze
past her to the hastily gathered troops that had piled into the hallway through
various doorways.

What did they do? Wait
with their ears to the door for a command just like this?

He focused his attention
on one of the men up front, middle-aged with cropped orange hair, intelligent
eyes and an impeccable uniform with so much brass, he glittered even in the
subtle lighting. “Do you know who I am?”

The man nodded. As Captain
of the Guards, the onus was on him to raise the hand that would send his men
forward to obey Princess Amelia’s orders. The problem was, for the first time
in his career, he was hesitating.

“Then you’re aware I mean
no harm to anyone, least of all your princess,” Nicolas continued. The blunt
ache in his chest for what Catherine had done was nothing compared to his
resolve. He’d deal with her undermining tactics later. If he didn’t win this
round, he suspected it wouldn’t matter anyway. “This is a personal matter.”

“I gave an order,”
Catherine countered.

Nicolas saw Geoffrey’s
head pop out from the Billiard room and his resolve deepened. “If I leave this
door, Princess Amelia will go outside into temperatures well below freezing
point. If she’s lucky, she’ll catch a chill. More likely, she’ll contract a
lung infection that will put her at increased risk in the future every time she
gets so much as a sniff.”

“Nicolas,” she growled in
warning.

He ignored her, intent on
staring down the man he’d judged as captain from the amount of brass he wore.
He felt no guilt at the gross exaggeration that, with his reputation, would be
taken as fact without question. Catherine had her weapons and he had his.

“Remove him now.”

Still, Captain Hammond
delayed, and not only because Nicolas Vecca was probably the last hope for
Queen Helene. Just this evening, the rumours that rumbled incessantly and
seemingly without human intervention through the castle walls had put this man
as having succeeded where everyone else had failed. Apparently he’d determined
the cause of the Queen’s illness and was already working on a cure. In the
short month that Nicolas Vecca had lived at the castle, he’d earned the respect
of people he wasn’t even aware existed, starting with his bold manner in
refusing to accept anything less than Dr. Stanzis’s total dedication to the
queen and ending with his obvious concern for Princess Amelia right now.