How to Love a Princess (21 page)

T
he
Talacons left the following morning. Catherine watched the limousine navigate
the circular drive around the fountain from her office window, her face crusted
in a tight grimace. Servuis had advised against open accusations, so she’d left
Gascon to plead pressing Ophella business and her mother’s need for quiet
during her recovery. She didn’t trust herself in the same room as her brother’s
murderers.

“Harvey Talacon should
have left here in handcuffs,” she said bitterly, turning from the window.

“We’ll get him,” Gascon
assured her grimly, then added, “Have you seen today’s paper?”

“I haven’t even had time
for my first caffeine dose yet.”

“Page two,” he called out
as he disappeared through the door.

Catherine poured herself a
mug of coffee and took it back to her desk, sliding the copy of
Ophella
Times
from the morning pile of newspapers as she sat down.

The front page was devoted
to the mines, the dangers and the safety precautions that had been put in place.
Once she was satisfied her people had been thoroughly informed, Catherine
flicked to the second page.

Nicolas’s image smiled at
her, so devastating and charming, she had to smile back for a good moment
before moving on to the small writing underneath. No official statement had yet
been released, but she was not surprised to read of her mother’s imminent
recovery and the man behind it. These things had a way of getting out, no
matter what.

Catherine hit the button
on her phone to summon Erling. When he came through the inter-leading door, she
waved the newspaper at him, “We’ll have to arrange a press conference for
today.”

“Already done,” he said,
confirming he’d seen the article.

The next three days passed
too quickly for Catherine. Her mother was improving, although she was nowhere
near full health yet. Nicolas spent most of his time between the queen and the
mines, but reserved the evenings for Catherine.

After supper, they sat by
the fire until the wee morning hours, talking, playing chess and simply gazing
into each other’s eyes over a mug of hot chocolate or glass of whiskey.

Every night, he walked her
up the stairs, took her in his arms and kissed her, thoroughly and urgently.

And every night she
somehow managed to slip free and close her bedroom door between them.

She was his weakness and
his strength. She balanced him. Catherine was beginning to hope, to believe,
but still she was afraid, still she held back.

Her father’s weakness had
been the authority he wielded.

Her grandfather’s weakness
had been his pride.

Nicolas commanded immense
authority and he had a nation’s worth of pride, but if she were by chance his
only weakness. Doubt, hope, sweet anticipation and black dread. The clash of
emotions kept her awake at night until sheer exhaustion closed her eyes.

She was almost relieved
when the day of the meeting Nicolas had insisted on came. It signalled an end
she was ready to accept either way.

The end of hope?

The end of doubt and fear,
she told herself firmly as she gathered her notes and made her way to the
pre-meeting session with her two senior ministers, Servuis and Changelle. They
alone, in the team of six advisors to be present at the meeting, knew the full
secrets of the mines and the importance of the unique energy source never being
revealed. If the people of Ophella knew they lived each day on the brink of
war, that they were possibly all that stood between the world and it’s
inevitable energy crisis in the next couple of decades, pandemonium would
reign.

Before Catherine had a chance
to catch her breath, she was facing Nicolas and his three experts across the
boardroom table.

“The mineral poison could
mutate into an airborne contamination,” argued one, going on to back his
statement up with medical fact.

“…seep into Ophella’s
water supply,” concluded another after a lengthy explanation.

“We can’t rule out cross
pollination with Ophella’s crops,” said yet another with a stretch of the
imagination Catherine could no longer ignore.

“Ophella doesn’t produce
any local crops,” she interrupted.

“No back garden vegetable
patches?” she was immediately challenged. “Grass, fruit trees and flowers. You
cannot prevent people from coming in contact with nature.”

“I see your point,” she
conceded, then swept her gaze from one end of the table to the other,
commanding the attention of each person at the table, expert and advisor.
“Let’s not forget, none of this has happened yet and the mines have been
operational for almost twenty years.”

As if on cue, her
statement opened a heated debate that clearly indicated her advisors had been
won over to the side of Nicolas and his experts. All, that is, except Servuis
and Changelle.

Nicolas rose to his feet
and looked Catherine directly in the eye. “The picture we’ve painted here might
be pessimistically gloomy, but if even one of these possibilities become
reality, you’ve got a crisis on your hands that could be avoided.”

“I understand.” Catherine
paused, waiting for him to take his seat. So long as he stood, she felt as if
she were fighting him and him alone. When he didn’t, she had no option but to
continue. “The reality I’m trying to avoid, however, is not
if
but
when
the repercussions of shutting down the mines hit Ophella.”

Still hoping to avoid this
one-on-one clash, she deliberately disconnected from his dark gaze to look
about the table. “The matter of closing down our mines will be revisited at the
conclusion of the extensive investigation we intend to launch. I appreciate
every concern raised and will certainly not ignore the possible consequences outlined.”

“But you are ignoring
them.”

She turned a cool gaze
back on Nicolas.

“As long as those mines
remain operational,” Nicolas continued, “you’re ignoring warnings from people
much more informed than you’ll ever be, and dismissing endangering lives as an
inevitable by-product of whatever the hell you’re mining there.”

“You were right to call
this meeting,” Catherine said, attempting to soothe him, but also aware of the
importance of the information shared today. “We’ve learnt a great deal more on
what we might be facing.”

Nicolas shook his head on
a grimace. “Listen to your advisors. Admit that maybe you were wrong. Is it
so—”

Catherine stopped him by
pushing to her feet. “Could I have a word with you in private? Excuse us for a
moment,” she added to the rest of the table.

Once in the passage, she
placed a hand on Nicolas’s arm and pleaded, “Please, don’t continue to fight
me.”

“I’m not fighting you,” he
said roughly. “I’m fighting for
the people of Ophella.”

“So am I.”

“How?” he demanded, then
brushed her hand from his arm. “Never mind. Obviously I was wrong to assume a
few more facts would change your mind. You gave me warning enough.”

“So, you’ll stop now?”

“Of course not.” As he
looked at her, his glare softened and the deep scowl faded. His sigh was weary
and irritable. “I’ll take this fight into an arena I’m more at home with.”

With that, Nicolas marched
back into the meeting room, leaving Catherine to follow and thank everyone for
their time, at the same time leaving no one in doubt that she stood firm by her
original decision.

A little further down the
passage, Jonnal stepped from the shadowed corner where she’d been dusting a
marble bust. She stared at the closed door for a few moments, then hurried
along, eager to reach the kitchens where some of the staff were taking their
morning tea.

I’m
fighting for the people of Ophella.

Gracious, warm shivers hit
her spine at the remembered rumble in his voice.

Catherine buried herself
in work for the rest of the day. Still, Nicolas’s words came back to her, again
and again, regurgitating the doubts and fear that should have been left behind
after the meeting. What exactly had he meant by an arena he was more at home
with?

He’s going home, she
concluded.

He’ll assemble another
team of experts and fight her using his London connections, she revised in the
next moment. Which meant he’d be back.

Both possibilities churned
her stomach.

She was more than a little
surprised when Nicolas came into her office later that afternoon and took a
seat close to her. “I’ve got Berkley and Sommerfield on board,” he stated,
mentioning two of the experts at the meeting. A grin slipped past his grim
mood. “They’ve agreed to join my team.”

“Your team?” she queried.

“Unless you’re going back
on your word about mine 3?”

“Of course not.” She leant
forward, shaking her head slowly, frowning. “I just thought— I didn’t realise
you’d be staying to head the team yourself.”

He leant forward as well,
his dark gaze penetrating with soft, warm rays. “You’re not getting rid of me
that easily. You haven’t won yet, Catherine. If I find anything incriminating
down that shaft—”

“Bring me proof,” she cut
in, “and I’ll be the first to listen.”

Nicolas tipped her chin up
with his knuckles. “Till then, stalemate?”

The beginnings of a smile
trickled into her heart. “Truce.”

His thumb drifted along
the line of her jaw, a slow caress that confused her body into believing all
would be fine with them. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

She stared into his eyes,
mesmerised by his husky invitation, feeling the flutter from her tummy to her
toes. “We have dinner together every night.”

She sounded breathless and
flirty. The smile inside her heart pushed to her lips. She
felt
breathless
and flirty.

“My room.” His meaning was
laid bare, in his voice, his gaze, his touch. “Eight pm sharp.”

He was asking her out on a
date. Heat flushed to her cheeks as his caress lingered there. After all they’d
been through and here she was, feeling like a giddy teenager asked out on her
first date. So much so, she trampled her escalating doubts and tried on five
outfits before choosing the silvery blue silk.

What am I doing? she asked
herself as she stood outside his bedroom door at eight o’ clock, her curled
fingers poised to knock. Nothing would ever be fine between them again. How
could it be after that disastrous meeting? Now, surely, Nicolas knew what any
possible relationship of theirs was up against. The relentless question had
plagued her on and off the entire afternoon with two recurring answers for why
she standing outside his door.

I’m giving in to the power
of hope.

I’m letting him down easy.

When the door opened on
her second knock, both possible answers jammed in her throat.

He looked so deeply,
darkly handsome in the navy suit that added formality to the dinner he’d
planned; so charmingly roguish with his top button still undone and that
matching tie hanging loose down his chest, hair swept back as if he’d just run
his fingers through it in frustration.

“I’m running late,”
Nicolas said, standing back with an apologetic grin.

Catherine swallowed hard.
He’d stepped aside for her to enter, but her legs seemed to have other ideas.
She had absolutely no idea what she was doing, other than torturing both of
them one last time.

“It’s only dinner,” he
said to her hesitancy.

Her gaze went past him, to
the flickering light inside the room. Candles. An intimate table had been set
up beside the French doors that led to a balcony. Two chairs. Two crystal
glasses sparkling in the candlelight. A bottle of wine cooling on a stand
beside the table.

She brought her gaze back
to Nicolas and saw the determination in his eyes.

I want you back
, those eyes said.

I want you back, too.

“We need to talk.”
Catherine walked past him, suddenly confident of one thing only. This time, it
would be a mutual decision. The famous de’Ariggo temper had been unleashed on
Nicolas and he’d dealt with her and her guards with outstanding ease without
losing an inch of authority or pride. She’d asserted royal precedence at the
most condemning level before his peers this morning, and yet here he was.

Whatever happened,
whatever future was decided between them, would be done together. She owed
Nicolas that. And maybe she owed herself that as well.

“You take my breath away,
cucciola
.”

She spun about sharply to
find he hadn’t moved from the door.

“I never told you that I
fell in love with you the moment I saw you,” he said softly, a grin slashing
devastating lines across the strong angles of his jaw. “When your shoulder
bumped mine, it was a jolt of lightning that burnt its mark on my heart and
never faded.”