How to Love a Princess (22 page)

“Nicolas.” Her face
crinkled with emotion as he put words to everything she’d felt, still felt.

He waved a hand in
dismissal with a low chuckle as he tapped the door closed and strolled slowly
toward her. “I just wanted you to know that.”

Before we talk.
The vulnerability in his eyes spoke for
him. She’d pushed him away over and over again and each time he came back,
confident and stubborn, as if he refused to accept any way other than his, as
if his arrogance would not allow him to believe he couldn’t have her. The soft
brown depths on his eyes, however, told another story. It was not arrogance
that kept him coming back.

When his hand moved to his
throat, fingers stumbling over the top button, Catherine stopped him. “Don’t do
your top button. Leave your tie.”

She wanted him just the
way he was. Formidably formal and endearingly dishevelled. Arrogantly confident
and touchingly vulnerable.

His fingers faltered, then
his hand fell at his side. “Wine?”

“Please.”

He veered from his direct
path to the table. Catherine followed, going around the opposite end of the
table to gaze out the glass door. The curtains were open and the stars hung as
crystal shards in the frigid winter night sky. She felt him at her back before
she felt his arm come around, before he pushed the wine glass into her hand.

Catherine accepted the
glass and turned into his arms, looking into his eyes, leaving the winter
outside and allowing her heart to thaw.

“What are we doing?” she
whispered.

His grin grew lazy,
languid with the weight of love. “I’m asking you to marry me,
dolce cuore
.”

And I think I’m accepting,
she thought dreamily.

But the doubts held her
tongue a moment longer. It couldn’t be this easy. Nothing had been resolved.
Nicolas might have proved himself resilient in the face of her blackest fears,
but they were not married. She was not his wife. In reality, nothing had been
proved after all.

He lifted her chin with
his thumb and covered her struggling answer with a sensual kiss. She yielded to
the touch of his firm lips slanting over hers, to the hand that caressed a
trail of heat up her arm, along the curve of her shoulder and to the sensitive
spot at the base of her skull. When he pulled away, his lips lingering a long
moment on hers, reluctant to release, she had to steady herself against him.

“I’m leaving for London in
the morning,” he said, his hand still cupping behind her head.

“You’re leaving?” she
repeated in dismay.

“Only for a few days. Give
me your answer when I return.”

Catherine nodded, wanting
to shout a resounding ‘Yes, Yes, Yes’ to the world, at the same time relieved
at the temporary respite because she knew the wrong answer would damage Nicolas
more than it would hurt her.

A discrete knock drew
Nicolas from her side. As he went to the door, Catherine pulled back the
closest chair and sank into it. Serge wheeled in a heated tray of silver
covered platters.

“We’ll serve ourselves,”
Nicolas told him.

With a small bow to
Catherine, and then to Nicolas, he departed.

“I wanted to cook up
something special for us, but that chef of yours is rather possessive about his
kitchen,” Nicolas said, a sparkle in his eyes as he came to stand beside the
tray.

Catherine laughed softly.
“Claustaud answers to no one.”

He lifted the lids to
reveal baked salmon and steamed greens, the first meal he’d ever made for her
in his Chelsea home.

Catherine closed her eyes
on the wave of memories that flooded her and spilled from her heart. We have a
choice, she reminded herself. We can still choose ‘us’. She opened her eyes as
she sensed his closeness and found him serving a portion of salmon onto her
plate. “We need to talk about what happened in the meeting this morning,
Nicolas.”

“You overruled my
expertise with your authority.” A statement, with no bitterness or anger. He
continued dishing food onto both their plates. “Maybe I’ll never understand it,
but whatever your convictions, I hope they’re good enough to stand up to any
evidence I deliver.”

“And if not?”

“Then we’ll have another
fight on our hands.” He looked up, holding her gaze.

Catherine rubbed her
temple. “Is this to be it, then? One continuous fight if we’re to be together?”

“That’s not fair,
Catherine.” He replaced the silver spoon on the platter and took his seat. The
look he gave her was direct, but not cold. “We’re not fighting now, are we?”

“We’re not married,” she
countered. “This morning, you didn’t lose to your wife. You wouldn’t overlook
what happened as easily if your
wife
had disregarded your insight, your
recommendations, and especially not in front of your peers.”

He sipped on his wine,
looking at her, frowning. “I didn’t overlook anything and I especially didn’t
lose. I accept we have a difference of opinion and could not reach an
agreement.”

“But my opinion ruled and
that must have cost you a certain amount of respect before your panel of
experts.”

“No more than it cost
them. You disregarded all of us.”

Catherine released a sigh
of pure frustration. They were doing the circle thing again, going nowhere
without proof, arguing the situation as it was, not as it would be were they
husband and wife. The problem was, once she was in a position to get that
irrefutable proof, it would be too late. She
would
be his wife and the
damage would be done.

“In this morning’s
meeting,” she pressed, “you were on the same platform as your experts. If we
were married, you’d be elevated above them as my husband, as the man I love and
respect, and rightly so. You’d expect preferential regard from me and those
peers would expect it too.”

Nicolas had his own sigh,
but he kept it in his chest. He knew Catherine’s fears, but they weren’t his.
Nothing could come between them, least of all that which she feared most.

“Just because you disagree
with me doesn’t change what I believe to be right. Neither does it alter your
convictions, Catherine. I don’t consider myself a lesser man in any way for not
being able to force your hand.”

He set his glass down and
reached across the table, his palms upward, reaching for her trust. “If your
answer is yes, we will soon be husband and wife. When I bring my team back,
I’ll be working with the same colleagues that were in that meeting this
morning. I won’t suddenly feel belittled or worthless, I won’t suddenly feel
rejected and ready to fall from some elevated platform because you are now my
wife, because you had the audacity
to defy your husband-to-be in the
face of overwhelming evidence and reasons not to. If that were the case, I
wouldn’t have selected them to be on my team, to witness my so called shattered
pride, now would I? At the very least, I would have assembled a brand new team
that knew nothing of my so called shame.”

“No.” Catherine looked at
him, lost for a moment in her thoughts, lost in the sincerity of his gaze, lost
in the proof he’d just given her. She covered his palms with hers and their
fingers entwined as one. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“What is it with those
mines, anyway?”

As she started to shake
her head, he added, “It’s not just coal, is it? America and Russia won’t
exactly collapse without the limited supply that Ophella can produce.”

“It’s not just coal,”
Catherine agreed. She couldn’t say more.

“Then tell me,” he
insisted. “Tell me what is more important than taking the correct safety
precautions.”

“I can’t, Nicolas.”

“You don’t trust me.” His
jaw hardened, but even as he looked at her, a softness came into his gaze, the
grip of his fingers tightened. “Of course you don’t. And after what the
Talacons put you through, I won’t judge you on that.”

“This has nothing to do
with trust.” Catherine took a deep breath as she thought of a way to put it to
him. Even though he seemed willing to forgo her trust, surely no relationship
could be healthy without it? “There are certain areas of Ophella, however, that
are off limits to discussion, trust or no trust.”

“It doesn’t matter,
Catherine.”

He meant it. But he wasn’t
convinced it wasn’t lack of trust that kept her silent. She saw it in his tense
smile. He didn’t appreciate her attempt to spare his feelings with false
explanations. Except, they weren’t false at all.

“A doctor doesn’t share
his patient’s confidential files with his closest and dearest, Nicolas, and it
has nothing to do with trust.” She saw some understanding breach his stubborn
mind. “A priest wouldn’t discuss anything he heard in the confessional box, would
he?”

Amusement fed into the
dark gaze set on her. “So, it’s all part of the job description?”

Catherine breathed easier.
He truly did understand. “Those mines are one of Ophella’s darker confessions.”

Nicolas finally felt the
missing piece of the puzzle slot inside his head. What had worried him the most
was that the Catherine he knew wouldn’t put anything above the welfare of her
people. Any people. She was compassionate and sensible, dedicated and
honourable. “Then I’ll discover all there is to know about those mines and
trust in you to make the correct choices.”

“You make it sound so
straightforward, as if we can keep our official disagreements separate from our
personal life. The arguments will eventually permeate any safety barriers we
attempt to erect, Nicolas. Is that honestly a life you’d be content with?”

“That last thing I expect
from our life together is contentment.” Nicolas grinned. “Any relationship
between us will be stormy, Catherine. But because we’re both as stubborn as two
mules on a hot day, not because you’re royalty and I’m not.”

Catherine smiled at the
truth in his words. Her heart had started yielding long before now, but finally
she was willing to accept defeat.

Royalty or not, their
marriage was destined to be stormy and in this moment she could almost relish
it. Nicolas would never lie down and permit her to trample his spirit. He would
fight her to the end. Right, and not sovereign will, would win every time.

Nicolas caught her hands
in his again and met her eyes with a sincere gaze that embraced her. “The only
guarantee I can give you is this: I’ll never run from you and if you run, I’ll
catch you. Every time.”

“I love you, Nicolas,” she
whispered, bringing their bound hands to press against her lips. “I always
have.”

Warmth spread through him
as she squeezed his hands. “And I love you,
dolce cuore.
Now I’m asking
you to put a little faith in that love.”

As their eyes held, he
found his answer and it was the glue that would finally paste the scraps of his
heart together. “Hold that thought until I return.”

10

“
H
ave you seen this?”

Catherine’s eyes went to
the newspaper flapped at her, then back to where her mother sat by the window
in the soft rays of the morning sun. “Not yet. How are you feeling?”

“Excellent!”

Catherine laughed as she
walked to the window. “You look it. Now, what’s the latest crisis?”

“No crisis.” Helene folded
the newspaper and held the front page up.

Nicolas’s picture took up
the top half of the page. Her heart flipped on a smile. He’d left an hour ago
and she missed him already. Above the picture, the bold headline captured her
attention.

I’m
fighting for the people of Ophella.

“Amazing where they pull
their headlines from,” her mother commented with a dry chuckle.

“In this case,” Catherine
said slowly, “they got it from the source. Don’t ask me how.”

Helene’s brows shot up.
“Nicolas actually said that?”

“Yes, he did.” Catherine’s
gaze moved off the page to her mother. She was smiling again, her heart
blossoming with pride and happiness. He’d won the hearts of a nation. How had
she ever thought to resist him? “He asked me to marry him.”

The paper slid from
Helene’s fingers to her lap. “Again?”

Catherine pulled a chair
up and sat to meet her mother’s gaze level. “I plan to say yes. Actually, I
already have, just not in as many words.”

The pause lasted as a
frown worried her mother’s brow, then relaxed into a smile. “That’s wonderful,
darling.”

Her mother reached for her
and Catherine leant into the hug.

“You’re not scared?”
Helene asked as she withdrew from the hug.

“I’m terrified,” Catherine
said with a shaky laugh. “I want this so badly.” She grimaced on a shrug as she
looked into her mother’s eyes, searching for a glimpse of wisdom. “I can’t help
wondering if I’m being too selfish or naive. Last night, anything and
everything seemed possible and yet, this morning, I’m filled with doubts
again.”