How to Love a Princess (5 page)

“Then he’ll have to
arrange a stand-in for them.”

She started to shake her
head. “I don’t think—”

“Is this Dr. Stanzis a
subject of Ophella?”

“Yes.”

“Then his first loyalty is
to his queen,” Nicolas stated as he walked away.

Conversation over. So be
it.
He
had dismissed
her!

Catherine followed on his
heels, about to inform Nicolas of exactly how things worked here in Ophella.
But as she crossed the landing, she changed her mind and hurried down the
stairs in search of Erling, her secretary.

If Dr. Stanzis was to be
summoned, it’d best be done at once. Nicolas, however, could issue his own
orders to the doctor. Let him discover for himself that Ophella was a
democracy, not a dictatorship. Loyalty aside, they didn’t throw their subjects
into shackles and command obedience to the exclusion of all else.

A few hours later, she was
the one to be amazed. The royalty of Ophella might not command, but apparently
Nicolas Vecca did.

She’d called Nicolas down
to Erling’s office as soon as Dr. Stanzis arrived. He’d chatted amiably with
the doctor for a while, asking pertinent questions of his patient’s health. And
then he’d bluntly asked, “How soon can you move in?”

“Move in?” Dr. Stanzis
frowned.

Nicolas shot Catherine a
dark, questioning gaze. She lifted a shoulder and smiled. He turned that gaze
on the doctor. “The queen needs constant attendance. You’ll take one of the
inter-leading royal rooms.”

“With all due respect, Dr.
Vecca, that will not be possible. I have other duties—”

“More important than your
queen?”

“My family—”

“Are not at death’s door.”

Catherine’s heart jumped
at the reference to her mother’s condition.

The doctor’s eyes,
however, narrowed. “I will come as often as I can.”

“Not good enough.” Nicolas
folded his arms, tilted his head a little to one side. She could no longer see
his eyes, but imagined they’d narrowed far more than the doctor’s. “Let me say
this in a language you understand. You will move in and give Queen Helene your
full devotion. Her life rests in your hands until I can establish the nature of
her illness. If she stops breathing, you’ll be at her side to resuscitate her.
If she requires apparatus to keep her alive, you will personally monitor it.
Quite simply, doctor, if the queen dies on your shift, you’ll never work again.
Not in Ophella. Not anywhere in the civilised world. Now, have I made myself
understood?”

The silence stretched
until Catherine could hear her own heart pumping. His arrogance was
unbelievable. How dare he blackmail one of her subjects?

Erling just stood watching
everything with wide eyes.

“Quite clear, Dr. Vecca,”
the doctor replied at last. He turned to Catherine, whom he’d treated from a
child. “Would you be so kind as to send someone home for my things? I’ll call
my wife and ask her to pack a bag.”

Catherine’s mouth hung
open. She snapped it shut. “Thank you, Dr. Stanzis. We appreciate the
sacrifice.”

“Not at all, Princess
Amelia.” He smiled at her. When he looked back at Nicolas, she could swear
there was grudging respect in his eyes. “We all want the queen to recover. My
duty is to Ophella and the queen, above all else. I’d never forgive myself if I
did not do everything in my power to that end.”

2

C
atherine
was not in the mood for a state dinner, but duty could not be neglected. The
ambassadors of Italy, Norway and Sweden were to be entertained, along with
their wives. Oh, and lest she forget, Geoffrey. He’d called out of the blue and
wheedled himself a week’s stay at the castle.

She frowned at Gascon, who
was sitting at the other end of the large oblong desk in her office, wondering
if he had a hand in this. Geoffrey Talacon was not a man to take the
initiative, not when it took him away from his endless partying.

“Do you need help with the
place settings?” Gascon asked innocently into her sceptical stare, then
promptly went back to his newspaper, as if satisfied that her problems had
little to do with whom sat where.

Satisfied?
She grimaced at the word, but this
wasn’t the first time she’d gotten that odd impression from Gascon in the last
week or two. As if he found something satisfying in her continuous inner
struggle. She put her head down to finish the last minute changes to the
schedule, rubbing out Eleanor Gavatale and inserting her in between Nicolas and
Geoffrey. The Italian ambassador’s wife was incredibly beautiful and there were
rumours of an affair with the Norwegian ambassador. Unfortunately his wife had
heard the rumours and tempers were likely to fly. Best to keep Eleanor neatly
occupied during dinner. She did so enjoy admiration and no doubt both Geoffrey
and Nicolas would oblige.

“Catherine?”

The familiar baritone
brought her attention to the door. She’d done her best to keep their contact to
a minimum in the three weeks he’d been here and their conversation on her
mother. Too often, however, she’d found herself observing Nicolas from the
doorway of his makeshift laboratory, or watching from the castle walls as he
took a brisk walk by the stream. Too often, she’d caught herself wishing for
what could never be and had had to shut down her thoughts abruptly.

As usual, her heart
pounded a little faster as she met his dark, sombre eyes and recalled a time
when they’d reflected love instead of disdain. One would think that by now
she’d be accustomed to seeing him in her world. One would think that by now
she’d have put away regret and managed to bring her emotions under control.

She retaliated by raising
a brow. “Have you never heard of knocking?”

“Am I interrupting?”

She countered with her own
question, “Is there a problem? Is it my mother?”

He came inside, tapping
the door closed behind him with the heel of his boot. His gaze rested briefly
on Gascon, but passed on without so much as a nod. The poor man was still not
forgiven for the part he’d played in those events so long ago. Then again,
neither was she. Catherine pushed the seating schedule aside and rose to stand
behind her desk.

Nicolas ambled across the
lush wool carpet to the window, looking out into the distance. “Your mother’s
condition has not changed.”

A mix of relief and
frustration plagued her as she waited, watching him. He wore his favourite
uniform of denims that fit snug and comfortably and a softly ribbed jumper, a
rich maroon today. His broad shoulders were curved slightly forward and she
knew he’d folded his arms. His back was slender, but she remembered the solid
muscles that flexed when he moved and the chords pulled tight across his lean
abdomen. He was only half a foot taller than her own five-foot-six, but his
lithe body contained so much power, his personality so incredibly potent, at
times she felt positively dwarfed.

“Come walk with me
outside,” he said suddenly, turning from the window.

She was rocked off-guard
by the lazy grin that didn’t quite warm his eyes. Rocked back to a time and
place when she’d been the recipient of the real thing more often than not. He
hadn’t grinned, smiled, laughed or teased once since coming here. Until now.

“The rain has finally
cleared,” Nicolas insisted at her hesitation. She’d skittered around him like a
nervous kitten for weeks and he’d had enough. Then again, he had been acting
like a dog. “Your cheeks are sallow and your eyes dull. As one of your resident
experts, I advise a good dose of sunshine.” When her lips parted in protest, he
held up a hand. “I’m not criticising your beauty, merely stating the obvious.
Your worries are taking their toll.”

Catherine eyed him
cautiously, not trusting this sudden truce after been subjected to his abrupt
shoulder, persistent adversity and curt dismissal for weeks.

His gaze remained cool,
but the hard edge softened. “I promise not to bite.”

“Oh, very well,” Catherine
relented, wondering what on earth she was doing. What he
was doing. But
if he were up to something, she’d be better off finding out what it was. As she
passed Gascon, she said loudly for Nicolas’s benefit, “I won’t be long.”

“Give us a couple of
hours,” Nicolas counter ordered as he swept past her to hold open the door.

“Do you always have to do
that?”

He shrugged. “I’m a
gentleman and you are, after all, royalty.”

She glared at him. He was
well aware that she wasn’t talking about him holding the door open for her. She
crossed the hall, muttering beneath her breath, but waited until they were
outside before confronting him. “You cross my orders for the sheer hell of it.”

“Not so.” He jumped down
the steps without further elaboration.

Catherine rolled her eyes,
but said nothing more. She feared the day when she’d be compelled to counter
his counter orders. It would come. It always did. At some point, as arrogant
and accustomed to getting his own way as men like him were, she’d be driven to
override him. Her word was law. She was obeyed without question within the
castle. That day would come, as it had come for her father, grandfather and
great-grandfather. And Nicolas would know the humiliation of living beneath a
woman’s thumb. No matter how vehemently she might vow to always defer to him.
Relationships, marriage didn’t work that way. There would be conflict, a show
of temper, and then that day would come.

She relied greatly on
council in matters relating to the country, but her decision was ultimate. And
even if – even
when
her mother was well enough to retake power, one day
in the future the crown would revert to her. In any point of argument, she
would win. Always.

No, she could never take
so much from him, she reminded herself yet again of why she’d let him go.

Lost in her own thoughts,
unaware that they’d reached the stream in utter silence, Nicolas was content to
walk a little behind and let her be. Her trousers were elegantly tailored while
remaining soft and feminine. The pale grey shade suited her colouring, yet he
missed the bright colours she’d preferred when he’d first known her. Even her
turtleneck sweater was a severe navy rather than vivid blue. Still, the colour
complimented her eyes and suited her mood.

He ground his teeth and
fell a little more behind. He was not made of iron. His heart had clamped shut,
but the rest of him was male enough to appreciate the way she stirred fire
through his veins. Once his embittered rage had dimmed sufficiently, his body
had come alive to her every movement, every look, to the memory of her touch,
taste, scent. The moment Catherine entered a room, she aroused his senses and
every instinct tugged at him to go to her side. He resisted, but continual
resistance was wearying and he was suddenly exhausted.

But there was more to this
walk than his physical urgings and memories. He’d been worried about her for a
while. Whatever she’d done to him, he could not be completely dispassionate
when it came to suffering of any kind. He wished he had some answers for her,
but in truth, this time, those answers were eluding him.

“Catherine,” he called.

Startled from her musings,
she jerked about to face him.

He was pleased to see some
colour on her cheeks from the brisk air. He drew level with her, then matched
her stride as they strolled along the bank. “Do you recall anything unusual at
all about the time your mother first fell ill?”

She wrinkled her nose at
him on a frown. “Unusual, as in?”

“My tests are
inconclusive, yet it seems strange that I’ve discovered nothing useful at all.
I’ve tested for every known virus and allergy, even poisons.”

“Poison?” Catherine gasped.

He raised a brow.
“Assassination in your family is not such a long stretch of the imagination.”

“No, of course not.” She
paled at the implication. They’d never caught the original perpetrators, never
uncovered any plot. But it had been so long ago and no new attempts had been
made since. “Is it possible?” she asked, at the same time excited at the
prospect of finally finding the cause and therefore a cure, even if it was as
terrible as poison.

“I’m not ruling out
anything at this point. Although I’ve detected no trace of any known poisons
and even so, I should tell you that the effects of certain types of poisoning
are not fully reversible.”

“Oh.”

Drawn by the despondency
in that single word, he reached for her hand without thought. “Never give up hope.”

“I know.”

Her hand was small and
warm in his, so familiar even after all these years, the protective instincts
he’d always felt for her reared to the fore. “Let’s sit a while.”

She stared at the muddy
ground.

“Surely a princess has
enough clothes to not worry about dirtying one set?”