Christina Hollis - His to Command - the Housekeeper - The Prince's Chambermaid / The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress / The Tuscan Tycoon's Pregnant Housekeeper

‘Kiss me,’ he urged, his voice suddenly raw. ‘Kiss me as you’ve been wanting to kiss me since you walked in here. But do it now for we do not have long—and then I must have your answer.’

Pride made her ask and she prayed that her eagerness didn’t show. ‘You still haven’t told me wh-what’s in it for me.’

Should he tempt her with diamonds and palaces? Or something more potent still? The inexplicable something which had sizzled between them right from the start. ‘This,’ he said roughly as his mouth drove down to meet hers.

Later she wondered that if she’d had the strength not to let him kiss her, whether her answer might have been different. But she was too weak to resist and just one touch was like lighting the touchpaper on her dormant passion. And hadn’t he had that power over her from the very moment he had first walked into her life—the man in denim with the lazy smile? Hungrily, she clung to him as his lips began to plunder hers and she gasped as he pulled her roughly against him so that she could be in no doubt about the powerful strength of his arousal.

Cathy moaned softly. If he had stripped her bare and taken her there, without formality on the marble floor of the elaborate room, she would have let him—welcomed it even, for then he would have been simply a man again, without all the trappings of his royal title. But he suddenly terminated the kiss, his golden eyes almost black as they scoured her face, his breathing as ragged as if he had just been running a race.

‘You will be my bride,’ he stated, necessity forcing him to swallow down the urge to quickly join with her sweet, supple body, and then he put his lips to her ear. ‘Won’t you?’

And despite the misgivings which ran as deep as her desire, Cathy knew that she couldn’t say no to that soft, urgent entreaty. This renewed contact with him had made her realise just what she’d been missing, how much she had ached for him during his absence—and the thought of leaving him tore at her heart like a rusty nail. It was true, he wasn’t offering her what men usually offered when they asked a woman to marry them—but he was offering himself.

And wasn’t that enough?

Couldn’t she make it enough?

‘Yes, Xaviero,’ she said slowly, her heart thudding beneath one swollen breast. ‘I will be your bride.’

IT WAS, by necessity, a quiet and hasty wedding. With the young King lying hovering between life and death in a hospital bed, any lavish display of celebration would have been seen as being in extremely bad taste.

In the event, Cathy found the low-key tone of the event a relief. Imagine if it had been a full-blown royal wedding, she thought—attended by all the world’s top dignitaries and politicians? The kind of nuptials which had apparently been enjoyed by Xaviero’s own parents and which had been splashed over glossy magazines the world over. How on earth would she have managed to pretend that her own union was all for real—and that her royal groom was madly in love with her—if there were battalions of cameras around? Until she reminded herself that she wouldn’t be here if it were a ‘normal’ royal wedding—because Xaviero wouldn’t have needed a bride in such a hurry.

Flavia was assigned to help Cathy settle into the beautiful and closely guarded house within the palace compound which was to be her home until the marriage—and to school her in the automatic changes which the ceremony would bring.

‘You understand that with the making of your vows, you will automatically become a princess?’ the older woman asked.

‘Yes.’

‘And that in future, you will be known as Catherine.’

Cathy smiled. ‘I prefer Cathy, if you don’t mind.’

Flavia’s expression hadn’t changed. ‘Actually, that won’t be possible,’ she said apologetically. ‘The Prince Regent has ordered all your stationery to bear the name Catherine.’

For someone whose identity had already been in crisis, this was the final straw—and Cathy went marching off to the Prince Regent’s room. And then was humiliatingly forced to endure an hour-long wait while Xaviero finished off with some government business before he could see her.

When she was eventually ushered into his office, he took one frowning look at her and then dismissed all his aides until they were alone together—something which had not happened since the day when he had proposed marriage to her.

His eyes narrowed as he indicated the seat in front of him, knowing that he had a meeting with the transport secretary in half an hour and a whole stack of reading to get through before then in order to get his head round the new road plans. For the first time in his life, he was realising that he couldn’t use his immense wealth to delegate—that the buck really did stop with him. And that maybe this kind of power wasn’t all it was cracked up to be…‘Sit down,’ he said.

Distractedly, she shook her head. ‘I don’t want to sit down!’

He let that go. For now. Was the frustration of being apart so much getting to her as much as it was to him? If that were the case, then he would forgive her discourtesy—but she would have to learn soon enough that he would not tolerate being spoken to like that. Not even by his wife. ‘Something has upset you?’

‘I won’t change my name!’

He laid down his fountain pen and studied her, a nerve beginning to work in his cheek. ‘You have interrupted my busy morning schedule to talk to me about a name?’ he questioned in disbelief.

Couldn’t he see that it was more than just the matter of a name? That she was left feeling like a puppet which was having its strings jerked—and that now even her identity had been torn from her? ‘I won’t change it, Xaviero.’

‘It is not a question of choice. You must.’

‘Must?’

Compliance had been one of the main reasons he had selected her as his wife—but she was displaying none of that compliance now. Xaviero’s mouth hardened. If she was to learn the hard lesson of obedience to her royal husband, then was it not better she did so as soon as possible?

‘Yes, must,’ he bit out, ignoring yet another phone sending out its silent, flashing demand. ‘Which part of the word don’t you understand?’

Cathy flinched. ‘Am I…?’ She was aware that her voice was trembling—but that was less to do with her sudden sense of powerlessness and more to do with the gleam of quiet fury which was emanating from the golden eyes. ‘Am I allowed to know why?’

He didn’t want to hurt her, but she had pushed him into a corner and she would learn not to do so again. ‘Because Catherine is the name of a possible future Queen, while “Cathy” is the name of a—’

She swallowed as the great gulf of inequality stretched between them like a black chasm. ‘A chambermaid?’

‘Precisely.’ He saw the aquamarine eyes begin to take on a suspiciously bright glitter and he felt a momentary wave of irritation. His brother might be dying and she was making a fuss about a damned name? Appeasement did not come easily to him, but with an effort he sought to embrace it now. ‘Look,’ he said, in as placating a tone as he had ever used. ‘Catherine is a very pretty name. It suits you. Is it such a big thing to ask?’

Maybe it wasn’t—but Cathy was already reeling from the list of ‘dos’ and ‘don’ts’ she’d been given by Flavia. Don’t stand up unless you want the entire room to follow suit. Don’t spend too long in any line-up. Don’t forget that everyone who tries to make your acquaintance will have their own agenda—and will try to use their royal connection to better themselves. But the one which had scared her the most was: Don’t trust anyone without first running it past the palace . No wonder Xaviero was so cynical.