“You don’t understand,” Catherine said hoarsely, then turned and fled to the one man who did.
“It gets worse,” she told Gascon at the end. “These people are his peers. Colleagues he works side by side with.”
“This is bad.” For once, Gascon refrained from muttering something about maybe Nicolas being different. “On the bright side,” he added, sounding anything but, “he won’t be losing to his wife. You’re just another tyrannical ruler who refuses to listen to solid reason.”
“Finally,” she said dourly, “you appreciate why I had to do what I did.”
Her way, a relationship had been destroyed. If she’d given in to her heart, if she’d married Nicolas four years ago, the man himself might very well have been destroyed by the upcoming confrontation.
Catherine felt no triumph in being proven right. She’d never before wanted to be so very wrong.
She avoided Nicolas for the rest of that evening. Or maybe it was he who avoided her. He didn’t come down to supper. She spent a trying evening making polite conversation with the Talacon men when all she wanted was to curl up on her bed and weep for what she’d lost. Once she eventually made it to her bed, she didn’t cry. She stared blankly at the wall, her mind as numb as the rest of her, refusing to think, feel or fear.
She was Princess Amelia Catherine of Ophella. Four years ago, she’d done the right thing, the only thing, and now Nicolas was reaping the benefits of that decision. He would survive. He would remain a strong force to be reckoned with. He’d return to his own world with nothing more distressing than a few bad memories. He’d return to be the man he’d always been, was always meant to be. She hadn’t destroyed him, as her mother had destroyed her father, as her grandmother had destroyed her grandfather, as her great-grandmother…
Catherine fell asleep on those thoughts and awoke the following morning tired and restless from the onslaught of fitful nightmares. On her way down to her office, she bumped into Nicolas coming up the stairs.
His greeting was curt and done in passing. His quick steps didn’t miss a beat.
“Nicolas,” she called him back, watching his shoulders tense as he paused, regretting the impatience crossing his brows as he turned. “Erling will start arranging your meeting this morning. I expect he’ll be in touch shortly for more particulars.”
“Good,” he responded bluntly, then continued up the stairs.
“Absolutely bloody wonderful,” she muttered sarcastically to his dismissive coldness, at the same time hoping he’d keep it up. She could do with a good reason to remain impartial to him for the next few days.
Which was exactly why her tummy had no right to turn over at the sight of him smiling at her a couple of hours later.
He stood at the doorway of her office, his gaze soft and warm on her, the slant of his lips changing into an arrogant grin as he came inside. “I thought you might like to know that the serum is complete. I’m about to administer the first dose to your mother.”
He had every right to be pleased with himself, Catherine thought as she fell back in her chair. All else dwarfed beside the wave of serene joy that swept through her as she stared, somewhat dazed, at the man who was indeed a miracle worker, at least this time around.
As if reading her thoughts, he perched on the edge of the desk near her and grew serious. “There’s no hundred percent guarantee here, Catherine, not until we see if your mother responds.”
But Catherine wasn’t about to lose faith in him now. “She will,” she said firmly.
“I think so, too.” He reached for her hand, then thought better of it. His grin, however, was back. “Damn, I think she will. Would you like to come up with me?”
Catherine was on her feet before he could regret the offer.
“There won’t be any immediate improvement,” Nicolas said with a chuckle.
“There will be,” she countered with a teasing grin that wavered only slightly. “I feel better already and I’m not even the patient.”
This time he did catch her hand, his fingers folding over hers in a comforting gesture as they walked side by side. The reminder of how strong, compassionate and reliable Nicolas was fogged some of her happiness. Only yesterday, she’d given him every reason to be frustrated and furious with her, yet here he was, sharing her relief and joy, giving comfort, stating in no uncertain terms with every action, word and look that as long as he was around, she’d never have to face anything on her own.
“You were so mad at me this morning,” she started.
“I still am.” His fingers tightened a little on hers and, when she glanced up, there was a gleam in his brown eyes. “In fact, I’m furious.”
She shook her head, laughing. “The last time you said that, I found myself kidnapped for the afternoon.”
“Unfortunately, cucciola, I can’t do that today.”
His head came down, taking her by surprise as he took a kiss without breaking their stride and then demanded one in return.
As soon as he released her lips, she realised what she’d done. “Nicolas, we shouldn’t. I can’t—”
“You already have,” he cut in softly, then turned his gaze forward as they reached the stairs. “I don’t want another misunderstanding, Catherine. This is about us, not Ophella. I am angry about your attitude to my meeting; I’m finding it increasingly difficult to understand when it comes to you and Ophella. But this is about your mother, about you needing me, about me wanting you to need me. Cazzo.” His gaze slid sideways to her again and his voice turned husky, “It’s also about me wanting you, plain and simple.”
Her heart hitched at the longing in his eyes, in his voice. “You make it sound so easy, Nicolas. So black and white. You might be able to separate your emotions into personal and professional for now, but do you honestly think that won’t change?”
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “There are plenty of grey patches. I’m still working on those.”
“You sound very sure you’ll succeed,” she said harshly, unreasonably irritated at the arrogance that was so much part and parcel of the man she loved.
The depth of his insecurity and vulnerability, of past and present pain, darkened his eyes and pulled taut at his jaw. Catherine was instantly ashamed, even more so when he spoke.
“I have to be.” He looked into her eyes a moment longer, then jerked his gaze away. “The alternative is unthinkable.”
“And I have no alternative at all,” she said dully. “I can’t divorce myself from Ophella. Not even for a moment.”
“Then it’s just as well I’m prepared to share you,” Nicolas said cryptically as they entered her mother’s room.
Before she had time to puzzle on what he meant by that, the thought was lost as they gathered at her mother’s bedside with Nicolas launching into a full explanation of what he was about to do and all the possible side effects Helene might expect.
Catherine stayed until her mother drifted off to sleep, then she left Nicolas and Dr. Stanzis conferring in one corner to take a short walk by the river. When she returned to her office, she was greeted by Nicolas, Gascon and Servuis Grasham, her minister of national security.
“You’d better sit for this,” Gascon informed her soberly.
Expecting the worst, Catherine took the mug of strong black coffee he pressed into her hands and sipped deeply, looking into Nicolas’s eyes, trying to read him. He seemed grim, but neither particularly sad nor defeated.
It wasn’t her mother.
As she listened, however, she knew nothing could ever have prepared her for the conversation Gascon had taped between Geoffrey and his father.
Harvey: This is intolerable! I won’t accept it.
Geoffrey: You have no choice. Catherine has made her decision and I’m quite prepared to abide by it.
Harvey: We had an agreement. How dare—
Catherine and I have made a new agreement. It is our lives, after all.
You? You think this is all about you? Good God, you are a st
upid fool.
That’s enough, father. As much as you wanted our families joined, I don’t quite see the urgency that either Catherine or I need sacrifice ourselves just so that our parents can snuggle up at some extended family Christmas.
Harvey, after a long pause, sounding breathless and incredulous: This isn’t about happy families. The things I’ve done. Good God, I’ve risked everything for this bloody throne.
What—what the hell are you talking about?
Nothing— Another pause, followed by a groan— I can’t believe you’ve let this happen. Do have any idea of the power Ophella is sitting on? If you had half a backbone, you would have killed for it. All your life, I’ve had to do everything for you.
There was more, more hints and innuendos, nothing that would stand up in an American court of law once Harvey Talacon’s lawyers had thrashed it.
“There’s still something bothering me,” Nicolas said, frowning as Catherine turned to him. “I understand Harvey thinking he might rule Ophella through Geoffrey, but surely he was aware his son would never be king?”
Servuis cleared his throat and drew all eyes. “Maybe it wasn’t Ophella he was after.”
“The mines.” Catherine ran a hand across her brow, wincing at her total lack of clarity. “He’s always had an unnatural interest in those mines.”
Servuis met her gaze and held it as they exchanged the devastating truth in silence. The world’s energy crisis would peak in another twenty-five to thirty years. The timing was as near to perfect as could be. Harvey didn’t intend to control Geoffrey, he had his sights on a potential grandchild, the next Ophella heir.
“What is it about those bloody mines?” Nicolas asked.
Her stunned gaze went from Servuis to Nicolas and back again. As much as she trusted Nicolas, as much as she welcomed his support, she couldn’t comprehend that Servuis felt the same way. The man was so close-lipped and suspicious, he treated the smallest of incidents as if they belonged in the top ten of the Pentagon’s highly classified secrets.
“It was Nicolas’s suggestion to put a bug on Geoffrey,” Gascon said, understanding her confused silence.
“I know I haven’t been Geoffrey’s greatest fan,” Nicolas took up as her frown turned on him. “This time, however, it wasn’t personal. Once you made the connection between your mother’s poisoning and the unsolved deaths of your hunting dogs and the mines, I started looking at who had been present, who else might have made the same connection and found the perfect poison.”
“We always knew the breaches in security must have come from an inside source,” Servuis concluded. “I’ve been negligent in my duty. Everyone should have been investigated after the—”
Catherine raised a hand to stop him.
Alex, Jev, they’d been flying back from a visit to the Talacons when their plane had blown apart. The blast on the Blueberry.
“He— He tried to kill me as well,” she realised belatedly.
“He was desperate,” Gascon suggested. “At the time, you were involved with…”
Gascon was tactful enough to omit the details.
Catherine understood. Her marriage to Nicolas would have put Geoffrey, and his father, out of the scene. “But, he had no way of knowing.”
“I knew,” Gascon pointed out.
That Harvey had kept her under surveillance, the lesser of all his evils, somehow laid the final blow to her fragile grasp of denial. The crack was instant.
Catherine saw that her fingers were trembling, but didn’t feel it. She felt curiously disconnected from her body. She knew she was suddenly cold, freezing; knew that her legs were rubbery, her spine prickling ominously, but she didn’t feel a thing. “Don’t take this on yourself, Servuis. If you’d come to me with such suspicions, I’d have rejected them outright. If you’d asked me for permission to pin a bug on any of the Talacons, I would have forbid it. And I know the queen would have done the same.”
She looked helplessly to Nicolas. “He murdered my brothers.”
Nicolas took charge at once, rising to his feet, both his drilling gaze and voice filled with an authority, an intimate right of way that would not give for any man, bodyguard, minister or kingdom. “Please leave us. Princess Amelia and I would like to be alone.”
Gascon was at the door before he’d finished talking. Servuis lingered a moment longer, but he couldn’t catch Catherine’s eye, her gaze stuck on Nicolas, and hastily decided he’d indeed been dismissed as Nicolas’s brows drew together.
As soon as the door closed, Nicolas moved to take a seat beside Catherine, scraping her chair around to face him. Seeing all the signs of shock in her blank eyes and shivering lips, he rubbed warmth into her upper arms and made his voice both gentle and firm. “We are nothing if we cannot trust those closest to us. The human race cannot survive without that trust and, when it is broken, you lose a part of yourself. I cannot give that back to you, Catherine, but I’m here for you. Let me help you.”
Nicolas removed one hand from her arm to wipe his thumb beneath her eyes at the tears that should have been there, tears trapped inside by numb shock. “He’ll never hurt you or another member of your family again.” Sliding his arms around her waist, Nicolas pulled her into his chest. “I won’t allow it, cucciola.”
Catherine rested her cheek against his chest, lulled into his warmth, reassurance and strength, taking from his reserves what she needed to work through the horror.
Slowly, shock turned to outrage; disbelief hardened to determination.
Catherine pushed out of his arms to meet his worried gaze. “Thank you, Nicolas. I feel so…” Angry? Stupid? Appalled to the lining of her gut. “I feel much better.”
When she was fully back in her own chair, he kept one hand on her arm. “I can give you a sedative.”
She shook her head and slid the laptop closer to replay the damning portion of the taped conversation. “I want to make him pay,” she ground out bitterly.
“He will, Catherine. I personally guarantee it.”
Catherine blinked at him, well aware how little they had to go on. “You sound so sure.”
His brow went up cockily. “I’ve been accused of that before,” he said, referring to this morning.
She was in no mood to share the private joke. The recent shock had stripped her soul bare and she was not capable of lining her words. Her emotions were too close to the surface and topping that was an aching fury. The strength she relied on so much in Nicolas was the very thing that must destroy their love. “Sometimes you’re almost egotistical. You’re so strong, arrogant and determined, so sure you’ve earned the right to win that you don’t stop to consider the cost.”
“I’m guessing that’s not a compliment.” Nicolas’s humour faded. “I’m not about to go vigilante to bring Harvey Talacon down, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
She waved a hand at him, dismissing the accusation. “This is about us.”
His jaw clenched. From the way she’d said it, he knew the full interpretation. This is about why there is no ‘us’. Why there’ll never be an ‘us’. “I only want to protect you, Catherine.”
“No, that is not all you want,” she said, rising from her chair to walk away from him. “You want to be my pillar of strength, but I’ve seen too many pillars crumble.”
“I see.” His sigh conveyed his frustrated anger. “Is this about your father?”
She turned at the window to look at him, her lower lip twisted beneath her teeth. “And my grandfather. And my great-grandfather. They were all so strong, big men, bigger than life.”
Nicolas jumped to his feet in a surge of rebellion at having to take on the entire chain of de’Ariggo men. As if Catherine wasn’t challenge enough, he had to defend himself against ghosts. He made it to the door before looking back, before his heart reminded him that he had nowhere to run from Catherine.
She was in his head, his heart, his blood.
“Did you ever consider the possibility that it wasn’t their s
trength that destroyed them, but some weakness in spite of all that strength?” he said softly.
She averted her eyes to look out the window. She took so long in answering, he dared to hope she was thinking on his words, allowing herself to be convinced.
And she probably had, but only for a brief moment.
“Every man has at least one weakness,” she agreed, looking back to him with a blue gaze as steady as her unchanged mind.
She was right, of course. He had his weaknesses as much as the next man. And right now, he identified at least two, one of which was a murderous urge to fly through time and pay each of her male ancestors an ominous visit.
Nicolas decided to put his bets on the second. “You are my weakness, Catherine. And my strength. I could never fall so long as you’re balancing my life.”
He didn’t wait around for another slamming comment or doubt. When it came, and it would, he’d deal with it. He’d spoken the truth inside his heart. Without Catherine, he’d crawl through the rest of his life, crippled and incomplete, as he had the last four years.
If he had to, he’d survive.
But he’d had enough of just surviving.
9
The 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.
How to Love a Princess Page 14
