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But only momentarily—because her attention was immediately drawn to the tall figure who stood by one of the long windows. His face and powerful body were shadowed by the light behind him, but just seeing him again made Cathy realise how much she had missed him and how she had longed and craved to feel his embrace.
‘Xaviero!’ she cried, and impetuously started to move towards him until the brief elevation of an imperious palm stopped her in her tracks and the words dried on her lips.
He stepped out of the shadows then and, with a shock, she could see that he had lost weight. The flesh was stretched tightly over the autocratic bones of his face and his golden eyes were darkened by lack of sleep. But more than that—they were cold and distant. Gleaming out a warning so distinct that he might as well have held up a placard saying: Do not come near me. The only thing she could compare it to was that time when he had told her that their affair was over and he was going to South America. Back then, as now, it had been as if he’d flicked a switch to make himself icily inaccessible—and a sudden feeling of foreboding made her heart miss a beat.
‘It is good to see you again, Catherine,’ he said, in a voice she’d never heard him use before. Cool and diplomatic—it made her feel as if she were little more than a stranger to him.
And Catherine? What was it with all this ‘Catherine’? First Flavia and now him. Dazed by the sheer magnificence of her surroundings and more than a little intimidated by Xaviero’s daunting presence, she stood before him mutely and waited for some kind of explanation which might clear this confusing fog she seemed to be standing in. ‘It is good to see you too, Your Highness,’ she said, echoing his formal tone.
Xaviero looked at her. Wearing some crumpled and cheap little dress, she could not have looked more out of place in the splendour of the palace setting and for a moment he wondered if he had undergone some kind of temporary insanity by bringing her out here.
But what choice did he have in a situation which showed no sign of ceasing? What was it they said? he thought bitterly. Be careful what you wish for…
‘Flavia,’ he said steadily, with barely a glance at the middle-aged aide. ‘I wonder if you might give us a few moments?’
‘Of course, Your Highness.’ Flavia bobbed a smooth curtsey before exiting the room and quietly shutting the massive doors behind her.
And it was the curtsey which stirred a distant memory and shook Cathy out of her torpor. ‘I thought you didn’t like formality,’ she said slowly.
He gave a grim kind of smile. ‘Unfortunately, it has become a necessity I am fast learning to deal with. There are fairly rigid definitions of acceptable behaviour here—and you running across the room and hurling yourself into my arms in front of an aide isn’t really one of them.’
The criticism stung—but how had she been expected to know the rules of royal protocol when all she had been trying to do was console him? ‘How…how is your brother?’
The golden eyes seared through her. Could he trust her? Really trust her? And yet would he have brought her out here on this crazy mission if he did not? ‘What I tell you is in strictest confidence.’
‘Of course.’
‘His condition remains unchanged. The King lies in a coma, unresponsive to all stimuli.’ Xaviero’s mouth thinned into a bleak line. ‘He is alive and yet not alive—for he can engage none of the senses which really constitute living.’
She heard bitterness mixed with sadness in his voice and something else, too—something she couldn’t put her finger on. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Yes. We’re all sorry.’
She lifted her eyes to his, realising that he still hadn’t touched her—and that something in his body language was deeply forbidding, as if daring her to touch him. And she didn’t. How could she after everything he’d just said? She stood there feeling as if he were nothing more than a distant stranger. He seemed like a man she had known briefly in another life—and yet she couldn’t even imagine it now. It seemed impossible to think of him in her arms and in her little bed, making love to her and teaching her how to pleasure him. He looked cold, untouchable—like some gleaming golden statue.
‘Xaviero,’ she whispered. ‘Why have you brought me here?’
By the shafts of his powerful thighs, Xaviero’s fingers briefly flexed—a split second of unfamiliar indecision making him hesitate. Because the repercussions of what he was about to say were enormous. He regarded her steadily. Should he go through with it? Could he go through with it? And yet, did he really have any choice in the matter if he was to live any kind of tolerable life here on an island where his every move was watched and analysed? Drawing a deep breath, he stared down into the wide-spaced aquamarine eyes.
