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retraced their way back to her chin. His lips were so
close, she knew he was about to kiss her. She lowered her eyelids, unable not
to, lips quivering in anticipation. She’d tried hard enough to hold him off.
This was her reward.
    There was no kiss.
    He stood back, releasing
her, looking at her with a teasing light in his eyes. “Hold that thought.”
    “If you had any idea what
I was thinking,” she said, frustration snapping her from the trance, “you might
regret that request.”
    Fool!
He intimates the barest suggestion of tenderness and you jump circles to
justify your instant submission.
    “But it wasn’t a request,
Catherine.”
    Frustration turned to
fury. “You dare order me?”
    He gave a mock shudder.
“Not with your hundred guards about to burst through that door. Or was that
guests?”
    “Is everything a joke with
you?”
    “You’re confusing me with
Geoffrey, dolce cuore. ”
    Her eyes blazed into his
amusement. “Leave Geoffrey out of this.”
    “I’d love to, but I’m
afraid Geoffrey is yours to command, not mine.”
    “What is that supposed to
mean?”
    “You tell me.”
    Catherine rolled her eyes
and pushed her way past him. “I don’t have time for riddles.”
    She almost expected him to
grab her from behind. He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He came to stand beside
her as she attempted to carry on a normal conversation with Geoffrey and
Gascon. His arm brushed hers. His closeness overruled her senses. She almost
cried out in relief when the Italian ambassador arrived with his wife, Eleanor
Gavatale. After introductions were made, Eleanor quickly set about devouring
Nicolas’s attention, leaving Catherine to entertain the husband with small talk
that touched on political matters but skirted the boundaries of actual
politicking.
    Norway arrived, then
Sweden, and soon the room was filled with laughing, chatting amiability. At
last, Catherine was able to relax and stand back for a moment, observing her
guests converse.
    “Your cheeks are flushed
and your eyes are bright.” Nicolas fell in at her side. “Power and politics
agrees with you.”
    “Leave it alone,” she
said, keeping her smile in place and her gaze directly ahead.
    “That was a compliment.”
    “No. That was another
accusation.”
    “What are you two mumbling
about?” Geoffrey demanded playfully, coming up to them.
    Catherine excused herself,
murmuring something about checking up on dinner.
    Nicolas gave Geoffrey a
cold look. “I’ve never mumbled in my life. As to what we were talking about, well, that was a private conversation.”  
    Geoffrey proved the
thickness of his skull by giving Nicolas a friendly slap on the arm and moving
to stand in line beside him, his gaze following Catherine’s exit from the room.
“She’s really something, isn’t she?”
    “If by that you mean
beautiful, smart, charming and amusing, I have no choice but to agree.”
    Geoffrey sighed.
“Sometimes I can hardly believe she’s mine.”
    A hundred alarm bells went
off in Nicolas’s head. “Yours?”
    “We’re practically
engaged,” Geoffrey said on another sigh.
    Engaged? Red flashes joined the clanging bells.
“Well,” he ground out just before following after Catherine, “I wouldn’t hold
my breath for the wedding if I were you.”
    He found her in the formal
dining room, straightening an already perfect napkin while Serge gave last
minute instructions to the small army of servers lined up. The bells were just
an echo in his head now, dimmed by common sense. There was no way on earth that
Catherine would ever consider tying herself to that foolish, ignorant excuse
for a man. Either Geoffrey was boasting out of turn or, and this was not
unlikely, he’d somehow plucked conclusions from one of the rainbows he partied
on that were as false as the pot of elusive gold.
    Catherine glanced up. She
did not usually leave her guests to tinker where she was not needed, and now
the man she’d so deliberately escaped had come