His to Command: the Housekeeper: The Prince's Chambermaid / The Billionaire's Housekeeper Mistress / The Tuscan Tycoon's Pregnant Housekeeper
Cathy is used to making the beds – not slipping between their sheets!Arrogant Prince Xaviero has one rule: once he’s taught Cathy everything he knows, their affair will be over. Unless he changes his mind! Ordinary Daisy Donahue catches billionaire Ethan Cartwright’s eye amongst the throngs of designer-clad Australian socialites during an afternoon at the races. Ruthless Ethan is intrigued, he has a job for her: housekeeper by day, bed mate by night…Plain, timid Michelle Spicer knows her place. Until restless Alessandro Castiglione takes her to his bed.But she’s only the housekeeper – with nothing but the child she now carries. The Tuscan tycoon’s child…
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His To Command
TheHouskeeper
The Prince’s Chambermaid
Sharon Kendrick
The Billionaire’s Housekeeper Mistress
Emma Darcy
The Tuscan Tycoon’s Pregnant Housekeeper
Christina Hollis
SHARON KENDRICK started storytelling at the age of eleven and has never really stopped. She likes to write fast-paced, feel-good romances, with heroes who are so sexy they’ll make your toes curl! Born in west London, she now lives in the beautiful city of Winchester—where she can see the cathedral from her window (but only if she stands on tiptoe). She has two children, Celia and Patrick, and her passions include music, books, cooking and eating—and drifting off into wonderful daydreams while she works out new plots!
To Judy Hutson, Catriona Smith and narell
Thomas, who were there at this story’s inception and who inspired me—as did the green fields of
West Sussex and the wild splendour of Cornwall.
And to Rachel Thomas
for her invaluable research on head-hunting.
FOR a moment she thought she must have misheard him. Either that, or she was going crazy. And maybe she was. For hadn’t her foolish dreams of love just been dealt a death-blow in time-honoured fashion? From her position behind the reception desk where she was covering for the receptionist’s lunch-break, Cathy stared up at her boss in disbelief and tried not to think about the crumpled-up letter which was lying in the bottom of her handbag. Or the battering to her self-esteem which had left her feeling lonely, and wounded.
‘Sorry.’ She cleared her throat, wondering if he was having some kind of joke at her expense. ‘For a minute then, I thought you said—’
‘A prince?Yes, I did.’Rupert’s smirk was supercilious, his upper-crust English accent even more pronounced than usual, as he paused to allow the significance of his statement to sink in. ‘A royal prince is going to be gracing our hotel with his presence—what do you think of that, Cathy?’
‘A prince?’ Cathy echoed in disbelief.
Rupert’s smirk became even more pronounced. ‘Prince Xaviero of Zaffirinthos. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of him?’
Cathy bit back the defensive response which sprang to her lips. Just because she was a chambermaid who’d never really qualified for anything didn’t mean that she was a complete write-off, did it? The implication being that such a woman would barely recognise the name of a member of the English royal family—let alone a rather more obscure foreign version. But Rupert was right, damn him. Despite doing her best to keep up with world events via newspapers and books, it seemed that Zaffirinthos had somehow slipped off her radar. ‘N-no,’ she answered uncertainly. ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Then let me enlighten you. He’s next in line to an island kingdom, a world-class polo player—and a lover of beautiful women,’ said Rupert, puffing out his chest. ‘In fact, the most glittering VIP we’ve ever had.’
Cathy stared at him, screwing up her eyes in confusion because something didn’t make sense. They both knew that important guests were few and far between—despite the fact that there was a world-famous polo club nearby as well as some pretty impressive stud farms. But there were also other, more upmarket hotels and she couldn’t imagine why on earth a prince would choose to stay somewhere like this. Yes, the building was listed and yes, originally it had been a very elegant private home before it had been turned into a hotel. But Rupert’s general mismanagement and dwindling guest numbers had left house and grounds in a pretty run-down condition, which didn’t tend to attract VIPs.
‘But why?’ she questioned. ‘I mean, why’s he coming here?’
Rupert’s smile disappeared as quickly as a ray of April sunshine. ‘Why is none of your business,’ he snapped back, but then seemed to relent—glancing round to check that the coast was clear and paying lip-service to discretion, but clearly busting to tell someone. ‘Well, keep it to yourself—but he’s moving over here from his home in New York and he’s about to complete the purchase of the Greenhill Polo Club.’
Cathy’s eyes opened wider. She thought of the acres of valuable real estate which housed the prestigious club, which brought international celebrities flocking there every weekend during the polo season. ‘A place like that would cost an absolute
