The Future King's Bride Read online

  His eyes glittered with ebony fire. ‘Traditionally, is not the honeymoon supposed to be a surprise—a gift from the groom to his bride?’

  She wanted to say that, yes, of course it was—but suddenly it seemed to represent a whole lot more than that. Because of tradition Gianferro had taken charge of the wedding, and she understood that, but couldn’t he have bent tradition in a way that would not have mattered to anyone other than the two of them? To have told her their destination—or, better still, to have allowed her to help choose. She felt disconnected. Out of control. As if her life had become a huge stage and she had been given the tiniest walk-on role.

  But she didn’t want to start their marriage on the wrong foot. If she wanted to change the unimportant things in the status quo then it had to be a gentle drip-drip—not like a child, instantly demanding a new toy. Gianferro was not used to living with a woman, just as she was not used to living with a man, and compromises must be made—she knew that, her mother had told her so. And he would not be familiar with compromise. Instinctively she recognised that negotiation was not part of his make-up, neither as a man or a prince. It would be up to her to lead the way. To show by example.

  She wanted to say all the right things—as if her careful words could wash away that look of displeasure she had seen on his face in the Cathedral. To start together from now—a shiny new surface on which their future could be drawn. ‘Yes, of course it is!’ she said brightly. ‘I love surprises!’

  Gianferro smiled, pleased with her reaction, suddenly wishing that he could take her into his arms and kiss her. Properly. But there would be time enough for that later. ‘Then I must hope that mine lives up to your expectation,’ he murmured.

  His words licked at her, with dark and erotic promise, and suddenly Millie was assailed with nerves. Please let me be worthy of him, she prayed. Let me be a good lover to him.

  Gianferro’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you frown, cara Millie?’

  She pulled herself together. Now was not the time to bring up her sexual inexperience! ‘I wish my father could have been here,’ she said truthfully. ‘And yours.’

  He nodded and gave her a soft smile, pushing away his untouched wine and reaching for a glass of water instead. His father had been frail for so long now that he could scarcely remember the vigorous man who had governed Mardivino with such energy—hiding well his heartbreak when his beloved wife had died. And lately he had grown more gravely ill. A dark shadow passed over his heart, but ruthlessly he banished it.

  ‘Ah, but they were both here in spirit,’ he answered quietly, remembering the look of relief which had spread over his father’s careworn features when he had taken Millie to meet him. ‘And my father is overjoyed that I have chosen a bride at last. This marriage has pleased him enormously.’

  ‘And…it pleases you, too, Gianferro?’ she questioned, emboldened by the wine.

  He smiled. She was to step into the role demanded of her, and it seemed that his instincts were correct. She was the perfect choice. ‘My destiny has been fulfilled,’ he murmured.

  It wasn’t quite the answer she had been seeking, but Millie supposed that it would have to do. Quelling the butterflies in her stomach, she sat back as Gianferro’s brother stood up to make a toast to the new Princess.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘SO, DO you approve, Millie?’

  Millie smiled, wishing she could rid herself of these stupid nerves. Calm down, she told herself—you’re not the only virgin bride on the planet!

  ‘It’s…it’s beautiful,’ she said softly.

  The white stuccoed house stood in its own beautifully landscaped gardens, which eventually ran down to the most beautiful beach she had ever seen—its powdery white sand was studded with pretty, pale shells which contrasted against a sea of blinding blueness.

  As a honeymoon destination it was perfect.

  Except…

  Well, for a start they had been greeted at the door by a butler, a housekeeper, two maids and a chef.

  ‘A skeleton staff,’ Gianferro had remarked carelessly.

  Millie had grown up having staff around, yet—naïvely, perhaps—she had thought that their honeymoon might be the exception. But apparently not.

  Inside the house a small table had been laid up for tea in the sitting room, and she sipped at the scented brew gratefully, but had little appetite for the tiny sandwiches and feather-light cakes which accompanied it.

  ‘You do not like to eat?’ Gianferro frowned. He had wanted to do something to remind her of England, to make her feel at home.

  Millie saw the look in his dark eyes and bit into a cucumber sandwich as if her life depended on it. ‘I guess I’m just a little tired,’ she explained carefully. ‘All the excitement of the day.’ And all the days leading up to it. And the restless nights…

  Gianferro’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then let us go to our bedroom,’ he instructed silkily.

  So the moment had come at last.

  Millie felt like a novice swimmer who had been put on the highest diving board as they made their way to a beautiful room containing a vast bed, and there was a valet, removing the last of their empty cases.

  She smiled politely at the servant. When would they ever be left on their own?

  There had been one brief moment when they had left the wedding breakfast to go and change, when it had been just the two of them, and Millie had stood shyly in Gianferro’s suite of Palace rooms—hers, too now, of course—and looked at him.

  He had read the plea in her eyes correctly, taken her veil off with care and then bent his head to kiss her, and the kiss had been like setting fire to a heap of dry twigs. She had eagerly wrapped her arms around his neck, opening her mouth beneath his seeking lips, and given a little yelp of pleasure until he had smiled and shaken his head slightly.

  ‘Cara,’ he had demurred, gently but firmly unwrapping the arms which clung to him. ‘Not now. Not yet. And not here.’

  ‘But…’ Her blue eyes were wide with bewilderment. ‘We’re alone. We’re married.’ And I want you. ‘Why not?’

  He gave a little sigh, as much composed of regret as frustration at her lack of understanding. He glanced at his watch. ‘Because our departure has been arranged right down to the last second. The car is timed to leave in half an hour—and after that all the journalists can go away and file their copy. The guests cannot leave until we do—and I cannot leave Premiers and Presidents cooling their heels while I make love to my new wife!’

  Millie flushed. ‘Of course not. How stupid of me!’

  ‘Do not worry. You will learn.’ With the tips of his fingers he tilted her face upwards. ‘There will be time enough for the pleasures of the bedroom, Millie. And I do not intend our first time to be a quick…’ His eyes glittered. ‘How do they say? A “whambam”, followed by a hurried dressing which would arouse the knowing smirks of Palace staff.’

  Mille’s colour deepened even further. She didn’t want a quick ‘wham-bam’ either—whatever that was! She had hoped for passion and for spontaneity—but now she saw that those hopes were incompatible with her new status.

  A great wave of panic began to swell up inside her, but with an effort she wished it away again. Stop fretting, she told herself. It will be all right.

  But she was trembling as she turned her back on him, feeling so strange standing there in her pure white wedding gown. ‘Would you mind…unzipping my dress?’

  He opened his mouth to call for the new dresser he had appointed for her, but thought better of it, instead sliding the zip slowly all the way down to the small of her back. How tiny her waist! And just above where the zip ended was a peep of the transparent lace of her panties. He swallowed as temptation washed over him, and began to unbutton his uniform.

  ‘There,’ he said thickly. ‘You can manage now.’

  She buried herself in activity—scuttling into the bathroom in her bra and panties, feeling overwhelmingly shy as his dark and impenetrable gaze followed her. She took care to
wipe most of the offending make-up from her face and, once she had removed the tiara, tugged all the constricting pins from her hair and brushed it free. Then she slipped on the dress and hat which had been chosen as her going-away outfit.

  ‘How’s that?’ she asked as she reappeared.

  He gave a slow and lazy smile. A pink voile dress, cream shoes and a large cream picture hat, trimmed with blowsy pink silk roses which looked almost real. Her blonde hair was a pale waterfall which gleamed over her shoulders and emphasised the youthful bloom of her skin. She looked like a picture from an old-fashioned book. ‘Perfetto,’ he applauded softly. ‘My beautiful and innocent English rose!’

  And Millie smiled back with relief.

  Gianferro’s brothers had tied metallic balloons to the open-top car, and Princess Lucy had scrawled ‘Just Married!’ in deep vermilion lipstick on the bonnet of the expensive car!

  But there were outriders, too, and shadowy figures in a car which sat on their tail as they moved away.

  Millie had thought that they would all disappear once they had driven through the cheering crowds and out of the capital, but they were still there as the powerful vehicle began to ascend the mountain road.

  She glanced behind her. ‘They’re not coming with us, are they?’ she said, only half-joking, but she had her answer in the slight pause before he answered.

  ‘Naturally.’

  She opened her eyes very wide. ‘They are?’

  ‘They are my bodyguards, Millie,’ he said quietly. ‘Where I go, they go, too.’

  All the conflicting emotions of the day made her feel light-headed enough to blurt out the first thing which came into her head.

  ‘I presume they won’t be joining us in the bedroom?’

  Gianferro’s mouth hardened. Well, what did she expect? Really? ‘Of course not,’ he answered coldly.

  It was a variation of the look he had given her in the Cathedral—displeasure. Another person might have hidden it.

  But another person would not have been Crown Prince! Who had spent all his life having his wishes acceded to, his moods catered for. Why should he bother hiding something? More importantly, how was she intending to handle it, as his wife? She with no experience of any man at all?

  Maybe that was better. Her slate was clean and ready to be written on. There was no murky history to look back over, to compare with what was happening to her now, with him. They were starting over, and if she wanted an intimacy with him which she suspected had been completely lacking in his life, then she must let him show her how. It could not be done in a minute, or even a day—but slowly, bit by bit.

  She would not be offended if he was cool with her! Instead she would ignore it, find a way to work round it. And if she encountered a rock in the path which led to their happiness, then she would simply step over it!

  She smiled with delight now, as she looked round at their luxurious honeymoon bedroom, where roses and lilies were crammed into priceless vases, scenting the air with their incomparable perfume.

  ‘That is better,’ he murmured with approval as he saw her face. The door closed softly behind the valet and his gaze briefly flickered over to it, his lips curving into an answering smile. ‘And what would you like to do now?’ he questioned softly.

  Millie blushed, not daring to tell him how much she wanted him to take her in his arms again. For all she knew another servant would come bouncing into the room, or there might be something else they were supposed to be doing. ‘I have no idea,’ she said shyly.

  He took her by the shoulders, his eyes now burning black fire and glittering with a certain kind of mischeviousness, too. ‘You don’t?’ he teased. ‘Millie, I’m disappointed in you!’

  ‘Gianferro—’

  ‘Shh!’ He lowered his lips to tease them against hers in a light, brushing kiss and felt her breath escape in a low rush of pleasure. ‘Ah! Yes! Yes, I know. It has been so long.’

  Millie sank against him, her eyes fluttering to a close as she felt sensation begin to close her off from the world. ‘Too long,’ she sighed.

  ‘Shall I close the shutters?’

  Her eyes snapped open. ‘But…but won’t the bodyguards see? Won’t they know what we’re doing?’

  He touched her long hair with an affectionate gesture. ‘You think that we will only be permitted to make love once night has fallen and the guards have retired for the night?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He continued to stroke the silken strands. ‘My position dictates that I must be protected from threat—which means that my bodyguards must never be far away,’ he explained slowly. ‘But their position also dictates that they know their place, and now that place is to turn a blind eye to what happens. We shall not have the freedom of other honeymoon couples, Millie—I cannot, for example, make love to you on the edge of the shore, while the waves rock us with their own particular rhythm.’ He smiled as he saw the startled look on her face. ‘But we can create whatever fantasy we wish within this house. I think you will find that we do not need the stimulation of the outdoors or the lure of the forbidden—for us to travel to paradise.’

  His words were a catalyst to the yearning which had been growing and growing inside her since the very first time he had kissed her and branded himself upon her heart and her body.

  ‘Will you show me how?’ she questioned shyly.

  It was probably the most erotic thing that anyone had ever said to him—but he was aware that its allure lay in its innocent rarity.

  He felt his blood thicken, quicken. ‘Oh, yes,’ he breathed, as he threaded his fingers luxuriantly in the golden silk. ‘I shall show you everything. By the end of our honeymoon you will know as much as any courtesan, Millie.’

  Sometimes his words frightened her—like now—for they hinted at his past and mocked her for her own innocence. And she realised that, while she might be the pupil, she had to assert some of her own authority. She would not wait—mute and malleable as a puppet—while he called all the shots. For surely he would bore with always being the one to crack the whip?

  ‘Stop talking,’ she said urgently. ‘Kiss me. Properly.’

  The contrast between her inexperience and her eagerness was like a starting pistol firing deep in his groin. All the pent-up desire he had buried for so long licked into life and he bent his head once more. Only this time it was not a light, grazing kiss, but deeper, drugging, soft and hard all at the same time, and filled with sensual purpose.

  ‘Oh!’ cried Millie, and this time he did not stop her when her arms reached up for him. She felt her lips begin to open and flower as mouth explored mouth with the excitement of a child being presented with a beautiful box and being told that, yes, she could open it.

  He reached to cup her breast in his palm, could feel its small swell grow heavy, the nipple begin to point, and he circled his thumb round and round it, her soft moans of pleasure making him want to rip the dress from her body and bury his mouth there instead.

  But he must take it slowly. Her initiation was important; it would affect how she viewed sex for the rest of her life. She had waited and he had waited, and their patience must be rewarded with a long and lavish feast.

  He skated the flats of his hands down over her narrow hips, then changed direction, letting one lie with indolent possession over the barely perceptible curve of her stomach. He felt her move restlessly and he gave a low and predatory laugh as he moved, drifting his fingers between the fork of her legs and then drifting them away again.

  ‘Oh!’ she gasped automatically—the one word torn from her lips in a muffled protest.

  ‘Oh, what?’ he questioned lazily, still drifting his finger back and forth, back and forth.

  But she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—her heart was thumping so forcefully that all she could do was nod her head, terrified by the strength of the feelings which were scorching the nerve-endings of her body, and yet terrified that they might simply go away again.

  ‘I think it is ti
me that we took your dress off, don’t you, Millie?’

  With a practised, almost careless touch, he peeled the voile gown from her body and threw it aside, and then he stood back to look at her, appraising her scantily clad body as a connoisseur might appraise a painting.

  Standing before him in just her underwear, Millie should have felt shy, but something in the increased darkening of his eyes filled her with a new and strange kind of power. For, yes, Gianferro was the expert, the seasoned lover, but she had something that he wanted as badly as she did.

  Instinct, as well as skill, had made her a fearless and accomplished horsewoman, and instinct took over now to instruct her in the lessons of love. She raked her fingers up by her ears, lifting great handfuls of shiny gold hair, as if she were gathering sheaves of wheat, and the movement made her hips jut out slightly and emphasised the thrust of her breasts.

  He sucked in a breath. ‘Beautiful.’ He slowly ran the tip of his finger down over his shirt. ‘Come and unbutton this for me.’

  It was the simplest task imaginable, but never had a task seemed so impossible. Gianferro smiled as she fumbled at the buttons.

  ‘No need to ask whether you’ve done this before,’ he teased.

  ‘Don’t make fun of me,’ she begged.

  ‘But I’m not. I never would.’ His voice was serious because inexplicably he was moved. ‘It’s wonderful. Your innocence is all that a man could dream of.’

  She pushed away the thought that it was what she represented, rather than the person she was, which made his black eyes gleam with such a soft, territorial pride, and concentrated instead on the newness and the excitement of the moment.

  She’d never seen his chest before. It was olive-brown and silken satin in texture, crisp with dark hair, the faint line of rib barely visible. She touched a wondering finger to each nipple, then looked up at him to see his face a study of fierce concentration, as if he was holding himself back. His eyes opened again and he gave a little shake of his head, a smile which was almost rueful.