The Royal Wedding Collection

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 “wham-bam”, 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 time 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.

‘Come,’ he said huskily. ‘For I cannot wait much longer.’ And he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the vast bed, which both taunted and tempted her as he laid her down on it and slid the shirt from his powerful shoulders.

He kicked off his shoes and, enraptured, Millie watched as he unbuckled his belt and slid the zip down. But she closed her eyes when the trousers came off, for she could see the proud, hard ridge through the silk of his boxer shorts.

‘Open them, Millie,’ he instructed quietly. ‘Do not be afraid of what you see, for a man and a woman were made for each other. You know that.’

Yes, she did—and she had spent a lifetime of watching this most basic of acts in the stables, and in the farms surrounding her home in England. But animals were different from humans. Animals just got on and did it—you didn’t get a mare standing there and hoping against hope that she would please her stallion!

‘It will be fine,’ he said sternly, but there was a mocking and teasing note to his next words. ‘It will be fine—for I command it and you must obey all my commands!’ She laughed then, and he pulled her against him. ‘That is better. We will not rush. We have all the time in the world, cara mia.’

He had never known what it was to use restraint in the bedroom, for he had been spoiled by women all his life—women eager for his hard, beautiful body and for the cachet of having slept with a prince.

But Millie was different. His wife and his virgin. He must be gentle with her, but above all he must show her just how good it could be.

She had thought that it would be happening by now. She had thought…But then he began to kiss her again, and she just slipped into the beauty of that kiss, all her doubts and questions dissolving away.

He touched her skin with fingertips which whispered over the surface, and where he touched he set her on fire with need, like a painter, bringing to life a blank canvas with the stroke of his brush. Yet he touched her everywhere except where the books had told her she could expect to be touched, and this had the curious effect of both relaxing her and yet making the tension grow and grow.

Tentatively she stroked him back, tiptoeing her way over the landscape of his body, exploring and charting all the lines and contours. But there was an area which was out of bounds, for she didn’t dare…

Against her lips she felt him smile, and he pulled his head away. ‘That’s okay, Millie—I actually do not want you to touch me there.’

The fact that he had guessed mortified her, but her confusion increased. ‘You don’t?’

‘If you play with me, I will not do you justice.’

‘I’m not a meal, to be eaten!’ she protested.

‘Oh, but you are,’ he demurred, tempted to show her—but experience told him not to swamp her with too much, too soon. The first time should be unadorned—the myriad of variation on that one simple act should be revealed slowly, in time.

Soon she was aching, melting, longing—and when she thought she might die with it he took her bra off and peeled down her panties, touching the searing heat between her legs until she cried out.

Wild and hungry for him, her fears and doubts fell by the wayside and she boldly touched him back, feeling him start as she encountered the steely column.

He nodded, as if she had pressed some invisible button, and peeled off his boxer shorts. She felt the naked power of him butting against her, dimly aware that he was moving on top of her. She laid her hands on his buttocks and felt him shudder as he shifted position slightly and then…then…

‘Millie!’ he gasped, as he eased his way inside her. So tight! So perfect!

And Millie gasped, too. The newness of the sensation felt so strange and yet so right, as her body adjusted to accommodate him. Her skin felt flushed. All her senses felt as though they were newly sensitised. And her heart felt as though it wanted to burst from her chest as he sealed the union with a kiss which felt far more intimate than any previous kiss had done.

He began to move, slowly at first, dragging his mouth away to look down at her, his eyes narrowing—for he realised that just as this was new for her, in some ways it was the same for him. ‘I am hurting you?’

She shook her head, and a laugh bubbled up from the back of her throat. It was so easy. ‘No! Oh, no, not at all! It’s…perfect…’

He shook his head. ‘Not yet. Be patient, and you will see how perfect it can be.’

And then there were no more words or questions as their bodies melded and moulded and began to move in sweet harmony. Sometimes he teased her, and sometimes he thrust so deep that her heart felt as though it had been impaled by him, and all the time there was something tantalising, sweet and intangible, which was building and building inside. Over and over she felt that she was almost there, and her body reached for it greedily, but Gianferro did speak then, bending his mouth to whisper into her ear.

‘Relax. Let go. Let it happen.’

When it did, she was unprepared for the power of it. And the beauty.

‘G-Gianferro!’ she gasped in astonishment as it took her up, lifted her in its nebulous arms like a whirlwind, and then rocked her, again and again, sucking all the air from her lungs until she fell at last, laughing and crying with the sheer wonder of it.

He stilled for a moment as he watched her—the genuine joy of her fulfilment touching him in a way he had not expected—and then he started to move again, and her eyes flew open. She read something in his eyes and she put her hands around his buttocks, pulling him in closer, deeper.

And when it happened for him she watched him too—drinking in his face greedily as she imprinted each reaction on her memory. She saw his eyes close, his head jerk back. A moment of rigidity, before he moaned, the sound of surrender being torn from the back of his throat. And when he opened them again, he seemed almost dazed, murmuring something softly in Italian.

Millie propped herself up on one elbow to look at him, her hair falling all over her shoulders as she studied his face. But the dazed look had disappeared, replaced by the harder, guarded and more familiar expression.

But Millie had seen it. For a moment or two he had been—yes, vulnerable—not something you would usually associate with him. She wondered if it was the same for all men—whether they opened up just a little and allowed you to see the softer side of them. And was it only after making love?

‘What was that you said?’ she questioned.

He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

Millie pulled a face. ‘Oh, that’s not fair, Gianferro! You can’t use your fluency in other languages to exclude me.’

‘Can’t I?’ he challenged softly, his words light and teasing, but she recognised that he meant them. ‘Perhaps what I said was not suitable for a woman to hear.’

This was even worse. ‘I may have been innocent,’ she protested, ‘but I’m not any more! I want to learn—and how better can I learn the secrets of the bedroom than from my husband?’ Her mouth curved into a smile. ‘I want to please you.’

‘But you do.’

‘And I want to enlarge my knowledge,’ she added firmly.

He gave her a rueful look and pulled her into his arms. ‘I was voicing my surprise and my pleasure because it is exactly as other men say it is.’

Millie frowned, not understanding at all.

‘To make love without protection,’ he elaborated. ‘To ride bareback, as I believe the Americans call it.’ He saw her colour heighten. ‘You see!’

But Millie was shaking her head, trying to make sense of what he was saying. ‘You mean…you mean you’ve never made love to a woman without…’ She hesitated over the word—new to her, like so much else. ‘Protection before?’

He seemed astonished that she should have asked. ‘But, no! Never!’

‘Because…because of the risk of disease?’ she ventured.

‘Of course.’ He nodded, picking up her fingers and kissing them, his breath warm and his smile full of satisfaction. ‘And there are no such risks with you, cara mia. But it is far more than that…you see, my seed carries within it the bloodline of Mardivino, and it cannot be spilled carelessly!’

On the one hand it was a very old-fashioned and poetic way of putting it, and yet it was mechanical, too—as if she was nothing other than a very clean vessel. Millie bit her lip.

‘I told you you would not like it,’ he said softly as he observed her reaction.

But it wasn’t that. It was the way his voice had grown so stern when he had mentioned his bloodline. She realised that they still hadn’t got around to discussing contraception. He must have just assumed that she would get herself sorted out before the wedding, as everyone had advised her to do.

She snuggled up against him. ‘Don’t you think that there are a few things we ought to talk about?’

‘Before or after I make love to you again?’ he questioned, his voice silky with erotic promise, and Millie shivered in anticipation as she felt the hardening and tensing of his body.

She closed her eyes as he began to touch her breasts. ‘I guess…I guess it can wait,’ she said shakily.

This time there was a sense of urgency, but there was a question burning inside her, too, as Millie wondered if it could possibly be as good again.

She was still a novice, but already she had learnt. Already she was comfortable with his body, and this time she was not afraid to touch him as freely as he did her. She saw his fleeting look of surprise, quickly followed by one of pleasure as their cries shuddered out in unison.

Oh, yes, she thought happily. Just as good. She stretched luxuriously. No. Better.

He turned to face her, a flush highlighting the aristocratic cheekbones and the hectic glitter of satisfaction in his black eyes giving no indication of the bombshell he was about to drop.

‘So, cara,’ he drawled softly, ‘do you think we have made you pregnant?’