The Royal Wedding Collection. Robyn Donald

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СКАЧАТЬ his character—shown him that to love was not a sign of weakness.

      Millie had tried from time to time to talk to him on a more intimate level, but she had seen his eyes narrow before he smoothly changed the subject. Don’t even go there, his body language seemed to say. And so she didn’t. Because what choice did she have?

      Only in bed, when his appetite was sated—in that brief period of floating in sensation alone before reality snapped back in—did he ever let his guard down, and then it was only fractionally. Then he would touch his lips to her hair almost indulgently, and this would lull her into a sense of expectation which would invariably be smashed.

      She wanted him to tell her about his day—to confide in her what his thoughts had been—just as if they were any normal newly-wed couple, but it was like drawing blood from a stone. They weren’t a normal couple, nor ever would be. And he didn’t seem to even want to try to be.

      Gianferro was looking at her now, as she hovered uncertainly in the door of his study. It was a gaze laced with affection, it had to be said, but also with slight impatience—for his time was precious and she must never forget that.

      ‘Yes, Millie?’

      She laced her fingers together. ‘You remember on our honeymoon I said that I wanted to learn French?’

      ‘Yes. Yes.’ He nodded impatiently.

      ‘Well, I’ve changed my mind.’ She could see his small smile of satisfaction. ‘I think it should be Italian.’

      ‘Really?’ he questioned coolly.

      ‘Well, yes. Italian is your first language.’

      ‘I am fluent in four,’ he said, with a touch of arrogance.

      ‘It’s your language of choice.’ She looked at him. ‘In bed,’ she added boldly.

      His eyes narrowed for just a second before his smile became dismissive. He loved her eagerness and her joy in sex—but did she really imagine that she could come in here at will and tempt him away from affairs of state? Very deliberately he put his pen down in a gesture of closing the subject. ‘Very well. I shall speak to Alesso about selecting you a tutor.’

      But something in the cold finality of his eyes made Millie rebel. She tried to imagine herself in one of the luxurious rooms of the Palace, with the finest tutor that money and privilege could provide, and realised it was just going to be more of the same. Isolation. ‘But, if you recall, I said that I would like to learn in a class with other people.’

      ‘And I think that, if you recall, I hinted that such a scenario would be inappropriate.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What is wrong with taking your lessons here, cara?’

      Take courage, Millie—he’ll never know unless you tell him. ‘Sometimes I feel a little…lonely, here at the Palace.’ She saw his frown deepen and she hastily amended her words, not wanting him to think that she was spoilt or ungrateful. ‘Oh, I know that you’re busy—of course you are—but…’ Her words tapered off, because she wasn’t quite sure where she was going with them.

      ‘You are still not with child?’

      Millie stared at him and the nagging little feeling of guilt she had been doing her best to quash reared its mocking head. Perhaps a baby was the answer. Maybe she should throw her Pills away and no one would ever be the wiser. ‘N-no.’

      ‘You wish to consult the Palace obstetrician?’

      There was something so chillingly matter-of-fact about his question that hot on the heels of her wavering came rebellion, and Millie bristled. As if a baby would solve everything! As if she was little more than a brood mare! ‘I think it’s early days yet, don’t you?’ she questioned, trying to keep her voice reasonable. ‘We’ve only been married for six months.’

      He quelled the oddly painful feeling of disappointment. She was right—it was early days indeed. Here was one thing he could not command. An heir would be his just as soon as nature—and fate—decreed it.

      ‘Yes, that is so,’ he agreed, and gave her a soft smile. ‘What about your horses?’ he questioned, for he had acquired for her two of the finest Andalusian mares that money could buy. ‘Surely they provide adequate amusement for you?’

      Millie bristled even more. ‘It may have escaped your notice, but horses do not speak.’

      ‘Yet the grooms tell me that you communicate with them almost as if they could speak.’ His voice dipped with pride. ‘That your enthusiasm for all things equine equals the energy you put in to your charity work.’

      She knew that in his subtle way he was praising her—telling her that she made a good Queen and that there was plenty to occupy her without her trying to make a life for herself outside the rigid confines of the Palace. She could see that from his point of view it would be so much easier for a tutor to be brought in.

      ‘And your English sisters-in-law,’ he continued. ‘You like Ella and Lucy, do you not?’

      ‘Yes, I like them very much,’ said Millie truthfully. But Ella and Lucy were different, and not just because they were mothers. Their relationships with their husbands were close and inclusive—and that wasn’t just her imagining. She had seen them sometimes, at State Banquets, behaving with all the decorum expected of their position—but occasionally sneaking a small, shared look or a secret smile. Gianferro never did that with her.

      She knew that comparisons were wrong, and could lead you nowhere except to dissatisfaction, and Millie wanted to be contented with her lot—or rather she wanted to make the best of what she had, not yearn for something which could never be hers.

      But sometimes it was hard not to—especially when her sisters-in-law had genuine love-matches. Theirs had not been marriages of convenience, where the winning hand had been the bride-to-be’s innocence and inexperience.

      ‘I guess I don’t really know them that well,’ she said thoughtfully.

      ‘Well, then?’ said Gianferro impatiently. ‘Invite them round for tea! Get to know them a little better!’

      His arrogance and condescension took her breath away and strengthened her determination to fight for a little freedom.

      ‘Very well, I will—but I should still like to go to a class,’ she said quietly. ‘What harm can it do?’

      Gianferro drummed his fingers on the polished rosewood of his desk. He was not used to having his wishes thwarted, but he recognised a new light of purpose in his wife’s eyes. ‘It could…complicate things,’ he murmured.

      ‘How?’

      Would she believe him if he told her? Or was this going to be one of the lessons she needed to learn for herself? He knew what she was trying to do—trying to dip into a ‘normal’ life once more—but she could not. Her life had changed in ways she had not even begun to comprehend. He felt a fleeting wave of regret that it should be so, which was swiftly followed by irritation that she would not be guided by his experience. ‘It will not be as you imagine it to be,’ he warned. ‘Being Royal sets you apart.’

      ‘I think I’d prefer to find that out for myself,’ said Millie, but a smile was twitching at her lips, because suddenly this one small blow for freedom СКАЧАТЬ