‘MILLIE, you’re late!’
Above the hubbub of chatter, Millie heard the irritation in her mother’s voice. It was a voice which had been trained to rarely express emotion, but under circumstances such as these, with one daughter poised to marry into such an exalted family, it was easy to see her customary composure vanish when the other turned up unacceptably late.
Millie had tried to slip unnoticed into the Blue Room, where everyone had gathered before lunch, but the majority of the guests were thronged around the tall, imposing figure of the Prince. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her eyes looking down at the priceless Persian carpet because she did not dare to look anywhere else, terrified to look into those dangerous, dark eyes…because…
Because what? Because in the time it had taken her to wash the mud and grime and sweat from her body and to dress in something halfway suitable she had been able to think of nothing other than the shockingly handsome man who would one day become her brother-in-law? Trying not to imagine what it would have been like if he had kissed her.
‘Millie, it’s just not done to keep Royalty waiting,’ scolded her mother, and then added in an aside, ‘And couldn’t you have worn some lipstick or something, darling? You can look so pretty if you put your mind to it!’
The implication being that she didn’t look at all pretty at the moment. Well, that was a good thing. She wanted to fade away into the background. She didn’t want him looking at her that way. Making her feel those things. Making her ache. Making her wonder…
‘But I’d have been even later if I’d stopped to do that,’ Millie protested, and then a dark shadow fell over her, and she didn’t need to look up into that hard and handsome face to know whose shadow it was. She found herself having to suppress a shiver of excitement as he came to stand beside them and hoped that her mother hadn’t noticed.
‘Prince Gianferro,’ said Countess de Vere, with the biggest smile Millie had ever seen her give, ‘I’d like you to meet my younger daughter, Millicent.’
Millie risked glancing up then—it would have been sheer rudeness to do otherwise—and she found herself staring up into his face, all aristocratic cheekbones and dark, mocking eyes. Say you’ve met me, she silently beseeched him. Say that and everything will be okay.
But he didn’t. Just lifted the tips of her fingers to his lips and made the slightest pressure with his mouth, and Millie felt a whisper of longing trickle its way down her spine.
‘Contentissimo,’ he murmured. ‘Millicent.’
‘Millie,’ she corrected immediately as she dragged her hand away from the temptation of his touch and met his eyes in silent rebuke, some of her fearlessness returning to rescue her. ‘Should I curtsey?’
His mouth curved. ‘Do you want to?’
Was she imagining things, or was that a loaded question and—oh, heavens—why was she even thinking this way? He was Lulu’s, not hers—and by no stretch of the imagination could he ever be hers—even if Lulu wasn’t in the picture.
She nodded her head as she dipped into a graceful and effortless bob, hoping that the formal greeting would put proper distance between them.
‘Perfetto,’ he murmured.
‘Yes, it was an excellent curtsey, darling,’ said her mother, with a glow of slightly bemused satisfaction. ‘Now, please apologise to the Prince for your lateness!’
‘I—’
His eyes were full of devilment. ‘I expect you had something far more exciting to do?’
He was weaving her deeper into the deception, and she was wondering how he would react if she said something like, You know perfectly well what I was doing, when to her relief the lunch bell rang.
‘Lunch,’ she murmured politely.
‘Saved by the bell,’ came his mocking retort, and Millie saw her mother blink, looking even more bemused.
Probably wondering how her mouse of a daughter had managed to engage the Prince’s interest for more than a nanosecond!
There were twenty for lunch, and—as Millie had fully expected—she was seated at the very end of the table, about as far away from him as it was possible to be. And I hope you’re enjoying your lunch, she thought, because every mouthful I take is threatening to choke me!
But Gianferro was not enjoying his lunch, and course after course made an appearance. The food was sublime, the surroundings exquisite and the company exactly as it should be—except…
His eyes kept straying to the girl at the end of the table. How unlike her sister she was. Lulu was as pampered and as immaculate as a world-class model—while Millie wore a simple dress which emphasised her long-limbed and naturally slim body. Her pale blonde hair was tied back and her face was completely free of make-up, and yet she looked as fresh and as natural as a bunch of flowers.
From close at his side Lulu leaned over, and he caught a drift of her expensive French perfume. Inexplicably he found himself comparing it to the earthy scent of horses and saddlesoap.
‘You haven’t touched your wine, Gianferro!’ Lulu scolded.
He shrugged. ‘Did you not know that I never drink at lunchtime?’
‘No, I didn’t! How boring!’ Lulu pulled a face. ‘Why ever not?’