Obliged. The word jumped out at her, reminding her of what Royal life was all about. Millie sighed. ‘Of course. How silly of me not to have thought of that.’
‘Indeed.’ He nodded with satisfaction. ‘And the sooner we eat it, the sooner the staff can be dismissed.’ His voice dipped into a provocative caress. ‘And the sooner we can come back to bed!’
The anticipation of that made her misgivings seem inconsequential. For a moment she felt like the old Millie—even if the memory of her was becoming more hazy by the second. Or at least she felt a bit more comfortable in the skin of the new Millie…though she was even more of a stranger. But the other Millie had been a girl, and now she was most definitely initiated into the ranks of womanhood. ‘But we’ve spent most of the afternoon in bed!’ she teased.
He relaxed as he saw her eyes shine. ‘I know,’ he agreed softly, and for one rare and blessed moment he felt completely at ease. He bent his mouth to her ear. ‘And I intend to spend many more afternoons in exactly the same place!’
As Millie dressed for dinner she deliberately squashed the thought that she was deceiving him. She was not. She was acting in their best interests, and for the future of their relationship. And hadn’t her mother told her that it was wise to always keep something back? That mystery added to a woman’s allure…
But dinner was another trial—and Millie was no stranger to lavish dinners. Opposite sat her brand-new husband—looking dark and unruffled and cool in an open-neck cream silk shirt which gave a glimpse of the tantalising arrowing of dark hair beneath. His skin was olive and gleaming and he looked completely sensual and irresistible. He had lain naked in her arms, he had been joined with her in the most intimate way that a man and woman could be—so why, looking at him now, did that seem almost impossible to imagine?
The staff who served the meal spoke very little, but when they did it was in French or Italian, and Millie had rather neglected languages at school. For a moment she thought of Lulu. Lulu was effortlessly fluent in French, and if it had been her sitting here—as originally intended—she would no doubt have had all the staff smiling sunnily at her.
‘Merci beaucoup,’ she said, when their coffee was brought, and saw her husband give a small smile as the butler left the room. ‘Oh, Gianferro—my French is terrible!’ she wailed.
‘It will improve.’
‘I shall take lessons.’
‘Indeed.’ He nodded. ‘I will find you a tutor.’
Millie hesitated. ‘I was hoping perhaps I could go to a class with other people?’
Imperious dark brows elevated. ‘Other people?’
‘You know…’ Millie shrugged her shoulders awkwardly. ‘Like a regular class, or something. You must have them in Solajoya.’
‘Of course we do. Our education system is one of the finest in the world.’ Thoughtfully he ran a long olive finger over a glass of pure crystal. ‘Though in your case it may not be appropriate.’
Millie blinked. ‘Oh?’
‘I do not hold with the idea of Royalty being accessible,’ he observed quietly.
She thought she heard a warning note in his voice. ‘You mean you want me to be…remote?’
‘That is not the word I would have chosen.’ He dropped a lump of sugar into one of the tiny gold-lined cups and stirred. When he looked up again his dark eyes were serious. ‘You will need to be one step removed from your people—a part of them and yet apart from them. As if you were standing in the next-door room. Knock down the wall which divides you, and you run the danger of the roof caving in.’
Millie nodded, her thoughts troubled once more. All these things lay ahead. Such big things. Babies who would be heirs and a crown which was destined to be hers. With this dark and intelligent man by her side, whom she yearned to know better. But would she—when he was a self-confessed champion of being…not remote…but removed? She drank some coffee. She would persist. Whittling away at the barr
ier with which he surrounded himself. Some things could only be accomplished over time—and at least she had that on her side.
But the getting-to-know-him-properly bit had to start some time. She looked into his face—such a dark and forbidding face—except when he was making love, of course. She shook her head slightly, still filled with that slight sense of disbelief of what they had been doing together not so long ago.
A faint smile curved Gianferro’s lips. ‘Why do you blush so, Millie?’ he questioned softly.
‘I was just thinking…’
‘Mmm?’
She heard the indulgent note in his voice—as if she was a child to be humoured. Would it sound unattractively naïve if she tried to tell him just how much of a woman he had made her feel in bed, but that now they were out of it all her glowing self-assurance seemed to have fled? Maybe it would be better to stick to basics. To start to get to know him in a way she had not previously been able to.
‘What was it like,’ she began, ‘growing up on an island?’
He curved his finger around the warm coffee cup. ‘In what respect?’ he questioned carelessly.
Was she imagining the evasive note in his voice? Millie gave him a shy smile. Forget he’s a prince, she told herself. Just ask him the kind of things you’d ask any man. But that was the trouble. She had no experience—not just of the bed bit, but all the other stuff which went to make up a relationship. In a way, the bed bit was easy—like learning to ride a horse. There were certain actions and movements you had to master—and after that it was up to you to modify and improve them.
But talking was harder. She had had none of the normal exposure to male/female interaction which most young women of her age had. No brothers, for a start, and then a single-sex school. There had been no nightclubs and precious few parties. Her life had been centred around the countryside and her horses—and that, of course, was one of the reasons he had made her his bride.