The Future King's Bride

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘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?’

  CHAPTER SIX

  FOR a moment, Millie froze—her body as motionless as a stone—yet her mind raced with a speed which was frightening.

  She played for time. ‘Wh-what did you say?’

  He smiled, but his voice was edged with a kind of territorial anticipation. ‘I was thinking aloud, cara,’ he murmured. ‘Wondering whether even now my child begins to grow within your belly.’

  She forced herself not to be swayed by the—again—poetic delivery of his words, but to concentrate instead on the implication which lay behind them.

  She gave a strained smile. ‘You…you wouldn’t want me to be pregnant right now, would you?’

  ‘But of course!’ His eyes narrowed and he frowned. ‘Marriage is for the procreation of children. That is its primary function, in fact.’ He gave a glimmer of a smile which only partly defused the sudden sense of terror she felt. ‘Particularly in my case, cara Millie.’

  My case, she noted. Not our. But she must keep calm. She must. Obviously they weren’t going to see eye to eye on every topic, not straight away. Marriage was also about compromise, she reminded herself. And negotiation.

  ‘I was sort of…hoping that we might have some time together first…getting to know one another,’ she ventured. ‘Before children come along.’

  He pulled her against him, loving the way that the silk of her hair clothed her chest like a mantle, beginning to stroke it almost absently. ‘Perhaps we will,’ he mused. ‘But the decision is not ours to take.’

  Millie opened her eyes very wide. ‘It isn’t?’

  ‘Of course not! The conception of our child is outside our control! It lies in the domain of a power far greater than ourselves.’

  This was the moment to tell him. The moment to announce the fact that her doctor had prescribed her six months worth of the contraceptive Pill to be going along with.

  But something stopped her, and Millie wasn’t quite sure what it was.

  Fear that he seemed to have everything so mapped out? Or fear that she had taken a step which instinctively she knew he would disapprove of?

  If she told him, she could imagine him—perhaps after again expressing his displeasure—tossing the Pills away in a macho kind of way before making love to her again. And then what would happen? Well, you wouldn’t need to be a biologist to work that one out. She might fall pregnant. Immediately.

  Millie tried to imagine what that would be like—and the thought of it filled her with horror. Everything else was so startlingly new—Mardivino, being married, getting used to being a princess. How on earth could she cope if she threw motherhood into the equation?

  Perhaps she could slowly work round to it…make him see things from her point of view. That there was nothing wrong with waiting for a while…that was what most couples did.

  Idly, she trickled her finger around one of the whorls of dark hair on his chest and saw him give a nod of satisfaction. ‘It would be nice to have a little time on our own first,’ she observed drowsily. ‘Wouldn’t it?’

  She must learn lessons other than those of the bedroom, thought Gianferro. Did she think that they were to become one of those couples who shared everything, as was the modern trend? Who were together from dawn to dusk? He repressed a slight shudder. Even if his position had not ruled that out, it was an option he would have run a million miles from anyway. ‘That is what honeymoons are for, cara,’ he said lightly.

  ‘But we’re only on honeymoon for a fortnight!’ Millie protested.

  He wondered if she had any idea of just how privileged she was to have a whole two weeks of his uninterrupted company. Of the planning that had gone into absenting himself from his duties as Crown Prince. Perhaps she should learn that, too.

  ‘My life is a very busy one, Millie.’

  ‘And I want to share it with you!’

  Again, he bit back the urge to tell her that what she wanted was a foolish desire which would never come true. Nor ever could. To soften the blow—this would be a lesson for him, too. He was used to dictating his terms, to doing exactly as he pleased and having people fall in and accede totally to his wishes. But he recognised that to make this marriage a comfortable one he must learn to use tact and diplomacy.

  ‘But you will be sharing it,’ he said firmly. ‘As my wife and as the mother of my children.’

  For a moment she was scared again. It was as if she had taken a leap back by half a century. If not yet barefoot then certainly pregnant as soon as possible—if Gianferro had his way.

  ‘Just that?’ she questioned quietly.

  ‘Of course not,’ he answered silkily. ‘There will be so much more to your life than that, Millie.’

  She couldn’t quite stop the shaky breath of relief. ‘There will?’

  ‘Naturally. You will not be tied by children—because, just as in your own childhood, there will be plenty of staff to look after them.’

  But Millie’s heart did not leap for joy at the thought of handing the care of her children to other people. Quite the contrary when she remembered her own experience, and especially the brief period when she had gone to the local school before being sent off to boarding school. It was there that she had realised for the first time that her life was different from other people’s.

  How vividly she remembered the empty ache inside when her classmates had been met by their mothers at the school gates instead of an uncaring au pair or stony-faced nanny. And even more poignant had been the stories they used to relate—of mothers who bathed them and made cakes for them, and fathers who played with them, taught them how to swim and climb a tree. She had only ever seen her parents at bedtime, when she was all washed and in her pyjamas to say goodnight—and sometimes not even then. Did she really want that for her own children? And times had changed…even for Royal families. Wouldn’t Gianferro long to have a closeness with his offspring which had never been there for him?

  ‘It might be nice to be a little bit hands-on with them,’ she suggested lightly.

  Gianferro kissed the tip of her nose. ‘That will not, I think, be either possible or desirable. Our children will be brought up the way of all Ro
yal children. And besides, you will not have time.’ His dark eyes crinkled. ‘There will be many charitable institutions which will require your patronage. Do not worry, sweet Millie—there will be plenty to keep you busy.’

  It was a horrible phrase. Keep you busy. It implied that she would be filling in time, instead of embracing it fully, and it was worrying, for it was not how she imagined her future to be.

  ‘I see,’ she said slowly.

  Gianferro could hear her faint note of disapproval and he frowned. How demanding women could be! She might be young and unspoiled but, like all women, she required symbols of her position in his life. Not diamonds, in her case, but…

  ‘And we must not forget your horse, of course,’ he said softly, with the air of a man who had pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

  Millie blinked. ‘My horse?’

  The corners of his mouth edged upwards into a small smile of satisfaction which accompanied the sudden anticipatory gleam of pleasure in his black eyes. ‘I told you that you would have the finest mount money can buy, and so you shall, Millie. I had intended to keep it as a surprise, but since you are obviously dissatisfied—’

  ‘But I’m not—’

  He cut through her protest as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Then I see no reason to keep you in suspense. During the second week of our honeymoon I intend to take you to my stables on the western side of the island—which are world-class, incidentally.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard of them,’ said Millie, in a small voice.

  ‘And there you shall choose a horse to bring back to the Rainbow Palace with you.’ He watched her carefully, for her reaction was not the one he had been expecting. He knew how much she loved horses—so why was she not flinging her arms about his neck and thanking him? Did she not realise the honour he was according her? Why, there were top breeders who would give up everything they possessed to own one of the horses he was offering her! ‘You are not pleased with the idea, Millie?’

  She heard the coolness in his voice and attempted to redress the balance. She couldn’t expect him to understand her doubts and her fears, and to express them would sound like whining defeatism. If you took the Royal part out of their situation, it helped put things in perspective. Because when it boiled down to it they were just two adults starting out on married life together—and communication was vital if the journey was to be a rich and fulfilling one. ‘No, I am pleased—I’m delighted, if you want the truth, Gianferro!’