The Royal Wedding Collection. Robyn Donald

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