was wearing a dark suit and looked both cool and formal. As usual, all heads were bent obsequiously towards him as people listened, and Millie knew that if he made a joke—however weak—people would fall about laughing. Because when you were King people told you what they thought you wanted to hear.
She knew then that her attempt at reconciliation must go no further than was necessary—for if she capitulated too much he would never respect her again.
He might be King, and she Queen, but the tussles within their marriage were not Royal ones—and unless they could find some real human ground on which to thrash them out then it would not be a marriage worth continuing with anyway.
Gianferro was listening to the Spanish Ambassador praising Mardivino’s attitude to the arts when he became aware of a slight buzz in the room. His eyes narrowed as he saw heads turning in the direction of the door.
But he was already in the room! Who in the world could possibly be entering and capturing more attention than he could?
And then he saw her.
Her eyes were like a summer’s sky and her hair as pale and gleaming as moonlight. She wore a yellow dress which made her look cool and composed, but he could see that her mouth was set and tense, though it wavered in a tentative attempt at a smile as she began to walk towards him.
Now the faces were turned towards him, watching for his reaction, the way they always did. They would be wondering what the Queen was doing here, for she was not expected—and members of the Royal family did not simply turn up out of the blue.
What the hell was she thinking of? he wondered angrily.
She moved towards him and the purely physical reaction which she always provoked in him kicked in—with a force and power which momentarily took his breath away. But then he remembered the ugly scene which had caused her departure, and he felt the faint flickering of a muscle at his cheek.
She came right up to him, her cheeks flushed and her eyelids dropping down to conceal the sapphire glitter of her eyes.
‘Your Majesty,’ she said, very softly.
And, breaking protocol for the first time in his life, Gianferro bent his mouth to her ear.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he breathed.
MILLIE felt faint and dizzy—her heart was beating so loudly that it threatened to deafen her as she looked into the cold and unwelcoming eyes of Gianferro—but somehow she managed to keep a small and noncommittal smile pinned to her mouth. People were watching them—she dared not let her fragile emotions show.
‘Are you not pleased to see me, Gianferro?’
With an equally noncommittal smile, he placed his palm beneath her elbow.
‘Surprised,’ he murmured. And that was an under-statement. The last thing he had expected was to see his beautiful blonde wife slinking across the reception room towards him, and for once he was unprepared. Fleetingly he allowed himself to wonder how a normal man might have dealt with such a situation, but the eyes of the room were fixed on them.
Damn her! Had she deliberately contrived to catch him off-guard? To slip beneath his defences as cunningly as she always managed to do in bed? When she made him feel like Samson after his hair had been shorn? Had he not spent the past week telling himself over and over that she must not be allowed to do so again?
‘I will speak with you in private, my dear,’ he continued. ‘But first I must make my farewells.’
His voice was soft, but the words were undoubtedly a command, and something in the dark glitter of his eyes made Millie suddenly apprehensive.
‘I didn’t intend to drag you away,’ she whispered.
‘Really? Then just what did you intend, Millie? That you would flounce in here unannounced and everyone would just pretend not to notice?’
It was a reprimand, and one she knew she deserved. ‘What do you want me to do?’
But at that moment, as if summoned by some unspoken order, Alesso appeared. Gianferro spoke to him rapidly and fiercely in Italian, and then he bent his head to her ear once more.
‘Go now with Alesso,’ he said, switching effortlessly to English. ‘And wait for me. It will only complicate matters if formal introductions are made,’ he added coolly. ‘At least this way the Spanish Ambassador can be reliably informed that there is a family crisis.’
And was there? Millie wondered, as she followed Alesso from the room, pride making her smile at the people who bowed and curtsied as she passed. Of course there was…and by the time she and Gianferro were through maybe the Palace lawyers would have been instructed to draw up the papers announcing a formal separation.
In the corridor, she saw Alesso’s look of resignation.
‘I’ve got you into trouble, haven’t I?’ she guessed.
‘He is not pleased.’
Millie bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Alesso.’
He shook his head. ‘No. It is for the best. I do not like to see the King miserable. He cannot rule with so much on his mind.’
‘How has he been?’ Millie asked breathlessly, wondering if Alesso would give her any inkling of the truth, or just be Gianferro’s official mouthpiece.
‘Distracted,’ he admitted with a shrug.
And Millie wondered what he had been distracted with. Had he missed her? Or had he simply been working out the best and cleanest way to end the marriage? ‘Is there somewhere very private we could go?’
He nodded. ‘It is already arranged. The Cacciatore family own a house on the coastal road. He is taking you there. It is empty and—’
But at that moment Gianferro himself swept out, accompanied by a retinue of diplomats and servants. His black eyes gave little away as he looked at Millie other than faint displeasure, but he could not stem the sudden rush of blood to his groin. He found himself thinking how much more uncomplicated life was without a woman in it, and his mouth hardened.
‘Come,’ he said crisply.
As she slid into the back of the large unmarked car beside him she told herself that this was never going to be a romantic reunion. But his proximity sent her already raw senses into overdrive. She was achingly aware of him as a man—of the long, lean thrust of his legs and the muscular body so tightly coiled beside her. Could he not have touched her? At least reached out to squeeze the frozen fingers which looked so lifeless where they lay against the lemon silk dress.
Gianferro was aware of a mixture of powerlessness and frustration—of wanting to press her body hard against his and knowing that the presence of the driver ruled it out. But it was more than that. He still did not know why she was here—her very eagerness to confront him might spell her determination to seek a new life for herself.
Could
