‘Yes,’ she said, in a low, firm voice. ‘Yes, I do. More than anything.’
And then she knew that she had to do something else, too. That it was foolish for her to wait for words of love from Gianferro. Even if he did feel love—which she doubted—he would be unable to show it, for nobody had shown him how to. This wasn’t some quiz from a women’s magazine. It didn’t matter who said what and in what order. Just because some ancient code said that the man was supposed to declare his feelings first she didn’t have to heed it! If it was just pride standing in the way of her telling him how she really felt—then what good was pride?
What good was anything if she didn’t have her man? And didn’t she owe it to Gianferro to tell him how much he meant to her?
‘I think it’s worth saving because when I made my vows I meant them. I think it’s worth saving because I have a duty both to you and to Mardivino, to provide emotional security and succour to their King.’
She swallowed down the last of her fears as she looked up into his face with very clear and bright blue eyes. ‘But, most important of all, I think it’s worth saving because I love you, Gianferro, even though you think I may not have shown it. I have loved you for a long, long time now, but I have never dared tell you. And now I am terrified that my stupid actions will prevent me from ever showing you just how much.’
He stilled. What she was offering was like a beacon glowing on a dark night. It was comfort from the storm and warmth in the depths of winter. It was like having walked in the desert for days and being tempted with the sight of an oasis shimmering on the horizon. But Gianferro had walked for too long alone to allow himself to give in to temptation. She was offering him an easier, softer option, and he didn’t need one—he didn’t need her.
He should tell her to go to hell. He should tell her that he could live without her. And he could. He had before and he would again.
His heart was pounding with the pumped-up feelings of a man about to enter battle. But as he looked at her he realised that he did not want to do battle with her. He continued to stare at her, remembering the slight figure and the fearlessness which had first so entranced him. Then she had been a tomboy, but today she looked regal and beautiful. In her eyes he could read that self-same fearlessness, but now there was doubt, too.
‘You would recover if it ended,’ he said harshly.
She shook her head. ‘Not properly. Only on the surface.’
‘And you would find another man.’
‘But never like you,’ she said simply. ‘And you know that. You told me that once yourself, on the very day you proposed marriage to me.’
Gianferro’s eyes narrowed as he remembered. So he had! Even on that day he had used an arrogant persuasion which could almost be defined as subtle force. He had been determined to have her and he had gone all out to get her. She hadn’t stood a chance.
He had brought her here and then told her—told her—that she should have his child immediately, when she had still been so very young and inexperienced herself.
Was that the kind of tyrant he had become? So used to imposing his will that he didn’t stop to think about whether it was appropriate to do so with his new wife?
Pain crossed his face as for the first time he acknowledged where his arrogance and pride could lead him if he let it. To a life alone. An empty life. A life without her. His life was one into which she had crept like a flame, bringing both warmth and light into it. Her absence had left a dull, aching gap behind—even though the independent side of him had resented that.
He had once seen her as a path to be taken in a hazy landscape, but now he could see very clearly the two paths which lay before him. He saw what being with his wife would mean, and more terrifyingly, he saw what being without her promised. A life which would be stark and empty and alone.
‘Oh, Millie,’ he said brokenly. ‘Millie.’
The face she turned up to him was wreathed in anxiety and fear. ‘Gianferro?’ she breathed, in a voice she prayed would not dissolve into tears. Something in his expression gave her a tenuous hope, but she was too scared to hang onto it in case it was false. ‘Just tell me—and if you really want it to be over then I will accept that. I will never like it, nor will I ever stop loving you, but I will do as you wish.’
Something in her words let the floodgates open, and feeling came flooding in to wash over the barren landscape of his heart. After a lifetime of being kept at bay it was sharp and bright and painful and warm, all at the same time, and Gianferro gave a small gasp of bewilderment—he who had never known a moment’s doubt in his life.
He pulled her into his arms and looked down at her, not quite knowing where to begin. He had never had to say sorry to anyone in his life, and now he began to recognise that it had not done him any favours. He realised that he was more than just a symbol of power, a figurehead. Inside, his heart beat the same as that of any other man. And having feelings didn’t make you weak, he realised—not if it could make you feel as alive as he felt right at that moment. Cut yourself adrift from them and you were not a complete person—and how could he rule unless he was?
‘It is me who should be begging your forgiveness,’ he said quietly. ‘For living in the Dark Ages and refusing to make this a modern marriage. For thinking that I could impose my will on you as if you were simply one of my subjects, forgetting—or choosing to ignore—the fact that you are my wife. My partner. My Millie.’
‘Oh, Gianferro!’
‘I was a tyrant!’ he whispered.
‘Not all the time.’
He smiled. ‘But some of the time?’
‘Well, yes. But then, I have my own faults and failings that I must live with and deal with.’ Shadows danced acro
ss her face, and then she looked up at him, her eyes clear and blue and questioning. ‘What will we do?’
‘We will begin again. What else can we do, cara Millie? As of today we will move forward, not back.’
Her heart felt as if it was going to burst with joy, and all the dark and terrible fantasies about what could have happened began to dissolve. Never again, she decided, was she going to take the coward’s way out—of hiding her doubts and her fears and letting them grow. From this day forward there would be the transparency of true love. From her, at least. And she was not going to ask anything of Gianferro. Not push him or manipulate him into saying anything that he didn’t mean. But she had to know something.