3
There was indeed a house in the driveway. With a supreme disregard for convenience or sense, Millie had parked herself almost directly in front of the great double-doors. I had to take a sharp left once I reached the steps, and circle around the familiar flint stone walls of the sturdy eighteenth-century farmhouse, before I saw Alban’s enormous, so-shiny car.
It was purple today.
‘My favourite colour,’ I said as I approached the driver’s seat.
His highness smiled up at me. ‘I know.’
He, as always, was my favourite everything. Bright, intense green eyes, lively and full of approval as he looked at me. Bronze, artfully windswept hair. Loose, cream silk shirt.
I realised I was clutching the pup before me like a meat shield between me and him, and adjusted my grip. ‘So,’ I said lightly
