Her Highness, My Wife (10 page)

“It has taken rather more of my resources than I anticipated, but I assume, in spite of your agreements to my”—he snorted—“conditions about living within my finances that you have brought along a fair amount of money.”

“A coin or two, perhaps,” she said casually. It would probably be better for him not to know exactly how much she had brought.

“I thought as much.” He blew an annoyed breath. “Are there any of my conditions you do intend to abide by?”

“If I told you, it would spoil everything. Remember, my lord, surprise is the essence of—”

“Yes, yes, adventure. I would hate to spoil that.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and they started toward the entrance. “There is only a single bedchamber and I imagine there will be only one bed.”

“We shall have to make do, then.” She gazed up at him. “Besides, it is only natural that Lord and Lady Matthew share a room. I do not imagine they are the type of couple that would insist on separate

sleeping accommodations. Do you?”

“Not at all. But my imagination is rather active.” A slight smile played across his lips. “It does not bother you, then?”

“Not in the least,” she said, ignoring a tremor of what was part apprehension, part anticipation. “I like a man with a vivid imagination.”

He laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. However, if you are waiting for me to swoon at the thought of sharing your room—”

“And my bed.”

“And your bed.” Her voice was serene, as if she were speaking of something of no consequence whatsoever and not discussing the very thing she had dreamed of night after long, lonely night. “I should think you would no longer expect hysterics from me on this subject after the last time we spoke of your so-called conditions.”

“I never know what to expect of you, Princess,” he said under his breath.

“And do stop calling me Princess. Or Your Highness. Someone is bound to overhear and—”

“Very well, my lady…”—he bent close, his lips near to her ear—“wife.”

The word whispered against her skin, provocative and promising. Delight shivered through her and raised the hairs at the back of her neck. She might have to swoon after all. Why should she not share his bed? Had she not been in his arms in her dreams every night since they’d parted? Regardless of what happened between them now, would she not always consider herself his wife? And wouldn’t he always be her love?

Why should she wait until that love was returned, if indeed it ever was? It was clear that his feelings already went beyond mere physical attraction. The odd debate they had had a few moments ago proved that. He might not love her now, but he did tolerate her, and surely he liked her just a little. Still, even if he detested her, it was a fine and passionate hatred. And was there not little more than a thin line between love and hate?

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes?” He stared down at her. “Yes—what?”

“Yes is the answer to your question.”

“And which question would that be?” he asked slowly.

“You wanted to know if there were any of your conditions I intended to honor.” She glanced up at him, pleased to note the distinct look of trepidation in his eye.
“The answer, my lord husband, is yes.”

Chapter 7

It was the look in her eye he couldn’t get out of his mind. She’d cast him what he now thought of as
the look
every time he’d seen her since her return. In the stables, at her residence and his cottage, and then earlier tonight, when they had entered the inn. Even now, as she sat across the table from him in the privacy of their room, eating the meal Matt had arranged for, her dining was punctuated by the periodic directing of
the look
. He couldn’t quite describe
the look
: It was a mix of flirtation and determination. Of innocence and challenge. Somehow, she managed to peek up at him while keeping her lashes lowered. He couldn’t have duplicated the maneuver if he practiced in front of a mirror for years. It was distinctly feminine and not particularly straightforward. In the section of his mind reserved for mechanics he wondered how anyone could give the impression of gazing down in a most modest manner while glancing upward in a way that could only be described as enticing. In various other parts of his body, he didn’t care about the how of such a feat, only the why.

Potent. That was the word for it. The look was extremely potent. No doubt the kind of look Delilah ensnared an innocent Samson with or Cleopatra employed on an unsuspecting Marc Antony. Tatiana was probably trained from birth in the use of such looks as a national defense in time of Avalonian crisis. A lesser man might have been taken in by it. By the seductive lure of those green eyes. But Matthew Weston,
Lord
Matthew, was more than up to the challenge of a mere look, no matter how potent or inviting or intriguing or—

“Do you not like it, my lord?”

“Like it?” He hadn’t thought of it in terms of like or dislike. It did make him feel as if there never was, nor would there ever be, anyone in the world as significant to her as him, which in and of itself was suspicious. “I’m not entirely sure I trust it.”

“Goodness.” Tatiana huffed in annoyance. “Now you sound like Dimitri.”

“I’ve no doubt you’ve given the good captain more than enough reason for distrust through the years,”

Matt said coolly.

“Nonsense. In point of fact, I had never even left my country until recent years. And the political climate at home was relatively calm until my father’s illness.”

He stared at her in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Concerns of security, of course. The possibility of poisoning in the food. Which I do think is absurd. No one knows who I am, nor, I suspect, would they especially care.” She drew her brows together. “I asked you if you liked the food and you claimed you did not trust it. What were
you
talking about?”

“I was talking about…”
The look in your eye and the way it makes me forget the past and ignorethe future
. He cleared his throat and adopted a lofty manner. “I think the food is excellent.” The plates laid out between them were laden with roasted beef, vegetables in cream and large chunks of crusty bread, accompanied by two bottles of a rough, but tasty, red wine.

“You have not eaten much of it.”

“You, on the other hand, have eaten a remarkable amount.”

“Yes, I know.” She sucked her middle finger and uttered a contented sigh. “It was quite, quite wonderful. I was famished.”

“No doubt.” He was hard-pressed to pull his gaze away from that lovely, lucky finger. “You’ve scarcely put anything in your stomach today unless one counts brandy.”

“Brandy does not count if it is part of a tradition. Besides, I do not especially like brandy. It is such a serious drink, dreadfully heavy and intense. However, one must make sacrifices for the sake of tradition, do you not think so?”

“It depends, I should say, on the tradition.”

If she was an enigma to him when they’d first met, she was a puzzle of an even more difficult nature now. Knowing now who and what she was did not serve to answer his questions but only deepened the mystery around her.

“Tradition is extremely important.” She trailed her finger idly around the rim of her wine glass. In truth caressed it. His stomach tightened and he downed his wine in one swallow. “In some ways, it is the impetus that drives me.”

“Oh?” He quickly refilled his glass.

She nodded thoughtfully. “It is important for a country, for a people, to have something to believe in. That is the true purpose of tradition, custom, even symbols. It is comforting to know, no matter how the world changes, some things remain the same and always will. A baby will be christened in the same manner, the same church and probably the same gown as his father and his father before him.”

“I never suspected brandy played such a crucial role in the world as we know it.” A teasing note sounded in his voice.

“Brandy is most important when it is one of the national products of your country.” Her tone was serious, but the candlelight reflected the gleam of laughter in her eyes. “Surely you have sampled Avalonian brandy?”

“Avalonian brandy?” He chuckled. “I admit I have never so much as heard of it and I’ve always considered myself fairly well versed in the alcoholic offerings of the continent.”

“I am not surprised. It is rather hard to find the farther one gets from Avalonia. The very best is Royal Amber, and it is extremely rare. The Royal Amber brandy served this year has been aged for nearly a century. There is only enough made each season by the monks who live in the monastery midway up Avalonia’s highest mountain to meet the needs of the royal family.”

“Just the royal family? The ordinary folk have to drink ordinary brandy?”

She nodded. “Ordinary Avalonian brandy is still quite good, or so I have been told. And even for the royal family, Royal Amber is only used on occasions of great celebration and ceremony. The Feast of St. Stanislaus, Christmas and welcoming the new year, Easter, of course, baptisms, weddings, coronations.

That sort of thing.” She raised her wine glass to him. “It is tradition.”

“I see.” He returned the toast, then sipped casually. “I assume, then, it was drunk at your wedding.”

She hesitated, and there was a flash of something in her eyes. Regret? Anger? No, more than likely pain. She had buried her first husband, after all, not left him, and she had probably cared for him.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” he said slowly.

“Nonsense.” She smiled lightly and her chin raised a fraction of an inch. “You were at my second wedding. It is only fair you know about the first. The occasion most certainly required the benediction of Royal Amber brandy. It was as much a joining of two countries as two people.”

“You never told me about your husband. There’s no need—”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps there is every need.” She leaned back in her chair and studied him for a long, silent moment. “Do you know anything of my country, Matthew?”

“Not really. I have managed to locate it on a map, but beyond that”—he smiled to lighten the mood—“I know only of its people’s traditions regarding brandy while traveling.”

She laughed. “There is little more to know. We are strategically located, in that part of the world shared by Russia, Prussia and Austria. While my family has ruled for centuries, they are also prone to fighting amongst themselves. This past year my father was quite ill and my cousin tried to wrest power for her own branch of the House of Pruzinsky. Thankfully, she failed. She isn’t at all nice and I cannot imagine what dire consequences would result from her rule.”

She took a drink and considered him over the rim of her glass. “But you were asking about my first husband.”

“I wasn’t really asking.” It seemed somewhat petty to abruptly delve into her past. Still, if he had no other claim as her second husband, perhaps he at least had the right to know something of her first. “But I do admit to some curiosity.”

“Phillipe Andre Augustus de Bernadotte was the son of the monarch of a small principality allied with Avalonia. My father and his decreed we should wed when I was but four years of age. Even though Phillipe’s country was… well, absorbed is the polite, civilized term… by Austria before he came of age, it was decided it would still be of political benefit for the marriage to take place. So I did my duty, fulfilled my responsibilities and I married him.”

“I see.” He did, but only to a certain extent. Tatiana had given no clue as to how she had felt about this Phillipe. If she had cared for him. Mourned him. Loved him. Not that it was the least bit important. He was curious, nothing more.

“You might well have liked Phillipe. He was the kind of man other men tend to admire. An expert in everything he turned his hand to—riding and shooting, gaming and drinking and all those odd things men seem to enjoy. He was exceedingly charming and quite handsome. Other gentlemen liked him, but women”—she sipped at her wine—“women adored him. And he adored them.”

“I see.” This time he did indeed understand. “Did you?”

She stared into her glass and long moments passed by. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to hear her answer, but he did even as he told himself, here and now, it scarcely mattered.

“I can’t imagine in your entire life you have ever done anything so completely foolish that it haunts you forever.” Her voice was low but firm.

His heart twisted. “Yes, well, once or twice, perhaps.”

Her gaze flicked up to meet his. “I grew up knowing I would one day be Phillipe’s wife. It was not my decision, neither was it my choice.

“Even as a boy, he had a charm and a passion for living that was irresistible. Whether I would have felt the same meeting him for the first time as an adult, I do not know. But yes, for much of my life I too adored him. I fell under his spell as a child and did not emerge from his enchantment until it was too late.”

“Like a princess in a fairy story.”

“Not at all.” She wrinkled her nose and held out her empty glass. Matt grabbed the bottle, leaned over the table and refilled her wineglass. “In such stories, the princess, upon coming out of her enchantment and discovering the truth, would then have been rescued by her true love, or at the very least would have found a way to escape. No one rescued me, Matthew, nor did I save myself.

“I did exactly what was expected of me. What I had been trained to do.” She shook her head in disgust.

“It was really quite revolting, when I look back on it. I was a perfect wife, and a perfect princess. I did not chastise him, publicly or privately. I pretended I knew nothing of his activities. I ignored the whispers and looks of pity.”

Matt scoffed. “I cannot believe that. Granted, you seem rather more forceful now than when we first met, but even then you did not strike me as the type of woman who would tolerate such behavior in a husband.”

“That is perhaps the nicest compliment I have ever had.” She favored him with an odd smile, sad and sweet at the same time. “The woman you met in Paris had taken the opportunity provided by her husband’s fortuitous death to examine her own life. Not as a princess but as, well, an ordinary person, I suppose. She discovered her entire life had been spent meeting the expectations of others and in many ways that was how it should be. That was her position in life. Her fate.

“But after Phillipe’s death, it seemed she, or rather I, had fulfilled my purpose and lived up to the responsibilities of my position. If my husband had not died, I am certain my life would have continued without change or question. But his death freed me, not merely from a farce of a marriage but from a state of mind. I followed the requirements of mourning and then I left my country to experience a world I had only dreamed of.”

She rested her elbows on the table, laced her fingers together and propped her chin on her hands. Her eyes gleamed with intensity. “And my travels took me to Paris.”

“And to me.” His statement was level, unemotional, an observation, nothing more. He wasn’t sure what to say and wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about what she’d just said.

“And to you.” She studied him carefully. “I only left you because I knew I was not, at the time, truly free of my responsibilities.”

“And now?” The question surprised him. Especially since he didn’t care. Refused to care. “Are you free now?”

“I will be, once I have accomplished what I came here to do.”

“And what exactly is that?” He kept his voice nonchalant. Now, late in the night, with a long day behind them and a certain amount of truth already revealed, would she tell him the rest? What she was really looking for? And why had she wanted him with her?

“You know perfectly well what that is.” She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “The story of the travels of the Princess Sophia, of course.”

“Of course,” he muttered.

She raised a brow. “What did you want me to say?”

“The truth.”

“That’s right. You do not believe me. It is becoming most annoying.”

“Nonsense.” He snorted. “I’ve barely given you a second thought.”

“Not a second thought?” She circled the table. “Not in fifteen months, three weeks and however many days?”

His gaze locked with hers and he got to his feet. “Not one.”

“You said you missed me.” She stopped in front of him and trailed her fingers lightly down his arm.

“One misses all manner of things when they are gone.” He kept his voice light, as if her touch on the fabric of his jacket were not the least bit disturbing.