Her Highness, My Wife (15 page)

“Go on.”

“I further explained that my husband’s work was at a critical point and he could not leave it. And I could certainly not travel without him.”

“And she said do come and bring his balloon and whatever goes along with it.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.

“Something like that,” Tatiana said firmly. “More along the lines of Lord and Lady Matthew are cordially invited to Effington Hall and it will be a great delight to see Lord Matthew’s daring work at close hand.”

Her eyes narrowed. “She further stated she looked forward to seeing you again.”

He resisted the urge to squirm. “Did she?”

“Whatever did she mean by that?”

“I have no idea.”

“You do not lie as well as I do, my lord. You should probably give it up altogether.”

“Forgive me if my skills are not as great as yours.” He blew a long breath. “Very well. The dowager is acquainted with members of my family. I may well have met her as a child, although I don’t specifically remember.”

“Matthew!” Her eyes widened with surprise. “Why did you not tell me?”

“Because it’s of no real significance.” He adopted his best no-nonsense manner. “It scarcely matters.”

“Do not be absurd. Of course it—”

“Nonetheless,” he cut in. He had no wish to continue this particular topic. “As you have contacted the dowager and made all the arrangements, I suppose there is nothing to be done but bow to your wishes. Very well, we will be off as soon as we complete packing the wagon.”

She cast him a brilliant smile. “I knew you would see it my way.”

“I don’t see that you left me any choice.”

“Leaving you a choice would be extremely foolish.” She stepped close and smiled up at him. “And I am not extremely foolish.”

“Tell me, Princess.” He stared down at her with a rueful smile. “What is the urgency behind all this?

What are you really after?”

“Nothing more than what has been lost.” She gazed deep into his eyes, and for a moment he longed to accept what he saw there. “You still do not trust me, do you, Matthew?”

“No more than you trust me,” he said softly.

She laughed, turned and walked away, joining the lady he suspected was her companion. The woman she had pretended to be when first they’d met. Tatiana signaled to one of the servants and spoke to him for a moment, no doubt sending him back to town to fetch the bottles of brandy. He shook his head at the absurd thought. How ironic if it turned out Avalonian brandy, her Avalonian brandy, was just what his endeavors needed.

Another footman approached him in a respectful manner. “My lord,” the man said with a brisk bob of his head, “where do you wish us to begin?”

“In here.” Matt led the servant into the stables and pointed out what was needed and what could be left, urging caution and care.

Within moments the building and yard were alive with activity. Matt personally directed the folding of the vast yards of fabric that comprised the body of the balloon itself and the careful packing into a large, lined wicker trunk he had adapted for that very purpose. He issued a few more instructions and observed long enough to see that the men Tatiana had brought were excellent workers and could be trusted. He caught himself studying her as well. She had an air of dignity about her but was nonetheless approachable. She moved with an effortless grace that stirred something deep within him. And her laugh rang through the late morning air like a song.

Why hadn’t he gone after her?

The question took him by surprise. He’d never particularly considered it before. At the time, he was too lost in his own anger, sense of betrayal and, yes, self-pity, to take action. Certainly, once he’d learned she was a princess, it was logical to conclude her involvement with him was nothing more than a royal lark, despite their marriage. He’d been spurned by the woman he loved—his wife, no less—and he would not crawl after her like a pathetic dog. He cringed now at the memory. Had he really been that

arrogant? That proud? That stupid?

He should have followed her. Tracked her to the ends of the earth, if need be. Demanded to know from her lips if all they’d shared had been a lie. If she’d ever loved him. If she loved him still. Would he follow her today?

He pushed the question aside. He had no time to consider it now; there was far too much to accomplish. It would take well into the afternoon to pack his equipment securely. Still, he could not dismiss the question altogether.

He collected his plans and diagrams, rolled them up, then carefully tucked them in a paper tube. Trying not to dwell on whatever feelings he’d had or might have still for Tatiana left his mind free to dwell on what this visit to Effington Hall might well mean.

He’d accepted they would travel there eventually, but he wasn’t entirely prepared to do so yet. The Effington estate was far too close to Weston Manor for comfort. Logically, he knew the possibility of running into one of his brothers was slim. After all, he’d not seen any of them in the years since his return to England. Yet the closer he was to home, the greater the chances. Home.

The very word caught at his heart. Perhaps—he stared into the shadows of the stables—it was time to go home. In that, Tatiana might well have been right. And indeed, wasn’t his desire to protect his family as much a part of his willingness to go along with her quest as the woman herself?

At some point soon he would have to confront her about her interest in his grandmother and his family. He would have to force the truth from her, whatever it was. And with truth, perhaps, would come trust. And forgiveness.

He understood now why she’d left, but not the manner of her leaving, nor why she’d stayed away. And he might never understand why she’d annulled their marriage. Of course, if he had followed her…

He winced at the thought. As many mistakes as she had made, as many painful blows as she had dealt him, weren’t his just as significant? Even, possibly, as painful? If he could not forgive her, how could he expect her to forgive him?

The question of trust, or lack of it, still lay between them. It would have to be resolved before… before what?

He didn’t know what she really wanted, any more than he knew his own mind. Or his own heart. That was the crux of it all, wasn’t it?

For a mere six days in his life he had loved this woman, this princess, then spent the next fifteen months, three weeks and four days trying to forget everything about her. The sound of her laughter echoed faintly in the distance. Was it now time to at last accept that, in truth, he never had?

Chapter 11

Matt followed the liveried footman through the endless corridors of Effington Hall, and wondered vaguely if Tatiana’s adventure was in truth nothing more than an endless journey. The trip here had taken longer than expected. Effington Hall was a day’s carriage ride from London, but they’d been unable to leave yesterday until well into the afternoon. While the coach was capable of acceptable speeds, the wagon was inexorably slow, and Tatiana insisted they travel throughout the night. Fortunately, while some of the servants had returned to London with Tatiana’s companion, more than enough accompanied them to provide respite for the coachman and wagon driver. As for Matt’s lascivious inventions toward his former wife, the intriguing prospect of something intimate between them in a closed carriage gave way to the reality of traveling with this particular princess. A scant quarter of an hour after they’d toasted the beginning of their journey, the woman fell asleep and stayed asleep until they’d stopped to refresh the horses. The toast was repeated and shortly thereafter, that, combined with the rocking motion of the carriage, no doubt, lulled her back to sleep. It was unusual, of course, but he’d heard of other people similarly affected. So much for encounters of an intimate nature in a coach. Still, they would have tonight.

He was beginning to be a bit concerned over her penchant for the brandy. Yet she didn’t appear to feel any ill effects, and when they’d supped at the inn she’d had nothing save wine. Perhaps it was no more than obligation to a bizarre custom that kept her drinking the foul liquor. Still, he did note the servants accompanying them did not take part in her toast. Tatiana quickly, and rather curiously, informed him the men were English, not Avalonian, and therefore had no such customs. Matt envied them, as he was compelled to share her toast and had not yet developed a taste for her country’s drink. He was fairly certain he never would, as the flavor of the liquor was not at all pleasant, with an odd aftertaste he could not place. He wisely thought not knowing the exact origin of Avalonian brandy may well make the stuff more palatable. He was wrong. They had arrived at the Effington estate today a scant hour before sunset. Matt had been immediately approached by a groundskeeper, who’d said arrangements had been made for him near a lake. It was close enough to the house to be convenient, yet far enough away to allow him to work undisturbed. A large tent had been set up and Matt had spent the time since their arrival overseeing the unpacking of his equipment and instructing the Effington servants as to the arrangement of his things. Having men about eager to assist him was a luxury he could certainly get used to. Luxury was apparent everywhere he looked, and for the first time in years he realized he rather missed the finer things in life. Still, there was no going back. If he wanted the life wealth made possible, he would have to earn it himself. Even if he reconciled with his family. Even if he married a princess. That too was an idea that lingered in his mind more often than not these days. As recently as a week ago he would not have considered the possibility of a future with Her Highness. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if fate had brought them together again because together was where they should be. He followed the footman past any number of Effington ancestors, who stared forbiddingly down at him

from paintings lining the walls as if they knew of his and Tatiana’s deception. She was right: He neither lied as well as she, nor was he as comfortable with deception as she appeared to be. It was one thing to fool Mrs. Wicklund and her husband about their marital status, but quite another to deceive the dowager duchess. He suspected their ruse would feel disconcertingly like lying to his own grandmother. She had never taken that well, nor, he wagered, would the dowager. He’d hoped to convince Tatiana to reveal her true identity to the elderly woman. After all, a dowager duchess would not be overly intimidated by a princess.

But he’d not seen his wife since their arrival. Their assigned rooms in what was apparently a guest wing of the huge house were joined via a dressing room, but she had already gone downstairs when he’d returned.

He’d changed to evening clothes as quickly as possible. The idea of leaving Tatiana alone with a frail old woman, matriarch or not, sent a chill down his spine. Who knew what tale Her Highness might spin?

Until he found out exactly what this princess was up to, fragile elderly women were probably not entirely safe.

At last, Matt was shown into a large parlor, empty save for Tatiana.

“Good evening, my lord.” She stepped toward him with a welcoming smile, then paused. Her eyes widened. “I must say I have never seen you looking quite so…”

“Respectable?” He grinned.

“Exceedingly respectable.” She considered him for a moment, her gaze assessing the deep blue coat, crisp white shirt and snug dark trousers. He resisted the urge to tug at his suddenly too-tight cravat, perfectly tied thanks to the assistance of a valet sent to help him dress. “And exceedingly handsome as well.”

The compliment, coupled with the look in her eye, was at once pleasant and disconcerting. It had been a long time since he’d had the reason or the means to dress in attire this fine. “Whoever selected this clothing had excellent taste.”

“I would not have had it otherwise.” Even the satisfied note in her voice did not detract from the impact of her own appearance.

Her gown was a sea green in color, of some sort of fabric that shimmered when she moved, and cut low to reveal the creamy swell of her breasts. Far too revealing, although admittedly he would have appreciated it on another woman. But Tatiana, at least for the moment, was his wife. Tonight, a voice whispered in the back of his head.

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “And you are looking exceptionally lovely this evening.”

“You shall quite turn my head, my lord.” Her green eyes gleamed with promise and there was a blush on her cheeks.

“Will I?” His gaze locked with hers. “To what end, I wonder?”

“To whatever end is desired.” She tilted her head and cast him the look. A wave of desire so strong it caught at his breath rushed through him. Tonight.

“My dear Lord Matthew, how delightful to see you.” A voice sounded from the doorway. Matt and Tatiana stepped apart quickly as if they’d been caught doing something untoward. As one they turned toward the entry.

A diminutive woman stood in the doorway, the twinkle in her blue eyes belying the regal manner of her bearing. This was obviously the Dowager Duchess of Roxborough. He knew full well she had to be approaching eighty years of age, yet she looked considerably younger.

“Your Grace.” He bowed, and out of the corner of his eye noted Tatiana staring. He nudged her as surreptitiously as possible. She shot him a startled glance, then thankfully understood and dropped a stiff curtsy.