Her Highness, My Wife

by Victoria Alexander

  She could not abide a carriage ride of more than an hour without her stomach rebelling in a most unpleasant way. The only manner in which she could tolerate a lengthy journey was to avoid food and to court sleep. And nothing put her to sleep faster than a substantial helping of brandy. She did not even particularly like the drink and much preferred wine or, better yet, champagne. Still, brandy provided the needed effect.

  Matthew disappeared into the inn. She regretted not being able to spend these hours with him more productively, but as much as she had wanted to reacquaint herself with him and begin to work her way back into his good graces and, hopefully his heart, she knew better than to run the risk of losing whatever food she had in her Not that they would be staying here, of course. Once they had located Lady Hutchins, she, or her family, would surely insist on extending the hospitality of their home to Lord and Lady Matthew. Such an offer was, as Tatiana understood it, to be expected among the English aristocracy.

  Matthew appeared at the door of the inn and started toward her. His expression was at once thoughtful and indecipherable. She did wish she could read the blasted man’s mind. He drew closer and she recognized the gleam in his eye. She sighed to herself. Perhaps she could read his mind after all.

  “Is something amiss, my lord?”

  “We have a slight problem.” He stopped beside the carriage. “The inn is fully occupied, but the innkeeper, a Mr. Wicklund, was willing to take a moment to answer my questions. He seems to be a fairly knowledgeable fellow, and his wife, the very vocal Mrs. Wicklund, apparently knows everything her husband does not and furthermore has an opinion on those matters and more. According to them, your Lady Hutchins is, well, dead.”

  “Oh, dear, that is a problem.” Tatiana thought for a moment. “Is it possible that her family remembers the princess? It was not all that long ago.”

  “It was fifty years ago,” he said pointedly. “A great deal can change in half a century.”

  “Even so, relations do tend to remember things like visiting royalty. It is what family legends are made of.”

  “Perhaps, but even if anyone in this particular family can recall those events”—he shrugged—“it scarcely matters now.”

  “Of course it matters,” she said firmly. “Goodness, my lord, I do not think you are in the spirit of this adventure at all. Lady Hutchins’s demise simply adds another element of difficulty but is by no means insurmountable.”

  “Your confidence is really rather charming.” He leaned against the carriage in an altogether insolent manner, a slight smile lifting the corners of his lips.

  “I do not know why you find this so amusing. Indeed, you should share my confidence. We have scarcely begun and nothing cannot be overcome at this point. We shall simply go to the lady’s offspring and see what can be learned. Surely they have an estate in the vicinity?”

  “They may well have an estate, but it is not in the area.”

  “No?” She narrowed her eyes and studied him. Matthew knew something he had not yet told her and was obviously holding his revelation for the right time. Fortunately for him, his annoying nature was part of his charm. She heaved a frustrated sigh. “Very well, then. Where is Lady Hutchins’s family to be found?”

  “It’s a tragic story.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “According to the innkeeper, Lady Hutchins died more than forty years ago.”

  “That long,” Tatiana murmured.

  “After her death, her family did not fare well. It seems her husband, distraught by the loss of his wife—”

  “To be expected when one loses a wife.” She shook her head. “I imagine he missed her terribly. As the night misses the warmth of the sun.”

  “She died, Princess, she did not leave of her own accord. In that respect, I am certain he did miss her, although in this case it was perhaps more akin to my analogies.”

  “The horse and the flies?”

  “Exactly. You see”—he leaned closer—“after Lady Hutchins’s death, her husband turned to drinking and gaming and took up with all manner of disreputable women. This according to the innkeeper’s wife, who, in spite of the passage of time, recalls Lord Hutchins wasted little time in mourning before wallowing in his bad habits.” Matthew straightened and smirked. “Perhaps was not at all unhappy to bid his wife farewell.”

  “The beast.” Indignation flowed through her. “How could he?”

  “Perhaps the blame should not be laid with the husband but with the wife.”

  “I daresay, whatever her faults, she may well have had good reasons and the very best of intentions,” she said stoutly.

  “The best of intentions?” He snorted with disdain. “Scarcely an acceptable excuse. What if she did not confide in him? Or even lied to him?”

  “She might have thought he would never understand the reasons for her deception and therefore would never believe how she truly felt about him. She might have realized she could never be what he wanted, what he deserved, until she had resolved her own responsibilities.”

  “That’s absurd. If indeed she cared for him, she would have trusted him.” His voice hardened. “Would have trusted that together they could resolve any problem. Together, nothing could have defeated them.”

  “Unless, of course, she did not know him well enough to accept that on little more than blind faith,” she snapped. “She could well have been scared to put her trust in him when another man before him had so cruelly failed her.”

  “But he was not another man, he was her husband. And he was her husband not because of her position or title or wealth but because he loved her. And she discarded him without a second thought!”

  “And because she loved him as well, it broke her heart to do so, and more, when he never took so much as a single step to find her. He can place the blame on her if that is his wish, but he let her go!”

  Their words hung in the air, a palpable cloud of anger and resentment. Tatiana’s gaze locked with Matt’s and she stared in horror. She had not meant to say any of that. If there was any hope at all of finding what they had once shared, such outbursts were not the way to smooth the path. He was not ready for such confrontations. And neither was she.

  Matthew looked as shocked as she felt. For an endless moment they could do nothing but stare.

  “Yes, well, Lady Hutchins died, didn’t she? And there was nothing her husband could do on that score.” He cleared his throat and was once again cool and collected, his voice steady and composed. “To continue, Lord Hutchins’s wicked ways proved to be his undoing. He lost his fortune, quite substantial at one time, according to the innkeeper’s wife—”

  “Who should know,” Tatiana said, forcing a bright note to her voice. If Matthew could pretend nothing had passed between them, so could she.

  “He was forced to sell his property and all his remaining assets in order to buy passage to America. He left the country with his children, two boys and a girl, I believe, just a year or so after his wife’s death.” He shook his head. “Neither he nor any of his family has been heard from since.”

  “I see.” The significance of Matthew’s story wiped all else from Tatiana’s mind.

  If indeed Lord Hutchins had been forced to sell his estate, his birthright, it would have been a last resort. In her experience, noblemen were never willing to give up their heritage unless they had no other choice. If Hutchins knew of the jewels, surely he would have sold them and saved his home. Of course, he could indeed have disposed of them and squandered the profits on wild living. But aside from the symbolic value of the Heavens, they would provide a fortune far too substantial to be lost quite as quickly as Lord Hutchins appeared to have lost his.

  It was therefore logical to assume that neither Lord nor Lady Hutchins had knowledge of the jewels. Which further meant Tatiana would not have to follow this family to America. By ship. Buffeted by rolling swells and wave after wave. Across a long, heaving ocean.

  “Your Highness?” Matthew’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Are y
ou all right? You look a bit green.”

  “A trick of the light, no doubt. I am fine.” She favored him with her brightest smile. “It cannot be helped, I suppose. We shall simply have to move on to the next name.”

  “I’m grateful you’re not too disappointed.” He studied her thoughtfully.

  “One has to expect a few impediments. It is simply the nature of life. You of all people should understand that. Why, your work with your balloons has not always progressed smoothly, yet you have not abandoned it. Nothing worthwhile is ever especially easy.”

  “A pity, that,” he said wryly. “It would be delightful if it were, at least on occasion.”

  “Come, now, my lord, on occasion, it is.” She smiled and patted the seat beside her. “Now, then, we should probably be on our way.”

  “On our way where, exactly?” His brows drew together.

  “Well, you said the two other ladies I wish to meet live in a direction opposite from London. Therefore, I suggest we return the way we came.” She patted the seat again. “My lord?”

  “Are you aware that it will be dark soon?”

  “I can scarcely miss the setting of the sun.”

  “Traveling on these roads after nightfall is ill-advised. We shall not travel tonight.”

  “Do we have a choice?” She stared at him. “I had planned to stay with Lady Hutchins’s family, but obviously that is not to be. Therefore, we have no option but to—”

  “We shall stay here.”

  “Here?” She glanced around. “I thought you said the inn was full.”

  “It is. Now. We have obtained the last available room. One of the reasons the innkeeper was willing to so freely answer all my questions was because I paid him substantially more than his usual rate. Of course, he assures me he has given us his finest room.” He held out his hand. She placed her hand in his and stepped down from the carriage.

  “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 ignore the future. He cleared his throat and adopted a lofty mann
er. “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?”