“You have been extraordinarily lucky that you have been able to follow your heart. You would do well to remember that. Success is of little consequence. It is not always the destination that is important, but the journey. Have you not enjoyed the journey of your life thus far? Have you not been satisfied in and of yourself with your choices?”
“For the most part,” he said slowly.
“Then you have nothing to complain about.” Her voice rose. “Certainly you have not made your fortune, and perhaps you never will. Does it truly matter?”
“I must confess, poverty has lost a certain amount of its appeal.” His manner was wry and she could not see clearly in the growing darkness, but she suspected there might be a hint of a smile on his lips.
“You shall simply have to come up with some other way to make your fortune. You are a clever man. I have no lack of confidence in your abilities.”
“You don’t?” There was no doubt of his smile now.
“Not for a moment,” she said loftily. “In addition, I have decided to rescind my offer. I shall not pay you so much as a shilling for our adventure.”
“You most certainly will.” He laughed, grabbed her arm and pulled her into his arms. “You called it a dowry, if I recall.”
“You said you would not take my money.”
He gazed into her eyes, a faintly wicked smile on his face. “I have changed my mind. I want what is rightfully mine.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. “And what, precisely, is that?”
“The woman I married.” He nuzzled the side of her neck. “In my bed.”
She drew a long, shuddering breath. “You have no bed here.”
“No?” His lips moved to the base of her throat, and delight shivered through her. “I had not noticed.”
She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. “Nor had I.”
Her hips pressed to his and she could feel the hard evidence of his desire. It might have been the relief of survival or the ongoing tension between them or simply impatience to at last join her body again with his, but she could wait for him no longer. “Here, Matthew, now.”
“Now?” His words teased against her skin. “Here?”
“Yes.” She struggled to hold on to a coherent thought.
“I don’t know.” He feathered kisses along her neck and pushed her dress off her shoulder. “It scarcely seems appropriate.”
“You are a most annoying man.” She gasped out the words, conscious only of his touch on flesh now overly hot and far too sensitive.
“We should make a fire first.” His hands slid down to caress her bottom, his lips murmured against her skin.
“We have always had a fire.” Her lips met his and her hands slipped around the back of his neck, drawing him harder against her. His arms tightened around her, her breasts flattened against his chest, her hips pressed tighter to his.
They sank to their knees on the hard ground, still locked in an embrace. Desire, need and the long nights without him gripped her with an urgency that could not be denied. Her mouth opened to his and his tongue met and mated with hers. She wanted to taste him. Drink of him. Consume him.
Without warning, he pulled away and stood.
“Matthew!” Indignation and frustration rang in her voice.
“Patience, Princess.” He stepped away from her, grabbed a low-lying tree limb and pulled himself to perch on a branch.
“What are you doing?” She scrambled to her feet.
“Catch this.”
The rustle and ripping of fabric sounded in the twilight, and the next moment a large piece of taffeta drifted over her head. She struggled to free herself and heard the soft “Oof” as Matthew jumped down from the tree.
“Allow me.” He pulled the taffeta from her, tossed it carefully on the ground, then bowed in an overly dramatic manner. “Your Highness, our bed awaits.” Abruptly, his tone sobered. “It has waited a very long time.”
“Far too long,” she said softly. Without another word, she turned away and slipped out of her clothes.
It was odd to be fully undressed out-of-doors, as if the lack of walls and ceiling unfettered one’s spirit just as the lack of clothing unfettered one’s body. It was a glorious feeling of freedom and, here and now, most appropriate. As if they were part and parcel of the grasses and trees around them. As if they were not separate from the earth but one with it.
“Princess?”
She turned to him and caught her breath.
As if he were Adam and she were Eve.
What remained of the lingering twilight cast an ethereal glow about him. He was as wonderful, as magnificent as she had remembered.
He held out his hand. She took it, and together they lay down upon the taffeta, face-to-face. For a long moment they did nothing but stare into one another’s eyes. The urgency between them had vanished, replaced by deep, unrelenting need and the certain knowledge that they had all the time in the world. At last, his lips met hers, gently, with a tenderness that stole her heart. His kiss deepened, and she moved closer to press her body against his.
His fingers trailed lightly along the side of her leg and up over her hip to her waist, and she shivered with anticipation. His hand slipped to cup her breast, and she gasped at the heat of his touch. He drew his lips from hers, and she rolled onto her back, pulling him with her. He took her nipple in his mouth, and she wanted to cry out with delight. His tongue toyed and teased first one, then the other, until she could scarcely remember to breathe, and still the anticipation mounted.
His hand caressed the rounded curve of her belly and slipped lower, to the curls at the joining of her thighs. She swallowed hard. He slipped his hand between her legs and slid over that most sensitive place that only he had ever paid heed to. His fingers slid slowly and deliberately into her and his thumb rubbed to and fro over the point that encompassed all her desires, her needs, her wants. The world around her faded, vanished. She knew nothing, cared for nothing, save the rhythm of his caress and the throb of her body in return. Sweet, agonizing tension built within her, well remembered and too long denied.
But it was not enough.
“No.” She pushed his hand away and pulled him onto her. “I want…”
“I know,” he murmured. He braced his knees on either side of her legs and guided himself into her, filled her, joined her. At long last, two again were one. And she knew a welcoming bliss that went beyond simple pleasures of the flesh.
There was a joy in her soul.
They moved together in a harmony she had never forgotten, as natural as the setting around them, as right as forever. She urged him on, faster and deeper, as if the very act alone would bind them together always. Her body tightened around him. He groaned against her and she met his thrusts with hers, his passion with her own, two bodies too long denied now together in perfect union. Perfect accord. Perfect love.
She strained against him, reveling in the feel of his heated flesh and the strength of his hard, muscled body against her own. The sharp edge of ecstasy coiled tighter within her, as if again, together, they flew. Higher and swifter toward release. Freedom. Bliss. She ached for it as much as she wanted this joining with him to never end. She wanted eternity.
Without warning, her body exploded with his and she tumbled in a glorious spiral of sheer sensation. She screamed softly and her back arched upward to meet his final thrust. He shuddered against her and gasped as if in pain. As if in ecstasy.
And they were one. As they were once. As they would be forever.
He collapsed against her and rolled to his side, taking her with him in his arms. For a long time they lay unmoving, wrapped in each other’s arms. The clouds had cleared and stars twinkled in the night sky. Tatiana willed her breathing back to a normal pace, her heart to a normal beat. Still, there was something so absurdly wonderful about lying out-of-doors, gazing at the stars without so much as a stitch of clothing on, the man you loved equally naked by your side, that made her want to giggle with t
he sheer joy of life itself.
Beside her, Matthew chuckled. “There is something extremely uncomfortable under this fabric, digging quite painfully into my side.”
“Do you mind?” she said with a grin.
“Not in the slightest.” He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down at her. “I have missed you.”
“As the horse misses the flies, no doubt.”
“Not at all.” His tone was abruptly serious. “As a man misses the woman he loves.”
Her heart leapt, but a voice in the back of her head urged caution. She adopted a lighthearted manner. “You do have a way with words when your lust has been sated.”
“Oh, my lust is nowhere near sated.” She could see his wicked grin in the starlight and desire stirred again within her.
“Excellent, my lord, after all”—she reached up and pulled his lips down to hers—“where would be the adventure in that?”
———
“Are you comfortable?”
“Quite.” She snuggled against him.
They were wrapped in strips of taffeta salvaged from the wreckage, more than enough protection against the cool summer night. Matt rested against the trunk of a tree, tightened his arm around Tatiana and smiled into the small fire he’d built, a major accomplishment in the dark. He’d managed to locate the flint box in the remains of the balloon. He’d also spotted a road from the air and was fairly certain he could find it in the morning. From what he’d seen before the sun had set, it was something of a miracle they’d survived. Even if Tatiana didn’t have a specific custom for luck, they’d had some today.
But their luck had run out in other ways. His balloon and all of his work were destroyed. He had no idea exactly where they were. And apparently there was someone rather nasty, given the tampering with his equipment, looking for his princess’s jewels.
“I am hungry, though.”
“I shall request a tray sent up at once.” He snapped his fingers as though signaling to a servant.
She laughed. “Roast of beef would be good, I think. No, strawberries would be even better. Yes, I do believe I have a taste for strawberries. And perhaps champagne.”
“What? No, Avalonian brandy?”
“No.” She shuddered. “Definitely not. I shall certainly never develop a taste for it.” She paused for a moment. “In truth, now that I think about it, while I can recall seeing people drink the Royal Amber brandy, I am not certain I have ever seen anyone drink Avalonian brandy.”
“There is a reason for that.” He chuckled. “Now, as it does not appear we shall be seeing that tray anytime soon, perhaps we can fill the empty hours with the continuation of the confession you started some hours ago.”
“I’d scarce call it a confession,” she said in an offhand manner. “More of an explanation.”
“Very well, then. Explain.”
“Let me think. I told you about the Heavens?”
“Um-hmm.”
“And their importance?”
“That too.”
“Did I also mention that I have a horribly wicked cousin who believes her branch of the family should rule Avalonia and will do anything to achieve her ends?”
“No.” He shook his head. “That you did not mention.”
“Then I probably failed to tell you she was behind the recent unrest in my country.”
“Indeed.” He sighed. “Anything else?”
“Nothing of significance.” Tatiana paused thoughtfully. “Unless you consider the fact that she is currently in England to be significant?”
“Significant? Yes, I believe I would consider that significant.” He thought for a moment. “How dangerous is this cousin of yours?”
“She has been exiled for her traitorous acts, she did try to overthrow the rightful government. I doubt if she has ever killed anyone personally, although I would not be surprised to learn she has had someone else do her evil deeds for her. She is a widow twice over and both husbands died quite mysteriously.” She fell silent for a long moment. “However, one was extremely aged and the other extremely foolish and the rumors of her involvement in their deaths could be nothing more than gossip. Still, both husbands were extremely wealthy.”
“I do hope that is not a family trait? Disposing of husbands for their money?”
“You need not worry.” She nestled closer against him. “You have no money.”
“At last, a benefit to poverty.” He smiled.
Not that it really mattered. He stared into the fire. He was no longer her husband, even if his heart told him otherwise. Even if she felt the same. Why had she said earlier today that she was his wife and would always be his wife? He wondered idly how difficult a royal Avalonian annulment of a French civil wedding would be to undo.
Not that they could or would. Not that they had any future together whatsoever.
“Matthew,” she said, “what was the first?”
“The first what?”
“You said today my plan was the second most foolish thing you had ever heard me say. What was the first?”
“Oh, let me think. There have been so many, it’s difficult to remember the first.”
She laughed.
“I believe, Princess.” He placed two fingers under her chin and turned her face toward his. The firelight danced over her features and reflected in her eyes. “The most foolish thing was when you said you’d marry me.”
“In that, my lord, you have never been more wrong.” She gazed into his eyes and his heart caught. “That was the most intelligent thing I have ever done.”
“It cannot work between us.”
“Why not?”
“You are a princess and I am a failed aeronaut living on a seaman’s pension with no prospects and no future.”
“What if I were not a princess? What if I were to give up my position?”
“What if the sky were to rain gold coins?”
“I am serious, Matthew.” Her gaze searched his. “Would you have me if I were no longer a princess?”
“I would have you if you were a frog,” he teased.
“I said I was serious.” She pulled away from him, wrapped her arms around her knees and stared into the fire. Long moments passed. At last she sighed. “Do you recall when I told you about Phillipe?”
“Vividly.”
“Phillipe’s nature was… how shall I say it? Weak is the best word. He did not take well to being the husband of a princess.” She turned her head toward him and rested her cheek on her knees. “He had no real duties, no particular interests—outside of other women, of course.”
She smiled wryly and he wondered if the pain this man had caused her was indeed past or if a touch would linger always. Anger on her behalf swelled within him.
“I have often wondered if another man, one with a stronger sense of purpose or a stronger sense of himself, would have fared better. Would have carved a place for himself at court that was something more than merely the husband of the princess.
“But then I wonder as well if any man could remain unchanged. We expect the wives of kings to be subservient to their husbands, in truth, their sovereigns. But a man in that strange office of spouse to royalty…” She shook her head. “I think it must take a man of extraordinary strength to survive unscathed. I suspect you might manage it.”
“You shall quite turn my head, Your Highness,” he teased.
She laughed softly. “To what end?”
He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his lips. “To whatever end is desired.”
Her gaze caught his, and even in the firelight he could see determination in her eyes. “I shall not put another man in that position.”
His heart clenched. Of course she couldn’t. And he could never live as nothing more than a royal consort.
“However, I would give up my title and all that goes with it, and gladly, for a man I loved.”
“But a man who returned your love would never ask such a thing. We are who we are, Tatiana. Nothing can change
that.”
“We are who we are inside, Matthew.” Her gaze bored into his. “The rest of it—Her Highness, his lordship, wealth, poverty—it is all trappings and, in truth, of no real consequence. A king can be just as unhappy as a pauper.”
“Indeed.” He grinned and drew her back to his side. This discussion was fraught with all kinds of dangers and he dared not risk a confrontation about the future, hers or his, at the moment. Because, at the moment, he might not have the strength of purpose she saw in him. “But the trappings of a king are ever so much more enjoyable than those of a pauper.”
She laughed softly and he wondered if she was as relieved to end this discussion as he.
They spoke on and off of various things through the long hours. The dowager’s ball was planned for two days from now, and Tatiana worried whether those Effingtons who had recently been in Avalonia would recognize her by name if not by sight. She spoke of her brothers and her father and her home, and even managed to get him to speak of his own family. And she promised to tell Her Grace the truth. They talked late into the night until Tatiana fell asleep in his arms.
Matt found it impossible to rest. Impossible to do anything save stare into the fire and consider all that had happened and all that was yet to come.
His ballooning days were over and the realization did not especially distress him. It was great fun, but he’d never had a grand passion for it. It was little more than a means to an end and as close as he could get to skimming over the waves on board ship. Yet he had no desire to return to sea. If there was a passion within him, it was for the business of shipping itself. There was something uniquely exciting about the arrival of a ship fresh from foreign ports with exotic goods and visitors. The very thought of dispatching men and their vessels to the four corners of the world fired his blood. The idea of nurturing, of building a shipping fleet—no, a shipping empire—was as exhilarating as anything he’d found at sea or in the sky.
He had the heart of a businessman. He chuckled to himself. If his father were alive, he’d no doubt be scandalized publicly. But privately the old man would probably be pleased. And it was past time Matt did something about it. Perhaps the place to start was with a small shipping firm, eager for a man of his unique experience. He could get a job as a—he shuddered—clerk for now, but he’d watch his money, invest carefully and someday he’d own the place. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was solid and smart, and he had no doubt he could succeed.
Her Highness, My Wife Page 19
