“Of course, you never asked her to give up her crown either.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Perhaps for the same reasons.”
“I hope so.” Matt paused. “She might well hate me, you know. I said some pretty vile things to her.”
Ephraim shrugged. “You’ll have to grovel. Apologize profusely. Maybe even beg. Women love all that.”
“How would you know? I thought you lived vicariously through me.”
“I have picked up a few pointers along the way. Women can be quite forgiving if one is repentant enough. Of course, I’ve never dealt with a princess.” He frowned. “She wouldn’t have you shot, would she?”
Matt laughed. “There’s a definite possibility.”
“I still can’t believe you are going through with this.” Ephraim shook his head. “Are you sure you’re not making a mistake?”
“No, I’m not sure about anything beyond how I feel about her. I have had six long weeks to think about this, and following her now may well be one of the biggest mistakes of my life. Second only to not going after her the first time she left me. But Ephraim”—he picked up the journal and stared at it—“she was willing to give up the life she’s known for me. Can I do any less for her?”
Ephraim studied him for a long moment. “You were wrong, Matt. You have quite a way with words. Why, if I were a woman, I’d fall right into your arms.”
Matt laughed and tossed the book back onto the desk. “Then we can only thank God you’re not. I prefer my women substantially more attractive, with considerably less facial hair than you.”
“You always have had discriminating taste. Now”—he picked up the journal—“what am I supposed to do with this?”
“Save it for the future. Perhaps I’ll let you publish it someday.”
Ephraim’s face lit and Matt grinned. “The day when the sign overhead says Cadwallender and Sons Weekly World Messenger.”
“I shall count the minutes,” Ephraim said wryly, then opened a drawer and tossed the journal inside. “I nearly forgot about this.” He pulled out a letter and handed it to Matt.
“What’s that?” Matt scanned it quickly.
“It’s from the consortium sponsoring the design competition you were supposed to take part in. They pulled out. Apparently they’ve decided to put their money into steam power. Seems they think there’s more of a future in steam than in flight.” Ephraim took the paper back and tossed it into the drawer. “Can’t say I blame them.”
They chatted for a few more minutes, then Ephraim stood and grasped Matt’s hand. “When do you leave?”
“In the morning. Right now I am headed to my workshop and the cottage. I have not been there for some time, and I want to clean out the rest of my things, as I’m relinquishing the lease. Most of what I’ve left is worthless, but there are some things I want to take with me.”
“For that fleet of Avalonian aerostats you’ll be building?” Ephraim grinned.
“Of course.”
Ephraim laughed, then sobered. His gaze met Matt’s. “I do wish you luck, old friend.”
“I shall certainly need it.” Matt smiled ruefully. “She is my fate, Ephraim. I just pray I can convince her.”
———
There wasn’t as much here as he’d thought.
Matt glanced around the stables. He’d always chosen tools and supplies sparingly, his choices limited by his budget. Most of his work things had been transported with the balloon to Effington Hall and then on to Weston Manor. He hadn’t accumulated much in recent years. What few personal possessions he had now resided in a bag he’d dropped by the stable door.
He wondered if he shouldn’t be a bit melancholy at the realization that he had nothing of worth to show for his life thus far. Still, between the aerostats and naval service, he’d gained knowledge and maturity and confidence in the ten years since he’d left home. And he’d thoroughly enjoyed life in the process. Regardless of what the future held, he looked forward to it.
He moved to the table where he’d spent long hours tinkering with various mechanisms, toying with odd ideas. It struck him that he did rather like working with his hands, and if he did nothing else in Avalonia perhaps he could put that skill to use. After all, as the husband to the princess, his official duties would probably be minimal.
Could he indeed carve out a life for himself at her court? Or in her country? He ran his fingers idly along the edge of the table. He didn’t know, but he had to try. And more, he had to succeed.
“Did you miss me?” Tatiana’s voice sounded behind him.
His heart thudded and he forced a light note to his voice. “I scarce noticed you were gone.”
“You are a bad liar and a truly annoying man, Matthew Weston.” Her tone was casual, as matter-of-fact as a discussion on the quality of the roads outside his door.
“Those are my finer qualities.” He drew a steadying breath and turned to face her.
She meandered into the stables and glanced around curiously, as if there were nothing of any significance between them. As if they had parted yesterday and under the most pleasant of terms. As if they barely knew one another.
“Why are you here?”
“I just told you.” She prowled in a wide circle around him, exhibiting an unlikely interest in the stalls and structure of the stable, and he was forced to turn with her movement. “You are an exceptionally poor liar.”
“I think we’ve established that,” he said cautiously. “It’s not necessary to repeat it.”
“It bears repeating.” She paused to consider him. He noted she kept the table between them. A barrier of sorts, but for whose protection? He had no idea what she was thinking. What she wanted. It could well be she was here to crush his hopes, destroy him as thoroughly as he had hurt her. He couldn’t blame her. He well understood that particular desire and recognized the irony.
Her words were slow and measured. “I have had a great deal of time to think since we last spoke.”
“About that, I want to—”
“Stop,” she said sharply, and he thought he heard a slight tremble in her voice. “It is my turn to say what has to be said. You had your say six weeks ago.”
“Six weeks and four days, to be precise.”
She stared suspiciously at him for a moment, as if she didn’t believe he had kept track. “The first two weeks after you… after I left, I slept, for the most part. Travel and all that.”
“Of course.” He held his breath. “And then?”
“Then, when I reached home, it was decided it would be best if the disappearance of the jewels and their recovery was not made public. Any claim Valentina might make could never be substantiated. The Heavens will be reset in a new gold cuff and no one will be the wiser as to their disappearance.”
“No one will be the wiser?” Anger on her behalf surged through him. “That’s bloody unfair. You found the blasted things. You risked your life, and mine too, for that matter. You should get the credit for their return. You should be hailed as a hero. They should parade you through the streets on their shoulders.”
“I would not know what to wear,” she murmured, her eyes wide with surprise.
“It’s what you are, you know. A hero. Or rather heroine.”
She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
He shook his head. “You are as brave as you are lovely, and any country worth its salt should recognize that and treat you accordingly.”
“I did not realize you felt so strongly about it. You scarcely seemed to notice the importance of my quest.”
“Yes, well, I can be something of an idiot.”
“Indeed you can.” She considered him carefully. “An annoying idiot, if I recall.”
“Regardless, I still think you should have received recognition for what you’ve done.”
“I did not do it for recognition.”
“I know, I know.” He huffed a short breath. “You did it out of a sense of duty to your position. R
esponsibility to your country and all that.”
“Of course, that was part of it.” She paused, choosing her words with care. “But I told you once before, I did it for you as well.”
“For me?” He furrowed his brow. “You mean what you said about earning your freedom?”
“Exactly. Now, however”—she shook her head—“I have discovered I did not really do it for you at all. You were the impetus, the excuse, but in truth, I did it for myself.”
“I see.” He wasn’t sure he completely understood, but it scarcely mattered. She was here, and that might well be enough. He forced an offhand manner, as if he didn’t care if she’d given up her title or not. “And did you then claim your freedom?”
“I have discovered an odd thing about freedom, and about royal titles as well. Freedom is relative and very much a state of mind. An attitude.
“As for my title, one may abdicate power or the throne, but, at least in my country, one is born to a title and retains it always. Sophia was a princess all of her life, as is Natasha, even if neither of them choose to use the designation. And it appears I will always be a princess.”
“And will you choose to use the designation?”
“I have not yet decided.” She studied him for a moment, biting her lower lip. His stomach clenched. “I should finish my story.”
“Of course.” He forced himself to be patient. It was next to impossible. He wanted to know why she was here and if she was still his wife. He wanted to beg her forgiveness, plead for her understanding. He wanted to hold her in his arms, in his bed, in his heart. Instead, he waited.
“After my father and my brother and I had agreed on the fate of the Heavens, it was time to decide my fate. No, that’s not precisely true, it was time for me to decide my fate.” Her fingers picked at a rough gash on the table. “I told them about you, that we were wed. And I further told them”—her gaze rose to his—“that I had every intention of remaining married to you.”
Even in the dim light he could see the determined spark in her eye. If she was at all tentative or apprehensive a moment ago, there was no sign of it now. Giddy relief washed through him and he wanted to grin like the idiot he had admitted to being.
“I noted your bag by the door.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you returning to Weston Manor?”
“Not at the moment.” He forced a casual note to his voice. “I’ve heard Avalonia is nice this time of year. I thought I might visit.”
“Why?”
“It seems Avalonia is where my wife is.” His gaze met hers. “Where my heart is.”
“I see.” She shook her head. “But I believe your wife would never allow you to be placed in the position her first husband was in.”
He gritted his teeth. “I believe my wife needs to understand I am not her first husband. I am nothing like her first husband and I am tired of her thinking, for so much as a moment, that I could be.” He planted his palms on the table and leaned forward. “Furthermore, I have no intention of following in the footsteps of her first husband.”
“And how would your wife know that?” She mimicked his stance and glared. “Did you not tell her that all you had shared was meaningless? That she was great fun but you never should have married her? And that you were only interested in sharing her bed?”
“Of course. I said all that and more. But…” He searched for the right words, then threw up his hands in frustration. “I was lying!”
“Why did you have to choose that moment to do it so well?”
“Because I had to make you believe me! Because I couldn’t let you give up your life for me!”
“You are so annoyingly noble.” She sniffed. “It took me far too long to realize it was all an act. One I should make you pay dearly for. You humiliated me in front of those very nice people.”
“Those very nice people you actively deceived,” he said pointedly. “Besides, you hit me. Excessively hard, I might add.”
“Not nearly hard enough,” she snapped.
“Perhaps you can have your captain shoot me?”
“Do not for a moment think he did not offer,” she said loftily. “And do not think for a moment I did not seriously consider it. Dimitri was quite disappointed when I forbade him to kill you.”
“I should be grateful for that much, then.”
She smacked her hand on the table. “You should be grateful for more than that! I am! You and I have found something few people ever do. Do you not understand, Matthew? I refuse to let your misguided nobility keep us apart. My life as a princess, or a peasant, is not worth living without you in it.”
“And mine is without you? I’m willing to go to Avalonia and be your blasted lapdog, if that will keep you in my life. Damn it all, Tatiana, I love you. I have loved you from the moment you went up in my balloon. From the moment I saw the tilt of your smile and the spark in your green eyes. From the first lie to the last, I have loved you. And I love you now!”
“Then do stop screaming at me!”
“I am not screaming! I am…” He stopped abruptly and blew a long, frustrated breath. “Stark… raving… mad.”
“I suspected as much.” The corners of her lips twitched as if she were about to laugh. His heart leapt.
He stared at her for a long moment. “Can you forgive me?”
“Never.” She shrugged. “Perhaps. Possibly. Someday. Years from now.”
“After a great deal of groveling, I imagine?” He raised a brow. “Begging, beseeching, pleading and so forth as well, no doubt?”
“Without question.”
“And how long do you expect the groveling, begging, beseeching and so forth would continue?” He started around the table toward her.
“A lifetime should do.” She cast him the look, and any lingering doubt he had vanished.
“I see. Exactly where will I be doing this groveling, begging and beseeching?” He reached her and pulled her into his arms and back into his life.
“Do not forget the so forth.” She stared defiantly up at him.
“I would never forget the so forth.” He bent and kissed the hollow of her throat. “The so forth has always been my favorite part. Now, where?”
“I should think a man who wants to make his fortune in shipping would need an ocean.” She tilted her head and frowned thoughtfully. “England is on an ocean, is it not?”
“Indeed it is. However, I had planned to go to Avalonia.”
“That will never work, Matthew.” She widened her eyes innocently. “There is no ocean.”
“Regardless, I—”
“It is the nicest gift you could ever offer, but”—she shook her head—“I do not wish to live the rest of my life at court like a fish in a glass bowl. I do not want my husband—”
He opened his mouth to protest and she held her fingers against his lips to stop him, “Even though I know he is nothing like my first husband”—she rolled her gaze heavenward—“to be subjected to constant observation and scrutiny and, whether he likes it or not, comparison and inevitably gossip. However, I cannot tell you I will not miss my family and my country. To do so”—she flashed him a wicked smile—“would be a lie.”
“And there will be no more of those.”
“Of course not, my lord,” she said pleasantly. “Unless, of course the situation warrants it.”
“And you do it so much better than I.”
“Indeed I do. Do you remember when I said the essence of a good lie was that it be based in truth?” She slid her arms around his neck and gazed into his eyes. “I realized you were lying when you said you had only pretended to be happy about our marriage to have me in your bed. But I had been willing, and did indeed share your bed long before then.”
“That’s pretty feeble,” he said slowly. “You were convinced I was lying because of that?”
“Well, you are an honorable man, and…” She paused and heaved a resigned sigh. “No, I was convinced you were lying because I couldn’t bear to think otherwise.”
His arms tightened around her. “Thank God.”
She stared at him for a moment then smiled smugly. “You want to kiss me now, Matthew. I can see it in the look in your eyes.”
“I want to do considerably more than kiss you.” He grinned wickedly. “And that too you should see in my eyes.”
Her eyes widened with delight and her mouth opened and before she could say a word he pressed his lips to hers in a kiss of passion and reunion and the sure and certain knowledge that no matter what adventures they would encounter in the future it would be a future they met hand in hand.
He drew back and smiled down at her. “So you are still a princess?”
“I prefer the title of Lady Matthew but yes, I shall always be a princess.” She reached up and nibbled on his lower lip. “Your princess.”
Desire rose within him and he wondered how exceedingly uncomfortable the stable might be. And how exciting. ;:My very own princess. Imagine that;“
“And your very own wife.”
“I rather like that.” He drew her lips back to his. She was back and he would never let her go again. “Indeed, I like that a lot. It has a nice ring to it.
“Her Highness,” for now and forever, “my wife.”
About the Author
VICTORIA ALEXANDER was an award-winning television reporter until she discovered fiction was much more fun than real life. She turned to writing full time and has never looked back.
Victoria grew up traveling the country as an Air Force brat and is now settled in a hundred-year-old house in Omaha, Nebraska, with her husband, two teenaged children, and a bearded collie named Sam. She firmly believes housework is a four-letter word, there are no calories in anything eaten standing up, procrastination is an art form, and it’s never too soon to panic.
And she loves getting mail that doesn’t require a return payment. Write to her at: P.O. Box 31544, Omaha, NE 68131.
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