His Runaway Royal Bride

by Tanu Jain

  She thought that running away would set them both free…

  When Maharaj Vidyamaan Veer Singh of Samogpur’s beautiful young wife vanished three years ago everyone thought she was dead. When Veer discovers she’s actually alive and well he’s determined to bring her back home to do her duty…

  Meethi loved Veer passionately, but felt shackled in the role of his wife. When Veer demands her return she must obey, but being back by his side is heaven and hell. Because, despite their new-found happiness, secrets from the past still linger. And Meethi knows that they threaten to destroy everything…

  ‘Wear something suitable. We will be leaving at around eight,’ he said autocratically, an eyebrow raised in imperious command.

  ‘You can’t force me to go, or to do anything that I don’t want to,’ Meethi said pugnaciously.

  She wouldn’t be browbeaten this time. She would live life on her own terms. Her time away had matured her, made her stronger, and she would not be bullied.

  Veer felt as if she had struck him. She was shamelessly defying him! He looked at her in burning fury.

  ‘And what will you do?’ he asked dangerously, a flash of rage crossing his face.

  ‘You can’t guard me all the time. As soon as I find a chance I’ll run away,’ Meethi said defiantly, her eyes shooting sparks.

  Her mutinous expression inflamed him further. He pulled her to him and his mouth swooped down on hers with pent-up fury and desire, silencing further protests. He wanted to punish her, kiss her senseless and douse the fire that she effortlessly ignited in him.

  The touch of her lips was like ambrosia, sharpening his thirst, and his tongue swiped at her luscious lower lip, nibbling at it in tiny bites. Parched after the long absence, they drank thirstily from each other, not pausing even to breathe. He hadn’t forgotten how good she always tasted and was pleased to know that she too wasn’t immune to the inferno that blazed whenever they touched.

  Dear Reader

  My editor’s letter of approval had an incendiary effect and I still have trouble catching my breath at times!

  As a child I loved reading and my imagination was peopled with love stories. When I eventually sat down to write a love story I came up with a clichéd romance with wooden characters. The empathy was missing because as an Indian I found it difficult to identify deeply with a Greek hero and a British heroine.

  I decided to write about Indian characters, and by the time I submitted my manuscript to my delight I found that Mills & Boon® had begun publishing Indian writers.

  Harlequin Presents® has always been my favourite series, because the one truth that it holds up is that wealth, riches, lineage and beauty alone cannot ensure happiness. A human being’s quest for happiness is eternal. Everyone wants to be happy and everyone has different ideas of what can make them happy.

  I write romances because I feel that love leads us to abiding joy and happiness. Love for one’s soul-mate, one’s children, parents, friends, and all those who inhabit one’s immediate world. Love which is deep and at the same time detached, because it has zero expectations. The missing piece in life’s puzzle is love, which gives a spiritual dimension to human life.

  I hope, dear reader, you will enjoy reading the story of Meethi and Veer as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would love your feedback at tanurja@yahoo.com

  Sincerely

  Tanu Jain

  ‘And then he kissed her!’ is the line that used to run like a litany through TANU JAIN’s mind whenever she sat down to laze and relax. For years handsome hunks haunted her imagination and stunning strong-willed heroines clamoured to come out. She knew it was the effect of reading countless Mills & Boon® romances (she started in Class 8).

  She tried scratching the itch and came up with the story of a strong Greek male and a suffering beauty. It was sure to be accepted, she thought naively. It was a disaster! The rejection slip opened her eyes to a few pertinent facts and her next work was written straight from the heart, with familiar local settings. Add an editor who believed in her voice and guided her—and voilà!

  Strength, kindness, honesty, optimism and love were drilled into her as a child by her parents, and the first Mills & Boon® that she read made her realise that these were exactly what romance novels were about! So writing a romance novel was both emotionally and morally satisfying!

  Tanu’s interests are wide-ranging. (Too wide, she feels at times!) She has done her doctorate in English Literature and occasionally teaches English language and literature.

  She currently lives in Gwalior, India, with her businessman husband who, for her, epitomises the qualities of a typical Mills & Boon® hero. Her daughter and son are proud of her, but are embarrassed when she uses their names for characters in her books!

  Recent titles by the same author:

  HIS CAPTIVE INDIAN PRINCESS

  His Runaway Royal Bride

  Tanu Jain

  To the catty girls who add so much colour,

  Parul, Jaya, Priya, Rashmi, Ekta, Hemangini and Bhavana.

  To the centre of my universe,

  GJ.

  And, last and importantly,

  to an avid romance-reader and daughter of my heart,

  Vasundhara.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Backcover Text

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  THE RUMBLE OF a helicopter sounded in the distance. Meethi looked up, her hand stilling and her heart thudding violently. It was an alien sound. Helicopters were never heard here.

  Her neck began prickling dangerously, and a hunted look entered her eyes.

  Had he finally traced her? It had been a long time now—three years, to be exact—and she had begun to hope that he had finally accepted the facts that she had been at pains to scatter around.

  But she trusted her instincts. They had stood her in good stead.

  The paintbrush she had been holding fell from her nerveless fingers, and she sprinted inside her modest house. She couldn’t afford to wait and see who was in the helicopter. She wouldn’t risk staying. Not when it could be her husband or his men.

  Hurriedly collecting the bag she always kept ready and dragging on her sports shoes, she locked the house and vanished into the adjoining forest.

  HH Maharaj Vidyamaan Veer Singh of Samogpur jumped out of the helicopter he had been flying with a grim face. His back ramrod-stiff, he flexed his palms and stretched his powerful shoulders to loosen his tensely knotted muscles.

  The bodyguards accompanying him exchanged nervous looks. They had known him long enough to sense that he was furious.

  Veer tried to control the murky anger swirling inside him.

  He was at breaking point. He wanted to give vent to the tidal waves of fury that were threatening to get out of hand. Anger rolled through him again as he thought of how his errant wife had deceived and betrayed him.

  She had made a fool of him. A royal fool! he thought with dark bitterness.

  She had feigned her own death and disappeared. He dragged his thoughts back to focus on the matter at hand.

  He followed his bodyguards, who had gone forward to check out the house. One of them went inside while the other went to the small garden that stood in front of the house.
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  ‘The house is locked, Hukum!’ one said. The other came with the news that there was a canvas with wet paint in the garden.

  Canvas and paint. It had to be her. Wet paint meant that she had left in a hurry. But where had she gone? There were no vehicle marks and the nearest house in this small little village was at least three kilometres away.

  He turned and looked at the forest. He nodded to his bodyguards, who spread out and began trawling the thick undergrowth silently and quickly.

  Suddenly, Veer sensed a movement in the forest farther ahead. Adrenalin pumping, he increased his speed and, soon enough, espied a slight figure in shirt and jeans running silently.

  His long legs ate up the distance and, reaching her, he grasped her from behind. She tried to evade his grip but he held her fast.

  The sudden impact made them lose their balance and they both fell down, rolling a short distance.

  Gritting his teeth as the dry undergrowth scratched his bare arms and small sharp pebbles dug into him, Veer tried to cushion her with his body, protecting her as much as he could, and they came to a stop when they crashed into a huge boulder. Jarred by the collision, they lay stunned for a moment.

  Veer felt her heart fluttering like a tiny bird’s against his chest. The feel of her in his arms after so long sent tremors through his body. Filled with self-contempt at the betraying weakness, he got to his feet, holding her by her arm.

  What would she do now? There was no escape. He had discovered her deception. Meethi bent her head, trying to stop her fear from showing. Her head seemed to be spinning and she could barely hold herself upright.

  ‘So, my dead wife is alive and kicking!’ Veer said with barely disguised fury.

  Meethi felt a roaring in her ears and sweat trickling over her entire body.

  ‘You cold, heartless liar! You let us believe in your death and left us mourning and grieving for you whilst you ran away. You made fools out of us!’ he bit out ferociously.

  After all that he had done for her, she had turned on him and betrayed him. She had made a mockery of their marriage vows and played with his emotions in the worst possible way.

  Veer sensed his wife’s fear and felt a moment’s hesitation. She had hurt him, but he would never do the same to her. He knew he must hold back the fury rolling through him and control himself.

  But when Meethi bent her head, refusing to even meet his gaze it infuriated him.

  His burning eyes bore into her and he watched his beautiful young wife turn white before fainting in his arms.

  Veer looked at her slumped body in shock and panic as he suddenly felt something wetting his fingers. Removing his hand from her hair, he saw that his fingers were red with blood. She had hurt herself, but how?

  He looked down and saw that the boulder that they had crashed into had a sharp jutting edge; she must have cut herself on it. His heart constricted for a moment as he feared that she had hurt herself badly. He froze.

  His bodyguards had caught up with them and stood there, hovering. One of them took out a clean handkerchief and held it to the wound, trying to staunch the flow of blood. He turned over her limp figure gently to ascertain how deep the cut was and discovered a gash; the bleeding hadn’t stopped and it would need to be looked at by a doctor.

  Later, he stood looking down at her as she lay unmoving on the hospital bed. He had immediately flown her to the nearest town, where her cut had been bandaged. The doctor had said that she would have a few painful bruises but had assured him that there was nothing to worry about. The cut to her head was minor, but the doctor did express concern that his wife seemed underweight and suffering from slight stress.

  Slight stress! Her stress was nothing compared to his since she had fled three years ago! Her purported death had brought his world crashing down and he had spent sleepless months, feeling miserable and guilty.

  And all the time she had been alive.

  His bitter eyes roamed over her pale, beautiful features. Over her closed doe eyes, her aquiline nose and her Cupid’s bow lips. Her perfect features still had the power to make him catch his breath.

  Though the glow had dimmed and her skin no longer gleamed with lustre.

  She looked wan and listless. Holding her in his arms, his body had registered her extreme thinness. His eyes traced over her slight figure and he noticed that she had lost her curves and seemed almost emaciated now.

  The disquieting thought that running away had taken a toll on her physical well-being occurred to him. But his anger did not abate. She had broken her marriage vows, betrayed his trust and behaved treacherously.

  And he couldn’t forget or forgive her lies and deceit—two things he could not abide.

  Born with the proverbial silver spoon, in the important and wealthy royal family of Samogpur, Veer had been an only child. Though not particularly close to his parents, he had been the much pampered and cosseted scion with a phalanx of retainers at his beck and call, till he had been sent to The Scindia School, a boarding school where the children of most royals studied, at the age of seven.

  Here he got a rude shock. Boys avoided his company and would fall silent when he appeared in the common room. His seniors passed scathing comments and treated him like a pariah. Amidst hushed whispers and asides, he became aware that his family name was dreaded and feared.

  He remembered enduring four long and lonely months before going home to his father, HH Maharaj Arham Shakti Singh and asking him why the boys in his school wouldn’t be friends with him. His father had looked at him with sad regret and explained that their dynasty had a tainted history. Their forefathers had been on the wrong side of the law and had acquired their immense wealth by indulging in nefarious activities such as smuggling, opium trading, extortion and racketeering. There was a long history of infighting between the various branches of the family, and their family record was peppered with gory instances of sons who had overthrown their fathers and brothers who hadn’t shied from slaying each other in their quest for power.

  After Independence, the royal titles and much of their power had been abolished, but their ancestors had remained embroiled in property disputes and legal and political controversies.

  That day, as he watched his father recount their family history clinically with an expressionless face, something fundamental changed for seven-year-old Veer. The unshakeable confidence and sense of invincibility his childhood had endowed him with was cruelly shattered. He felt ripped out of his privileged cocoon and hurled into deep ignominy. He had spent his holidays feeling humiliated and ashamed of his heritage.

  A month later it had been time to return to school but Veer had refused to go. His father had summoned him to his study and asked him the reason for his refusal, and Veer had told him he couldn’t face the boys at school who would make fun of him.

  His father had sternly told him to behave manfully befitting a ‘Rajput’. Rajputs, he said, faced things head-on and did not run away from them like cowards. His father’s unyielding stance had forced Veer to go back to school and it had been as unpleasant as he had feared. Though he had gradually been accepted by his peers and had made friends, the experience had hardened him and made him tough.

  As he grew older he realised an important fact. His father was also ashamed of the legacy he had inherited. And, over the years, his father had begun the process of righting the wrongs committed by their ancestors, cleaning up the dirty deals, giving up property acquired unlawfully and legalising the various family businesses.

  As head of such a vast legacy, his father’s life was one big cycle of endless obligations, unending demands and never-ending duties. His distant, formidable father drove himself hard and had little time for his wife and son.

  The rest of the family, especially his father’s two younger brothers, hadn’t taken too kindly to his attempts to cleanse the family coffers and tried their best to undermine his efforts. Veer had been aware of his uncles’ vociferous opposition and the underhand tactics they had indulged
in. Their actions had put his father under terrible strain and pressure, so much so that it had brought about a major heart attack and caused his father’s untimely demise.

  Veer had been in his last year of college in London. He had excelled academically in school and had elected to study law, determined to help his father and ease some of his burden. But his father’s sudden death pushed him to the helm. Veer was anointed the head of the family and at twenty-one years of age was saddled with the weight of his heritage and a heavy load of responsibilities. His uncles tried their utmost to wrest control of the vast, lucrative family holdings by first trying to sweet-talk him into signing some papers and, when that didn’t work, trap him in a web of lies and deceit, slapping fabricated cases against him and dragging him to court.

  But Veer worked tirelessly, day and night, with remorseless resolve to consolidate his position and gain complete control. With gritty determination, he completed his degree, managing to fit in his studies within the hectic schedule of college attendance and a slew of court appearances. He was forced to mortgage his ancestral property and most of the family jewellery to meet the financial requirements of running his palaces and paying his employees their salaries because the bank accounts had been frozen. He employed the best legal brains to fight all allegations of dishonesty.

  His hard work paid off and, over the next five years, he had erased the stain of being on the wrong side of the law, brought the family business within the legal framework and brought respectability to his name. Thereafter, he had expanded his father’s legacy and created a vast empire with varied interests ranging from property development, portfolio management and owning and running a chain of heritage hotels.

  The large extended royal family which had mocked him and scoffed at his efforts now regarded him as the unchallenged supreme head, vied for his attention and begged his presence at their functions. His uncles who had dragged him to court now fawned over him obsequiously and bent over backwards to flatter him.