Her Highness, My Wife (11 page)

“I confess”—her tone was low and sultry—“I missed you.”

“Did you?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.” Only a scant inch or two lay between them. He could smell her scent, subtle and erotic, feel the heat from her body, sense the rise and fall of her chest with each breath. “You stayed away rather a long time for someone who claims to have missed me.”

“I had responsibilities to fulfill. Portions of my life remained… unfinished. There were doors I needed to close.” She hesitated. “In addition, my father fell ill and it was my place to stay with him. I had no choice, but in truth I would not have left his side.”

“Am I a portion unfinished, then?” He stared down at her, resisting the urge to yank her body close to his, to press his lips to hers. “A door that needs to be closed?”

“I would say matters between us are as yet unresolved. Can you not feel it in the very air between us?”

“Is that what it is between us?” He forced a light note to his voice. “I thought it was something else entirely. Distrust. Disdain. Deceit.”

“Desire?” She rested her hands on his chest and he resisted the urge to flinch. She cast him
the look
and he knew he was lost. And didn’t care.

“Definitely desire.” He pulled her hard into his arms, cupped the back of her head in his hand and crushed his lips to hers.

She greeted him without pause, without hesitation. She threw her arms around his neck and twined her fingers in his hair. Her mouth opened beneath his and her tongue met his. He wanted to invade her, conquer her, control her. Make her his for now. Forever.

She met his desire with her own, as if she wanted to devour him as he wanted to devour her. As if she needed to mark him as hers, as he needed to mark her. As if she too had dreamed of nothing but how they were once and how they could be again.

He slid his hands down her back and cupped her buttocks, pulling her closer against the hard ridge of his erection. She ground her hips against his and he shuddered with need. He pulled his lips from hers to taste the corner of her mouth, the line of her jaw, the tender flesh of her neck. He could not breathe and did not care.

“I have not changed my mind, you know.” His voice was harsh with unrelenting desire. “This means nothing to me.”

“Nor to me.” She gasped and dug her fingers into his shoulders. With one hand and without thought, he shoved the dishes on the table aside. He lifted her onto the table and she grabbed the fabric of his coat and pulled him after her. His hands cupped her breasts and her nipples hardened against his fingers beneath the fabric of her frock. Impatiently, he pulled down her bodice to reveal her breasts, full and firm and heaving with every gasping breath. He took one nipple in his mouth with a care that required every ounce of his control. She cried out softly and her back arched upward.

He ran his hand up her leg, over her stocking and garter and found the sweet, moist promise between her legs. She was wet and wanting and gasped when he touched her. He moved his thumb to and fro in the way he remembered drove her mad. And indeed, she writhed on the table and clutched at him.

“Matthew.” His name was little more than a moan. “It has been so long and I have missed you so.”

It might have been the sound of her voice or something she didn’t say but he heard nonetheless or perhaps simply wanted to hear, but abruptly his senses cleared and he hesitated. He wanted her, dear God, he wanted her, and thought he could well die if he didn’t have her. Right here, right now. But something—some odd, horrible hand of principle or honor or conscience—refused to let him.

“Matthew?”

No! He brushed aside whatever scruples had reared their ugly head. Bloody hell. She’d been his wife

once and there was no doubt she wanted him now. Time enough later to deal with principle or honor or conscience.

“Nothing.” He worked at his trousers and she shifted on the table to accommodate him, knocking a platter to the floor. The crash reverberated through the room. He scarcely noticed.

She reached for him. He braced a knee between her legs.

A knock sounded at the door. And they froze.

“Is everything all right in there?” The voice of the innkeeper’s wife sounded on the other side of the door.

“Everything is quite fine.” Tatiana’s voice had an odd, strangled sound about it. She stared up at him.

“Yes, thank you.” Matt stared down at her.

“I heard a crash, I did.” There was a pause, heavy with suspicion. “It’s my good platter in there, it is.”

“A bit of a mishap,” Matt called. “Nothing of any significance.”

“I want to see.” The demand was accompanied by what was obviously the jingling of keys. “Now.”

“Bloody hell,” Matt said under his voice, stumbling toward the door. He threw his shoulder against it and tried to readjust his clothing at the same time. Tatiana slid off the table and frantically rearranged her dress into some semblance of propriety.

For a bawdy house, perhaps.

She patted her hair, not that it helped, caught his gaze and nodded. He drew a deep breath and stepped away from the door.

The door flew open, banged against the wall, and the short, round form that was Mrs. Wicklund burst into the room, a diminutive avenging angel with the fire of righteous indignation blazing in her eyes. Matt could have sworn a whiff of smoke curled up from her nostrils.

“Your lordship.” Mrs. Wicklund’s gaze slid from Matt to Tatiana. “My lady.”

“My husband and I were just finishing supper,” Tatiana said as if she didn’t look like she’d been doing exactly what she’d been doing.

“That’d be my story.” Mrs. Wicklund stared at the overturned platter on the floor.

“I am dreadfully sorry about that. It was an unfortunate accident, but luck was with us and the platter did not break.” Tatiana stepped to the older woman’s side, took her arm and firmly led her to the door. “It is lovely and I can certainly understand your concern.”

Mrs. Wicklund craned her neck to see around Tatiana. “Well, I don’t have none too many, that I can afford losing one.”

“We will, of course, make certain you are compensated for the distress this has caused you.” Tatiana glanced at Matt. “Will we not, my lord?”

He nodded eagerly. “Oh, we will, we will indeed.”

“No doubt.” Mrs. Wicklund cast a disgusted look at Matt’s shirttail still hanging out of his pants. “I should clean—”

“Oh, but you are most certainly far too busy.” Tatiana steered her through the doorway. “Why not send a maid up to take care of it when you have the chance?”

“Might be a while.” Mrs. Wicklund pursed her lips but was obviously mollified nonetheless.

“We understand completely.” Tatiana’s sincerity convinced even Matt. “And we do appreciate all your hard work. Why, the inn is lovely and the food was wonderful.”

“Tasty,” Matt said helpfully. “Extremely tasty.”

Mrs. Wicklund peered around Tatiana and glared at him. She turned back to Tatiana and lowered her voice confidentially. “You’ve not been married long, have you, my lady?”

“No indeed. In truth, scarcely a week, all told.”

“I thought as much.” Mrs. Wicklund’s voice took on a conciliatory note. “Watch him, my lady. Be they lords or louts, there’s only one thing they want from a woman. Especially them as good-looking as your husband. And he’s a randy one too, I can tell as much just looking at him.”

“Good lord, my dear woman.” Tatiana’s voice rang with suppressed laughter. “I certainly hope so.”

Matt expected indignation from the older woman but instead heard a chuckle. Mrs. Wicklund and Tatiana exchanged a few more comments, too low this time for him to hear, and the woman was on her way.

Tatiana shut the door behind her and breathed a sigh of relief. “Now, then, Matthew, shall we continue?”

Once again, something despicably honorable raised its nasty head.

“I think not,” he said slowly, never regretting any words so much.

“Why not?” She stepped close and gazed up at him. “This is one of your conditions. I did agree to abide by those conditions.”

Her eyes were bright, her lips red and full, her skin glowed with an inner light, her light hair was disheveled. She looked like the lush subject of a renaissance painting. A courtesan served up as a meal for the gods. Delicious and irresistible. His loins throbbed. Of course, she did agree…

“I’m not at all sure why, exactly, but I… we…” He ran his hand through his hair and blew a long, frustrated breath. “Can’t.”

“Oh, Matthew, I am quite certain we… you… can.” She reached down and cupped the still-hard bulge in his pants.

“Tatiana!” He jerked away and glared at her. “I did not mean I couldn’t in that respect! I have never had problems in that respect!”

“I did not think so.” She grabbed the fabric of his shirt and drew him back to her.

“What I mean to say is…” He took her hands and firmly set her aside. He had to leave. Now. If he didn’t, he’d finish what they started, and there was an odd feeling deep in his gut that that spelled disaster. Probably for him. “I have just remembered a… a… a task I need to attend to. Of course, how could I have forgotten? It can’t wait.”

“What kind of task?” She planted her hands on her hips and stared at him. “You did not mention any task.”

“It’s…” He swallowed hard. “The horses. Yes, that’s it, exactly. The horses. I need to do something about the horses.”

“Now?” Her voice rose in disbelief.

“This very minute.” He edged to the door. “I forgot to give the stable hands specific instructions as to their care.”

“They are horses. How specific do you need to be? You feed them, you groom them. It is my understanding there is nothing more to it than that.”

“Oh, there’s much more to it than that. They are…” He groped for the words. “They’re very special horses.” The door, escape, was nearly within reach.

“Special?” Incredulity and confusion colored her face. “They did not look special to me, and you had never seen them before today.”

“Nonetheless, they require special treatment because they are”—they are what?—“well,
special
, and I do need to see to them.” He yanked open the door. “Now.”

“That is the most ridiculous…” She gasped and stared. “Good Lord! I can see it in your face. You are scared. Of me.” Her eyes widened. “Of
us
!”

“Now, that is ridiculous.”

“You are a coward, Matthew Weston.” She folded her arms over her chest and grinned in a smug manner. “You will fly over the rooftops, yet you’re afraid of what will happen if you and I—”

“I most certainly am not,” he said with the proper note of indignation. “I told you before, this”—he waved at the table—“means nothing to me. Therefore, I have nothing to fear. However, I am concerned that the horses—”

“The very special horses?”

“—will not receive the attention they deserve and we shall be forced to remain for yet another night.” He stepped through the door with all the dignity he could muster and called over his shoulder, “I shall return shortly.”

An unladylike snort of disbelief sounded behind him.

He closed the door and collapsed against it, as if it held back the very hounds of He’d had no trouble with other women and could not recall ever deciding against proceeding with a willing partner. It was always satisfactory even if never particularly significant. He’d paid the act of copulation no more importance than the quenching of his thirst or the sating of his hunger. It was a need, nothing more. Of course, he was not in love with those women.

The thought pulled him up short. Love had nothing to do with this. He wasn’t in love with Tatiana. Not now anyway. Oh, certainly he had been once. Indeed, what they had shared in his bed was beyond anything he’d known with another female. Even he realized that was obviously due to the intense emotion they shared, as well as the physical act. With Tatiana it was lovemaking in the truest sense of the word. Without love, with this woman alone, it seemed… well, wrong. Even dishonorable, to share the bed of a woman you once loved, without love.

He stepped into the courtyard and pulled a long breath. The night air was cool on his heated skin and the stars twinkled in the blue-black sky.

It was the silliest idea he’d ever heard. Love, honor, had nothing to do with lust. And the fact that he’d loved her once had nothing whatsoever to do with this. He’d trusted her once too, and look where that had left him.

He started toward the stables. He might as well check on their horses. He had nothing better to do and he had no intention of returning to their room, for the time being. Or was it pride holding him back?

He’d vowed to himself that this time their relationship would be on his terms. He’d be the one making the decisions, making the choices.

Yet just who was choosing to seduce whom this evening?

Pride and honor. He snorted with disdain. Ephraim was right. The qualities were debilitating. Couple them with questions of love and trust, and it all became even more complicated. And conflicting. Well, he’d have to get over that.

As for her charge that he was afraid of her, of
them
, there was nothing further from the truth. Fear would mean he felt
something
for her, and any emotions he had had ended long ago. The very idea that he was scared was as ludicrous as everything else he’d considered tonight. He wanted her and he would have her. On his terms, in his time. His choice, not hers. Long hours—and many pints of ale—later, Matt quietly slipped back into their room. In spite of the fact that one pint had led to two, had led to four and so on, he was still sober and clear-headed. Regrettably so.