Her Highness, My Wife (5 page)

“And I was quite fond of her.”

It was only in recent years, with the wisdom born of distance and experience, that he’d reexamined his younger days. He was indeed a wild youth, far more prone to trouble and scandalous behavior than his three older bothers combined. He could see now, where he couldn’t then, a father’s frustration when faced with a rebellious and uncontrollable child. He could understand now a father’s desire for his son’s future to be molded by something beyond indulgence and excess. Only now could he recognize and be grateful for a father’s courage in sending a son into the world to make his own way and find his own strength. And he could at last accept the love required to do it all.

He’d learned of his father’s death shortly before the war ended and wondered at the irony and desperate regret of it. When at last Matt had realized he could not forgive his father because in truth the older man had done nothing
to
forgive save force his youngest child to become a man they could both be proud of, it was too late. It was a debt he could not repay. Until, perhaps, now.

“You’ve still not spoken to your brothers, then.” Ephraim said as if it didn’t matter.

“You know full well I haven’t.” Matt’s tone was as casual as his friend’s. “Nor have they spoken to me.”

“And you have been so exceedingly easy to find since we left His Majesty’s Service, refusing to use your title and flitting fromEnglandtoFranceand back.” Ephraim scoffed. “In the last three years, you’ve barely had a permanent address.”

“Couldn’t be helped, old man. The life of an aeronaut, and all that. And I did not flit.”

Matt had long ago acknowledged to himself that he would like nothing better than to reacquaint himself with his brothers. But while he’d had no hesitation about confronting the enemy on a battle-scarred ship at sea, in the three years since the war had ended he had not been able to summon the courage to face his family. His departure from Weston Manor had been neither cordial nor sedate, and while he wanted to go home, he was not eager for the reception that awaited him.

“So you’re doing this for your family?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You wouldn’t
admit
that. However, it seems to me a man who is willing to go to such lengths to protect his family is lying to himself about something,” Ephraim mused. “Either how he really feels about said family—”

“Hardly,” Matt lied.

“Or about the money.”

“I’m not entirely certain I’ll take her money.”

“That”—Ephraim pointed his cigar and squinted through the smoke—“is perhaps one of the most asinine things I have ever heard you say. Why, in the name of all that’s holy, not?”

Matt bit back a grin at the printer’s indignation. “Pride, I suppose. I dislike the idea of allowing her, or any woman, to purchase me like a sack of grain.”

“Well, she can purchase me. I’d take her money without so much as a moment of hesitation. In fact, if you’re not interested, I’d be more than willing to volunteer my services. At those prices she can buy me and my pride. Do feel free to pass on my name.” Ephraim paused. “She’s not one of those horse-faced princesses, is she? The ones whose portraits can’t quite hide the truth of their appearance? Knowing you, I assume she’s attractive.”

“Quite.”

“Then you’re doing it for the woman.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

Ephraim studied his friend curiously. “There’s a great deal you haven’t told me, isn’t there?”

“Not a great deal.” Matt shifted in his seat, well aware of just how much he’d kept from Ephraim. They had been friends for nearly a decade and had met when they’d served on the same ship. Each had saved the other’s life on more than one occasion, and Matt had shared far more with Ephraim than with any man alive. Yet on the subject of Tatiana he’d never said a word.

“You said you made her acquaintance in Paris last year.” Ephraim’s voice was thoughtful. “And when you returned to England, you were in the foulest of moods—”

“Me? The foulest of moods?” Matt widened his eyes in feigned surprise. “I am never anything but jovial and even-tempered.”

Ephraim ignored him. “—and spent a good six months in an impressive state of drunkenness.”

“Hardly six months,” Matt said in an offhand manner. “Scarcely more than four. And my condition had more to do with the fact that my work wasn’t going well and I couldn’t—”

“I stand corrected.” Ephraim waved away Matt’s comment. “Although that’s not the impression I had then. At the time, you indicated that your melancholy, obvious anger and ongoing inebriation were to the blame or credit of a member of the fairer sex. However, you never revealed the details of what was obviously a disastrous liaison. As you had never before been the least bit reluctant to regale me with your amorous adventures, I assumed this was somewhat more serious than usual.”

Matt puffed on his cigar, then grinned. “She quite broke my heart.”

Ephraim’s eyes narrowed knowingly. “That’s what I thought.”

“It wasn’t as bad—”

“It was.” Ephraim leaned forward. “And it was this woman, wasn’t it? This
princess
?”

Matt met the other man’s gaze and considered his answer. He hated to admit what a fool he’d been for not seeing Tatiana was not who she’d said she was. And more, for losing his heart to her. But now that she was back in his life with her outrageous and too-tempting offer, it was perhaps past time to take an objective look at what had passed between them. He shrugged. “I didn’t know she was a princess.”

“Didn’t know?” Ephraim’s brows drew together in mock astonishment. “What? She wore no crown?

Had no royal retainers in her wake? Bore no trappings of monarchy? I’ve never met a princess yet who wasn’t obviously a princess.”

“And you’ve met so many.”

“Not a one,” Ephraim said with a wicked grin. “But I have a vivid imagination.”

Matt laughed, pleased to note he could now see humor where there had been only anger and pain

before. Odd, how time and distance changed one’s outlook. Odder still, how long it took him to realize it. He drew on his cigar and sent a thoughtful smoke ring drifting toward the ceiling. “She told me she was a companion to a princess.”

“Really? A princess pretending to be a commoner? In disguise, as it were?” A familiar light shone in Ephraim’s eye. “How very intriguing.”

“I know what you’re thinking, and you can forget it right now.” Matt aimed his cigar at him. “I have no intention of contributing so much as a single word about this for that scandal sheet of yours.”

Ephraim paid no heed. “
My Adventures with a Princess in Paris
. Or better yet:
A Revelation of RoyalSecrets
. It’s a damn fine title for a story.”

“This is exactly why I never told you about her.”

“Hah.” Ephraim snorted in disbelief.

“Very well, not exactly.” Matt shrugged in surrender. “I admit it was far more serious than any relationship I’d ever had with a woman. And frankly, it was damned painful at the end.”

“Hence the drinking.”

“Dulled the pain.” Matt raised his glass in a toast. “It works exceedingly well.”

“But you have gotten over her.” Ephraim’s statement was as much question as comment.

“Of course. She’s just another woman. No more important than any other in the scheme of the world. Oh, certainly this one could rule her own country one day—a very small country, I might add, really rather insignificant—but I didn’t know that at the time and it makes no difference now.”

“Then you have put her in the past.”

“Where she belongs,” Matt said firmly.

“And it doesn’t bother you that she’s reappeared?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“And you no longer mind discussing her?”

“Absolutely not.” Matt didn’t hesitate for an instant and almost believed his own words.

“Then why not write a story for me about your affair with her?” Ephraim leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with editorial excitement. “
Passion in Paris: A Royal Rendezvous
.”

“
Passion in Paris
?” Matt grimaced. “Sounds exceedingly sordid.”

“Doesn’t it, though? My readers will love it. Circulation will soar. There’s nothing the common man likes to read about so much as the foibles of royalty. Scandal sells papers and there’s nothing better, unless”—Ephraim straightened—“it’s a nice juicy murder. Is there any chance—”

“Sorry, old man.” Matt laughed. “Besides, you know full well I am not fond of writing so much as a letter, let alone one of your stories.”

“All you need to do is give me the details; I’ll do the writing.” Ephraim practically chortled with anticipation. “With my editorial flair and a bit of creative embellishment, it will be—”

“No.” Matt’s voice was firm.

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t seem”—he searched for the word—“honorable, I suppose.”

“Were her actions honorable?”

It was an excellent question. One Matt had never especially considered and one he had no answer to now. He hadn’t understood the significance of her position before today, and it put a distinctly different light on her abandonment. “To be honest, I’m no longer certain, but it scarcely matters. It’s my honor in question at the moment, and I will not betray her trust by allowing you to make our relationship public fodder.”

“I’ll change your names,” Ephraim said hopefully. “I’ll make it impossible for anyone to recognize you or her. It can be completely anonymous.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Pity.” The printer thought for a moment, obviously unwilling to give up. “Still, consider for a moment what an excellent way it would be to wreak revenge on her. Get a bit of your own back. She did, after all, break your heart.”

“It has healed and taught me a valuable lesson in the process.”

“Oh?”

“Princess, lady or whore—the so-called fairer sex is not to be trusted.” Matt pulled a healthy swallow of his drink and relished the slow burn of the liquor. “None of them.”

“I could have told you that.” Ephraim sipped his whiskey and considered his friend. “At least you can give me the details.”

“Ephraim.”

“Oh, not for publication.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “Although it does pain me to pass this by. But do allow me to indulge my personal, if not my professional, curiosity. How does one meet a princess posing as one of us ordinary folk?”

“I was engaged in hawking balloon rides in a public park as a way to provide a bit of extra funds. She said she’d always wanted to fly.” For a moment, he was back to that glorious spring day and the presence of an enticing green-eyed creature with a demeanor that was at once reticent and daring. She was an enigma to him when they’d first met. A woman obviously of proper breeding, yet without so much as a groom accompanying her for protection or chaperone. She’d explained it by claiming she was

a widow, a companion to royalty, and had felt the need to escape the confines of her position. Even on that first afternoon he was too enchanted to do more than brush off the suspicious nature of her story. In point of fact, she was a widow and had indeed slipped the bonds of her rank, but it was there that the truth of her story ended.

“Excellent.
Passion over Paris
is a much better title.” Ephraim pulled on his cigar and let the smoke drift lazily upward in emphasis to the teasing note in his voice.

“What a shame you won’t be able to use it,” Matt said pointedly.

“And after you met,” Ephraim prodded. “Then what?”

“Then…” Matt paused for a long moment, the memory of their interlude washing through him with a strength that was almost physical. A mere six days filled with passion and excitement and the adventure of exploring each other, body and soul. And more, the shocking tenderness of feelings he never suspected could be so intense, so overwhelming, so complete. He was a fool to have fallen so thoroughly under her spell. To have abandoned all logic and rational thought. To have surrendered his soul.

“Then?” Ephraim prompted.

But it was indeed all in the past and he was done with her. At least where his heart was concerned. As for the rest of her…

Matt cast Ephraim a wicked glance. “Then, old man, we did what lovers in Paris always do.”

Ephraim stared. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

Matt leaned back in his chair, grinned and silently puffed his cigar.

“It’s that blasted sense of honor of yours again, isn’t it?” Ephraim scowled. “First pride, now honor. I’m bloody grateful I’m not shackled with anything so debilitating.”

“Come, now, Ephraim,” Matt said mildly, “I’ve seen you engage in behavior that could well be described as honorable.”

“Keep it to yourself,” the other man muttered.

Matt laughed.

Ephraim fell silent and the two men shared a companionable silence broken only by the subtle sounds of the sipping of whiskey or the smoking of cigars. It was late and Ephraim’s handful of employees had long since left. The steam-powered printing press in the main room was quiet, but as the week progressed it would operate late into the night printing copies of the
Messenger
for its weekly issue on Sunday.