Her Highness, My Wife

Prologue

WORTHINGTON CASTLE,ENGLAND

1767

…
and so, my dearest daughter, do not regret fleeing Avalonia. These are dangerous times andyou leave at my insistence. I shall rest easier knowing you and your child are safe
. I have included letters of introduction to three women, members of some ofEngland’s most powerful families and the daughters of old friends. They will assist you and I urge you to call on them. Do not hesitate to use whatever means necessary to ensure your survival. Understand, the symbols of heritage have no more significance than that which we assign them. Do not cling to tokens at the risk of your safety. Remember, your true heritage lies in your heart. Pray, dearest Sophia, for the soul of your husband, for the safety of your father and brothers and for the future of your country. Face whatever lies ahead with courage and strength. And know, my darling, no matter where you are my love is with you. Always…

The words resounded in Sophia’s head. She had no need to read her mother’s letter again; every line was engraved upon her heart.

She glanced at her daughter sleeping in the nearby cradle and saw in her mind’s eye the child’s father, killed a mere six months ago in the turmoil that engulfed the tinykingdomofGreater Avalonia. She’d loved him without restraint, without hesitation, thankful, until now, that they’d found such a love, unexpected in a marriage born of political necessity rather than affection. No. She gazed out the window at the rolling hills of this patch ofEnglandthat had become her sanctuary and her home. Regardless of what end he had come to, regardless of what fate befell her, she was lucky to have known, however briefly, such happiness. Now she had a new husband, a good man, and a new
life, and if passion played no role, perhaps it would grow in time. Sophia turned her attention, and her pen, back to the paper before her.

Dearest Mother,

Her mother was wrong. Regardless of Sophia’s circumstances, she would not abandon her sacred obligation.

The Ladies Hutchins, Helmsley andCranstonwere kind and gracious and have extended the hand of friendship.

She would never relinquish the heritage it was her sworn duty to protect.

Yet I shall do what I feel I must, dear mother, as heritage is the tie that binds the past to the future…

Sophia was a hereditary princess of the
Kingdom
of
Greater Avalonia. And she would fulfill the single most important responsibility inherent in that position until the day she died. And beyond.

Chapter 1

SUMMER 1819

“Did you miss me?”

The lilting tone with its subtle accent drifted into the stables he’d rented for a workshop on the outskirts ofLondon, and for the span of a pulse beat, Lord Matthew Weston froze. He’d never thought to hear that voice again save perhaps in his dreams, late at night when his mind was free to remember what he refused to consider in the light of day. It took every ounce of strength he possessed not to look up from the work before him on the rough-hewn table. After all, hadn’t he rehearsed this scene in his head a hundred times? A thousand?

He’d practiced the right words, the proper manner. He’d be cold, aloof, indifferent. And why not? Her reappearance in his life was of no consequence.

He hadn’t counted on the blood rushing in his ears or the thud of his heart in his chest.

“I scarce noticed you were gone.” His voice sounded light, disinterested. Perfect. As if she’d been gone no more than an hour or so. As if he were far too busy to notice her absence. For a long moment she was silent. His muscles ached with the effort of not acknowledging the significance of her presence and the strain of waiting for her response. At last her laugh echoed through the stable and rippled through his blood. “I see you are still tinkering. It’s most comforting to know some things in this world do not change.”

“The world is constantly changing.” Matt picked up the mechanism he’d been working on and studied it, as if it were much more important to him than she was. As if he didn’t care enough to so much as glance at her. But he did care. More than he’d expected. He drew a breath to steady his nerves. “Constantly evolving. Nothing stays the same.”

He straightened and glanced toward the wide-open doors. She was little more than a silhouette against the bright afternoon sun. Not that he needed to see her. He knew her face as well as he knew her laugh or her touch. In spite of his best efforts, everything about her was engraved in his memory as it had once been on his heart. “Nothing at all.”

She laughed again and his jaw clenched. “Come now, that is far too philosophical and entirely too serious for a summer’s day. Philosophy should be reserved for long, cold winter nights when there is little more to do than comment on the state of the world around us.”

“Should it?”

“Indeed it should,” she said firmly and stepped farther into the stables. “Odd… I don’t remember you as being at all serious.”

A teasing note rang in her voice and he was at once grateful
she
was not at all serious. Regardless of the countless times he’d gone over this very conversation in his head, right now he wasn’t prepared to discuss serious matters. In truth, he wasn’t prepared for
her
. He placed the apparatus back on the table, picked up a rag and wiped the grease and grime from his hands. “I am surprised you remember me at all.”

“Oh, I remember you quite well. How could I not?” She moved closer, away from the glare of the sun, and he could see her clearly now: the delicate shape of her face, the tilt of her nose and, even in the shadowed stables, the vivid green of her eyes. “Why, it has scarce been a year since we—”

“Fifteen months, three weeks and four days,” he said without thinking, surprised to realize he knew exactly how long it had been since he’d last seen her. Last kissed her.

“Yes, well, time passes far too swiftly.” She trailed her fingers along the edge of his worktable and glanced at the assorted bolts and screws, odds and ends strewn across the surface. All part of his attempt to refine a device of his own design to effectively heat the air required to lift a balloon without blowing himself up in the process. “Are you still sailing the heavens?”

The phrase caught at him.
Sailing the heavens
was the whimsical term she’d first called his efforts at ballooning and then what they’d shared between them. It had seemed so fitting once. Not just for his work but for the way she, and she alone, had made him feel.
Sailing the heavens
. He pushed aside the sentiment.

“I am indeed. Even now, I am preparing for a competition of sorts. A design contest, really. I have some innovations that may prove quite profitable.”

“It’s dangerous, you know.” She glanced up at him. “This business of flying.”

“That’s what makes it exciting. The risk. The gamble. It’s the best part of living, knowing your very existence is at stake.”
Or your heart
. He ignored the unbidden thought and shrugged. “The most interesting things in life have an element of danger to them.”

She shook her head; her voice was somber. “A woman inParisdied just last month. Her balloon caught fire and she plunged to her death.”

“Madame Blanchard. Yes, I had heard of it.” He had met the lady while inParislast year. She was the widow of a balloonist and had taken up where her husband had left off. “A pity but not surprising. She was given to aerial fireworks and furthermore employed hydrogen for her balloon. Given the flammable nature of the gas, her demise was inevitable.”

“Inevitable?” Her gaze met his and concern showed in her eyes. “As is yours?”

“Are you worried about me?” He raised a skeptical brow. “It’s a bit late, don’t you think?”

“I would hate to see you meet the same fate.”

“Why?”

“It would be a shame. A waste.” She looked away. “I do dislike waste.”

He leaned toward her, the intensity in his voice belying his slow smile. “And would you grieve for me?”

Her gaze snapped back to his and her brows pulled together indignantly. “Of course.”

He laughed and straightened. “How gracious of you, considering how little regard you had for me a year ago.”

“Fifteen months, three weeks and four days,” she said under her breath.

“However, you needn’t concern yourself. I have no intention of losing my life. Not in the immediate future, at any rate. Besides, at the moment I am using heated air rather than hydrogen. The lift is not as great, but inflation is far quicker and the risks are fewer.”

“Oh, indeed, that is ever so much safer.” Sarcasm dripped from her words. “A fire to heat your air, on board a mere basket, beneath a taffeta balloon, towering over the treetops is scarcely more dangerous than… than a stroll in a park.”

“You seemed to enjoy it.” He studied her, wondering if she would rise to his bait or if her emotions were

as fiercely under control as his. Or if indeed she cared at all. “And enjoyedParisas well, if I recall.”

She brushed aside the pointed reference to the past. “I assume, as you are still involved in this questionable pursuit, that you have not yet managed to acquire the funds needed for investment in a ship?”

So she did indeed remember something about their time together. He’d told her of his dreams and his plans to use whatever profits there were to be made from ballooning to buy a share in a ship and from that to make his fortune.

“Not yet.” He gestured at the paraphernalia on the table. “But, should I win this competition, I will.”

“And if you do not win?”

“Then I shall start over.” His voice was matter-of-fact. “I have before, I will again.”

“No doubt.” She wandered the perimeter of his work area, pausing to examine the wicker gondola off to one side.

At once the absurdity of the situation struck him. A myriad of unanswered questions hung in the air between them, yet their conversation was as nonchalant as if they were mere acquaintances. As if they’d never shared blissful days and glorious nights lost in one another. Never made promises, vows of ridiculous concepts like
always
and
forever
that apparently only he had fully intended to keep. As if she’d never ripped his heart from his chest and left him alone and empty. How odd, to be with her now with so much unsaid. So much pride would not allow him to say.

“How are you really, Matthew?” She glanced up at him. “Or should I say Lord Weston?”

He leaned back against the table, crossed his arms over his chest and considered her thoughtfully. He’d never told her of the title he was entitled to by birth, yet now she knew. How interesting. Still, what he hadn’t said about himself paled in comparison to what she had not seen fit to reveal.

“No one has ever called me Lord Weston. The title is actually the Lord Matthew Weston or Lord Matthew, although I cannot recall the last time anyone called me Lord Matthew either. It is not a title I choose to use. I much prefer to be addressed as Captain, although that’s not entirely accurate either, as my days of naval service are long past. Regardless, formality between us seems somewhat absurd.” He unfolded his arms and braced his hands behind him on the edge of the table. “If I remember, we disregarded proper forms of address from the beginning, using our given names without regard to title or position. Matthew. Tatiana. Or, if you prefer…” He met her gaze and allowed a touch of triumph to show in his smile. “Princess.”

Surprise flickered across her face.

He raised a brow. “You didn’t think I’d learn the truth?”

Princess Tatiana Marguerite Nadia Pruzinsky of theKingdomofGreater Avaloniaraised a royal shoulder in a casual shrug. “I should have, I suppose, I simply did not think of it.”

“I daresay there are any number of things you did not think of.” He narrowed his eyes, anger he thought long gone rising within him. Still, his voice was controlled, his manner cool. “I’m certain it never occurred

to you that disappearing from my bed, our bed, in the middle of the night—”

“It was closer to dawn,” she murmured.

“—leaving nothing but a tersely worded note—”