"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. "Ofus !"

"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, ofthem , there was nothing further from the truth. Fear would mean he feltsomething 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.

The platter and all remains of their meal had been cleared away. A candle burned low on the table, casting its flickering light on Tatiana, asleep and unmoving on the bed.

Matt rummaged through his bag for the writing case and journal. He sat down at the table, prepared a pen and opened the book. But his gaze strayed to Tatiana's sleeping form.

She'd disrupted his life once and he would not allow her to do it again. Not to him, not to his family.

He had no answers and was no longer even sure of the questions. If one discarded all possibility of affection and emotion, nothing made sense at all. But accepting that he might well feel something beyond desire for this woman was not worth considering.

He pulled his gaze away from her and stared at the blank page before him. This was, no doubt, as ridiculous as everything else, yet his entire life seemed an exercise in absurdity at the moment.

He drew a deep breath and began.

Dear Ephraim...

Dear Ephraim, First of all, I should like you to understand that while I may be writing these letters per your request, I have made no decision as to their eventual use. To ensure discretion, should this become public, I shall not use the proper names of any person or country. In truth, it is entirely possible that neither you, nor anyone else, will ever read so much as a word of what I put forth. Nonetheless, while I have never been prone to putting pen to paper, I find a need to discuss the events that have transpired today, and this writing will serve that purpose, if no other.

The princess continues to be an enigma to me. While she is forthright about some intimate details of her past, she refuses to confide in me completely. She still insists her purpose for our travels is to document the journey of an ancestor.

I must confess I now understand her reticence. Trust does not come easily to her. Admittedly, where she is concerned, trust no longer comes easily to me either. We have both suffered at the hands of those we have felt great affection for and therefore trusted. It is exceedingly ironic to consider her lack of trust in me is entirely the fault of someone else, yet my lack of trust in her is due to her and her alone.

Our first day together passed uneventfully, for the most part. We spent long hours driving from London, and Her Highness slept most of that time. I envy her that ability, as I myself have never been able to manage such a feat, but she appeared to have no trouble. Indeed, she was slumbering within moments of our departure. It is something of a pity, as I had hoped idle conversation between us would reveal at least a hint of her true purpose.

I am, however, learning a great deal about her country. She has chatted about its history and surroundings as well as its curious customs and traditions. While her descriptions sound most interesting, I must confess the people themselves might well be a drunken lot.

Still, one might find it worthwhile to visit...

Chapter 8.

"Good day, my lord." Tatiana favored Matthew with her brightest smile.

Matthew waited impatiently beside the carriage and glowered. "We need to be off at once. The hour is growing late and-" "Are you always this unpleasant in the morning?" "Yes," he snapped and held out his hand to help her into the vehicle. He assisted her in an overly brisk and highly impersonal manner, then circled the horses to take his place beside her.

"Well, now that we have settled the question of your disposition," she said sweetly, "how is your virtue this morning?" "My virtue?" He glared. "My virtue has nothing to do with anything." "I do apologize.Virtue might not have been the right word." She paused. "Moralsis perhaps a better word." "My morals are not in question either." He tugged on the reins and the horses started off. "Oh, come, now, Matthew, your morals are definitely in question. In truth, when we first met I did not particularly think you had any. And yet you married me when I am most certain you havenot married every woman you have bedded."

He stared straight ahead and a tiny muscle in his jaw tightened. "Only the princesses."

"I see." She stifled a grin. "So you only have high moral standards when it comes to women of royal blood?"

"Apparently," he muttered.

"Why did you marry me, Matthew?"

"At the moment, I have no idea." His voice was grim and quite deflated her lovely mood.

"You need not be so nasty about it."

His foul nature could be attributed to the fact that the man had had very little sleep. Or he could truly

hate her, but she preferred to think he was simply tired and perhaps frustrated. She certainly was. When he had finally returned to their room, she had pretended to be asleep. In truth, she had spent most of the night surreptitiously observing him at the table, writing something in a small notebook, probably to do with his work.

The candle flame cast him in light and shadow and she spent long hours studying the planes of his face. Not that she did not know the curve of his cheekbone, the line of his jaw or the way his eyes crinkled at the corners with concentration, by heart. After all, she had studied him every day in her mind's eye. And she could watch him forever.

"The horses look fine," she said in an attempt to engage him in some sort of conversation before she needed to observe Avalonian tradition and start the journey with a brandy. "Not particularly special, but fine."

He did not respond. Apparently, he was not inclined to idle chatter today.

She settled back against the seat and tried not to smile. As disappointed as she had been last night-and she had been extremely disappointed-it was in many ways a most satisfactory evening. Matthew's refusal to carry on was an excellent indication of the possibilities of a future together. Oh, certainly he would have continued if Mrs. Wicklund had not interrupted. Regardless of conscience or honor or anything else, he was still a man, and such things were to be expected from men. If nothing else, Phillipe had taught her that.

Matthew's reticence to pick up where they had left off was perhaps the nicest thing that had ever happened to her. It was obvious he could not simply treat her as if she were any other woman. Whether he realized it or not, he did indeed have feelings for her beyond the irritation he expressed right now and the lust he had shown last night. And regardless of his protests, she was convinced he was leery of what physical intimacy between the two of them would bring.

It made perfect sense. She had hurt him terribly and he had no reason to trust her. No reason to want her back.

But he would. Eventually.

Not because she had always gotten what she wanted in life. In truth, she had never reallywanted anything before now. Not like she wanted this man, her husband, back.

"I do not know why you should be so disagreeable this morning," she said. "After all, I was not the one who ran shrieking from the room last night like a nervous virgin."

"I did not shriek." His voice was cold, but there might have been the tiniest glimmer of amusement in his eye.

"But you must admit you were nervous."

"I was not the least bit nervous, nor"-he cast her a pointed glance-"was I scared. I have been with women before."

"Hundreds, no doubt," she said blithely. "But that is not what frightened you."