He collected his plans and diagrams, rolled them up, then carefully tucked them in a paper tube. Trying not to dwell on whatever feelings he'd had or might have still for Tatiana left his mind free to dwell on what this visit to Effington Hall might well mean.

He'd accepted they would travel there eventually, but he wasn't entirely prepared to do so yet. The Effington estate was far too close to Weston Manor for comfort. Logically, he knew the possibility of running into one of his brothers was slim. After all, he'd not seen any of them in the years since his return to England. Yet the closer he was to home, the greater the chances.

Home.

The very word caught at his heart. Perhaps-he stared into the shadows of the stables-it was time to go home. In that, Tatiana might well have been right. And indeed, wasn't his desire to protect his family as much a part of his willingness to go along with her quest as the woman herself?

At some point soon he would have to confront her about her interest in his grandmother and his family. He would have to force the truth from her, whatever it was. And with truth, perhaps, would come trust. And forgiveness.

He understood now why she'd left, but not the manner of her leaving, nor why she'd stayed away. And he might never understand why she'd annulled their marriage.

Of course, if he had followed her...

He winced at the thought. As many mistakes as she had made, as many painful blows as she had dealt him, weren't his just as significant? Even, possibly, as painful? If he could not forgive her, how could he expect her to forgive him?

The question of trust, or lack of it, still lay between them. It would have to be resolved before... before what?

He didn't know what she really wanted, any more than he knew his own mind. Or his own heart.

That was the crux of it all, wasn't it?

For a mere six days in his life he had loved this woman, this princess, then spent the next fifteen months, three weeks and four days trying to forget everything about her.

The sound of her laughter echoed faintly in the distance. Was it now time to at last accept that, in truth, he never had?

Chapter 11.

Matt followed the liveried footman through the endless corridors of Effington Hall, and wondered vaguely if Tatiana's adventure was in truth nothing more than an endless journey.

The trip here had taken longer than expected. Effington Hall was a day's carriage ride from London, but they'd been unable to leave yesterday until well into the afternoon. While the coach was capable of acceptable speeds, the wagon was inexorably slow, and Tatiana insisted they travel throughout the night. Fortunately, while some of the servants had returned to London with Tatiana's companion, more than enough accompanied them to provide respite for the coachman and wagon driver.

As for Matt's lascivious inventions toward his former wife, the intriguing prospect of something intimate between them in a closed carriage gave way to the reality of traveling with this particular princess.

A scant quarter of an hour after they'd toasted the beginning of their journey, the woman fell asleep and stayed asleep until they'd stopped to refresh the horses. The toast was repeated and shortly thereafter, that, combined with the rocking motion of the carriage, no doubt, lulled her back to sleep. It was unusual, of course, but he'd heard of other people similarly affected. So much for encounters of an intimate nature in a coach. Still, they would have tonight.

He was beginning to be a bit concerned over her penchant for the brandy. Yet she didn't appear to feel any ill effects, and when they'd supped at the inn she'd had nothing save wine. Perhaps it was no more than obligation to a bizarre custom that kept her drinking the foul liquor.

Still, he did note the servants accompanying them did not take part in her toast. Tatiana quickly, and rather curiously, informed him the men were English, not Avalonian, and therefore had no such customs.

Matt envied them, as he was compelled to share her toast and had not yet developed a taste for her country's drink. He was fairly certain he never would, as the flavor of the liquor was not at all pleasant, with an odd aftertaste he could not place. He wisely thought not knowing the exact origin of Avalonian brandy may well make the stuff more palatable. He was wrong.

They had arrived at the Effington estate today a scant hour before sunset. Matt had been immediately approached by a groundskeeper, who'd said arrangements had been made for him near a lake. It was close enough to the house to be convenient, yet far enough away to allow him to work undisturbed. A large tent had been set up and Matt had spent the time since their arrival overseeing the unpacking of his equipment and instructing the Effington servants as to the arrangement of his things. Having men about eager to assist him was a luxury he could certainly get used to.

Luxury was apparent everywhere he looked, and for the first time in years he realized he rather missed the finer things in life. Still, there was no going back. If he wanted the life wealth made possible, he would have to earn it himself. Even if he reconciled with his family. Even if he married a princess.

That too was an idea that lingered in his mind more often than not these days. As recently as a week ago he would not have considered the possibility of a future with Her Highness. Now he couldn't help but wonder if fate had brought them together again because together was where they should be.

He followed the footman past any number of Effington ancestors, who stared forbiddingly down at him from paintings lining the walls as if they knew of his and Tatiana's deception.

She was right: He neither lied as well as she, nor was he as comfortable with deception as she appeared to be. It was one thing to fool Mrs. Wicklund and her husband about their marital status, but quite another to deceive the dowager duchess. He suspected their ruse would feel disconcertingly like lying to his own grandmother. She had never taken that well, nor, he wagered, would the dowager.

He'd hoped to convince Tatiana to reveal her true identity to the elderly woman. After all, a dowager duchess would not be overly intimidated by a princess.

But he'd not seen his wife since their arrival. Their assigned rooms in what was apparently a guest wing of the huge house were joined via a dressing room, but she had already gone downstairs when he'd returned.

He'd changed to evening clothes as quickly as possible. The idea of leaving Tatiana alone with a frail old woman, matriarch or not, sent a chill down his spine. Who knew what tale Her Highness might spin? Until he found out exactly what this princess was up to, fragile elderly women were probably not entirely safe.

At last, Matt was shown into a large parlor, empty save for Tatiana.

"Good evening, my lord." She stepped toward him with a welcoming smile, then paused. Her eyes widened. "I must say I have never seen you looking quite so..."

"Respectable?" He grinned.

"Exceedingly respectable." She considered him for a moment, her gaze assessing the deep blue coat, crisp white shirt and snug dark trousers. He resisted the urge to tug at his suddenly too-tight cravat, perfectly tied thanks to the assistance of a valet sent to help him dress. "And exceedingly handsome as well."

The compliment, coupled with the look in her eye, was at once pleasant and disconcerting. It had been a long time since he'd had the reason or the means to dress in attire this fine. "Whoever selected this clothing had excellent taste."

"I would not have had it otherwise." Even the satisfied note in her voice did not detract from the impact of her own appearance.

Her gown was a sea green in color, of some sort of fabric that shimmered when she moved, and cut low to reveal the creamy swell of her breasts. Far too revealing, although admittedly he would have appreciated it on another woman. But Tatiana, at least for the moment, was his wife.

Tonight, a voice whispered in the back of his head.

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "And you are looking exceptionally lovely this evening."

"You shall quite turn my head, my lord." Her green eyes gleamed with promise and there was a blush on her cheeks.

"Will I?" His gaze locked with hers. "To what end, I wonder?"

"To whatever end is desired." She tilted her head and cast him the look.

A wave of desire so strong it caught at his breath rushed through him.

Tonight.

"My dear Lord Matthew, how delightful to see you." A voice sounded from the doorway.

Matt and Tatiana stepped apart quickly as if they'd been caught doing something untoward. As one they turned toward the entry.

A diminutive woman stood in the doorway, the twinkle in her blue eyes belying the regal manner of her bearing. This was obviously the Dowager Duchess of Roxborough. He knew full well she had to be approaching eighty years of age, yet she looked considerably younger.

"Your Grace." He bowed, and out of the corner of his eye noted Tatiana staring. He nudged her as surreptitiously as possible. She shot him a startled glance, then thankfully understood and dropped a stiff curtsy.

"Your Grace," Tatiana echoed.

Matt bit back a grin. His princess was not used to deferring to anyone, but right now she was no princess. She was his wife.

"I am so pleased to see you again." The dowager held out her hand. "It has been far too long, Matthew."

He stepped to her at once, took her hand and raised it to his lips. "I'm afraid, ma'am, you have me at a disadvantage. I do not recall meeting before."

"Of course you wouldn't. You were a mere child. Your grandmother brought you and your brothers here for a visit so many years ago I cannot say for certain when it was, but I distinctly remember what an enjoyable time your family had with my own grandchildren." The old woman shook her head and sighed. "It is exceedingly odd, as one progresses through life, that it is often easier to remember what happened twenty years ago than the incidents of yesterday."

The dowager turned her attention to Tatiana. "And you must be Lady Matthew."

"Your Grace," Tatiana said and bobbed another curtsy.

"Come, now, my dear, we do not stand on ceremony here, particularly when it concerns members of the family. And whether Matthew realizes it or not, I quite consider him to be in the wide circle of family that encompasses close friends. His grandmother is one of my oldest and dearest friends and I have always thought of her with the affection one reserves for a sister." Her gaze slid back to Matt. "We correspond quite regularly. Did you know that?"

"No, I wasn't aware of that." The cravat around his neck seemed to tighten.

"Yes, indeed. Often enough to know that you"-she pinned him with a firm gaze-"do not. In point of fact, even with my spotty memory, I am certain she has written that she has not heard from you in many years. Am I correct, Matthew?"

"Possibly." The neckcloth was definitely getting tighter.

"Furthermore, she has never mentioned your marriage." The dowager studied him. "I would wager a great deal she is unaware of it. Would you take that wager, Matthew?"

"Probably not." He resisted the urge to tug at his cravat and wondered if the lady would let him strangle to death before her very eyes.

"Your Grace, Lord Matthew has been extremely busy in recent years." Tatiana stepped forward. "He was at sea, and now with his work with aerostats-"

"Ah, yes, the balloons." The dowager nodded in a knowing manner.

Tatiana slanted Matt a quick look. "You can certainly understand how time would simply slip through his fingers."

Matt cast Tatiana a grateful glance for her defense.

"He truly has the best of intentions," Tatiana continued. "But you do understand how men can be when it comes to matters like correspondence."

"That, my dear," the dowager said firmly, "is why they have wives."

Tatiana smiled weakly and Matt wondered if she too felt an invisible noose around her neck.

"There is never an excuse for thoughtlessness or discourtesy. However, I suppose when there has been a rift in the family, such things are to be understood and forgiven." She fixed Matt with a pointed look.

"Do I make myself clear, Matthew?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said quickly, even though he wasn't entirely certain what he had just agreed to or what the dowager expected of him.

"Excellent." Her Grace nodded. "I gather, from appearances when I walked in, you have not been wed for any length of time?"

"Indeed, it has not been very long," Matt said.

Tatiana nodded. "Not at all."

"Barely a week," Matt said.

"Little more than a year," Tatiana's voice sounded in unison with his.

He stifled a groan. How convincing would their deception be if they couldn't agree on how long they had been married?

"I see," the dowager said slowly.

"No, Your Grace, I am quite sure you do not." Tatiana stepped forward.

"My love." A warning sounded in his voice. "Tatiana."

She ignored him. "Shortly after we were wed, more than a year ago, family obligations forced me to return to Avalonia. Unfortunately my husband was unable to accompany me. It is only recently that I have returned to England and Matthew."

"And you have done so to write about my old friend, the Princess Sophia."

"Precisely." Tatiana flashed him a triumphant smile. "But more importantly to return to my husband."

"Indeed." The dowager studied her for a moment, then nodded as if satisfied. "We have a great deal to discuss. About your princess as well as your husband."

"I am quite looking forward to it." Tatiana beamed at the older woman, who returned her smile.

At once Matt had the oddest sensation of being excluded from something of great importance. Unease settled in the pit of his stomach. "Excellent. Please excuse me for a moment." Her Grace turned and stepped into the foyer, signaling to a servant.

Matt moved to Tatiana and bent to speak low into her ear. "This will not work."

"Nonsense," she said quietly. "It is progressing beautifully."

"I do not like lying to her."

"We are not lying. We are simply not revealing everything."

"It feels like lying."

"Well, it is not. We have not said a single word that is not essentially true." She sighed. "Besides, Matthew, the essence of a good lie is that it is based in truth. You would do well to remember that."

"I don't care how much basic truth there is in it, I refuse to lie to her."

"Then I alone shall lie to her," she said quickly. "Will that ease your too-busy conscience?"

"No," he snapped. "Whether I like it or not, I am part of this deception. However, I will make a bargain with you. You tell me the truth right now, and then I will decide whether or not to continue with your charade."

"The truth?"

"Yes."