Her Highness, My Wife by Victoria Alexander Page B

especially since he would not allow her to finish her explanation. Besides, she could listen perfectly well without looking at him.
    “When I discovered your true identity, I realized how simple it would for the member of a royal family to rid herself of an impulsive, and obviously unwanted, marriage to someone of my position. The civil nature of our union, unsanctioned by any church, in a country in which neither of us were citizens, plus our use of a modest bribe to circumvent the usual requirements, all meant the legality of the marriage was no doubt questionable in the first place.”
    “Really? I had never considered that.”
    She could hear the shrug in his voice behind her. “It’s of little consequence now. It is over and done with.” Abruptly, he stepped directly in front of her chair and stared down at her.
    “The only thing that matters now is our newly formed union.” Matthew braced his hands on the arms of the chair, effectively trapping her, and bent close. “My dear Lady Matthew .”
    She gazed up at him, resisting both the urge to shrink back and the desire to strain forward. He was extraordinarily close. So close she could stare into the endless depths of his blue eyes. Eyes she had once lost her soul in and never found again.
    “Then you will do it?”
    He nodded slowly. “Under certain conditions.”
    “Conditions? What conditions? I am willing to pay you handsomely. Given that, I should think any conditions would be mine.”
    “Possibly, but I am not overly concerned with your money.”
    “That is absurd. Why on earth not?” Not that she particularly cared right now. It was difficult to concentrate on anything beyond the enticing rise and fall of his chest with every breath and the proximity of his body to hers.
    “It doesn’t interest me.”
    “Nonsense. You need…” Her voice faltered at the look in his eye. Speculation and… more. Her heart thudded in her chest. The moment the words formed on her lips, she knew the question was a mistake. Or an invitation. And did not care. “What does interest you?”
    His gaze strayed from her eyes to her mouth and back. Without thinking, she shifted slightly until her lips were scarcely more than a whisper from his.
    “Any number of things, my dear,” he said softly, his breath mingling with hers. “But they shall have to wait.” Abruptly, he drew back and straightened to loom over her. “At this point, what interests me most is whether or not you will accept my conditions.”
    “I see.” She cleared her throat, ignoring the smug look on his face. The blasted man knew full well she wanted him to kiss her, and probably realized she wanted to kiss him back. “What are your conditions, then?”
    “First of all, if you are to pose as my wife…” He stepped aside and again roamed restlessly around the parlor, examining an objet d’art here, a painting there, his attitude as casual as his words. “… you shall have to play the role in a realistic manner. If we are to fool the rest of the world, we shall have to be convincing.”
    “It would be ridiculous to do otherwise.” She watched him cautiously and folded her hands in her lap.
    “How, pray tell, do you propose we do that?”
    “To begin with, this”—he gestured at the opulent room—“will not do at all.”
    “Why not?” She furrowed her brow. “This is a lovely house, and quite well situated.”
    “However, it is not the house Matthew Weston—forgive me, Lord Matthew—would occupy. Not with the current state of his finances.” He picked up an apple from a bowl on a nearby table and tossed it idly in one hand. “I live primarily on a small naval pension, most of which goes for the supplies necessary for my work, and my ever-dwindling savings.”
    “Yes?” She heard his words, but her gaze fixed on the mesmerizing motion of the apple. His hands, deft and sure, releasing and catching the scarlet fruit.
    “Did I tell you I am trying to refine a heating system of my own