Her Highness, My Wife by Victoria Alexander Page A

Avalonian crisis. A lesser man might have been taken in by it. By the seductive lure of those green eyes. But Matthew Weston, Lord Matthew, was more than up to the challenge of a mere look, no matter how potent or inviting or intriguing or—
    “Do you not like it, my lord?”
    “Like it?” He hadn’t thought of it in terms of like or dislike. It did make him feel as if there never was, nor would there ever be, anyone in the world as significant to her as him, which in and of itself was suspicious. “I’m not entirely sure I trust it.”
    “Goodness.” Tatiana huffed in annoyance. “Now you sound like Dimitri.”
    “I’ve no doubt you’ve given the good captain more than enough reason for distrust through the years,”
    Matt said coolly.
    “Nonsense. In point of fact, I had never even left my country until recent years. And the political climate at home was relatively calm until my father’s illness.”
    He stared at her in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
    “Concerns of security, of course. The possibility of poisoning in the food. Which I do think is absurd. No one knows who I am, nor, I suspect, would they especially care.” She drew her brows together. “I asked you if you liked the food and you claimed you did not trust it. What were you talking about?”
    “I was talking about…” The look in your eye and the way it makes me forget the past and ignorethe future . He cleared his throat and adopted a lofty manner. “I think the food is excellent.” The plates laid out between them were laden with roasted beef, vegetables in cream and large chunks of crusty bread, accompanied by two bottles of a rough, but tasty, red wine.
    “You have not eaten much of it.”
    “You, on the other hand, have eaten a remarkable amount.”
    “Yes, I know.” She sucked her middle finger and uttered a contented sigh. “It was quite, quite wonderful. I was famished.”
    “No doubt.” He was hard-pressed to pull his gaze away from that lovely, lucky finger. “You’ve scarcely put anything in your stomach today unless one counts brandy.”
    “Brandy does not count if it is part of a tradition. Besides, I do not especially like brandy. It is such a serious drink, dreadfully heavy and intense. However, one must make sacrifices for the sake of tradition, do you not think so?”
    “It depends, I should say, on the tradition.”
    If she was an enigma to him when they’d first met, she was a puzzle of an even more difficult nature now. Knowing now who and what she was did not serve to answer his questions but only deepened the mystery around her.
    “Tradition is extremely important.” She trailed her finger idly around the rim of her wine glass. In truth caressed it. His stomach tightened and he downed his wine in one swallow. “In some ways, it is the impetus that drives me.”
    “Oh?” He quickly refilled his glass.
    She nodded thoughtfully. “It is important for a country, for a people, to have something to believe in. That is the true purpose of tradition, custom, even symbols. It is comforting to know, no matter how the world changes, some things remain the same and always will. A baby will be christened in the same manner, the same church and probably the same gown as his father and his father before him.”
    “I never suspected brandy played such a crucial role in the world as we know it.” A teasing note sounded in his voice.
    “Brandy is most important when it is one of the national products of your country.” Her tone was serious, but the candlelight reflected the gleam of laughter in her eyes. “Surely you have sampled Avalonian brandy?”
    “Avalonian brandy?” He chuckled. “I admit I have never so much as heard of it and I’ve always considered myself fairly well versed in the alcoholic offerings of the continent.”
    “I am not surprised. It is rather hard to find the farther one gets from Avalonia. The very best is Royal Amber, and it is extremely rare. The Royal Amber brandy