Tanu Jain - His Runaway Royal Bride

The empathy was missing because as an Indian I found it difficult to identify deeply with a Greek hero and a British heroine. I decided to write about Indian characters, and by the time I submitted my manuscript to my delight I found that Mills & Boon® had begun publishing Indian writers. Harlequin Presents® has always been my favourite series, because the one truth that it holds up is that wealth, riches, lineage and beauty alone cannot ensure happiness. A human being’s quest for happiness is eternal. Everyone wants to be happy and everyone has different ideas of what can make them happy. I write romances because I feel that love leads us to abiding joy and happiness. Love for one’s soul-mate, one’s children, parents, friends, and all those who inhabit one’s immediate world. Love which is deep and at the same time detached, because it has zero expectations. The missing piece in life’s puzzle is love, which gives a spiritual dimension to human life. I hope, dear reader, you will enjoy reading the story of Meethi and Veer as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would love your feedback at tanurja@yahoo.com Sincerely Tanu Jain

About the Author ‘And then he kissed her!’ is the line that used to run like a litany through TANU JAIN ’s mind whenever she sat down to laze and relax. For years handsome hunks haunted her imagination and stunning strong-willed heroines clamoured to come out. She knew it was the effect of reading countless Mills & Boon® romances (she started in Class 8). She tried scratching the itch and came up with the story of a strong Greek male and a suffering beauty. It was sure to be accepted, she thought naively. It was a disaster! The rejection slip opened her eyes to a few pertinent facts and her next work was written straight from the heart, with familiar local settings. Add an editor who believed in her voice and guided her—and voilà! Strength, kindness, honesty, optimism and love were drilled into her as a child by her parents, and the first Mills & Boon® that she read made her realise that these were exactly what romance novels were about! So writing a romance novel was both emotionally and morally satisfying! Tanu’s interests are wide-ranging. (Too wide, she feels at times!) She has done her doctorate in English Literature and occasionally teaches English language and literature. She currently lives in Gwalior, India, with her businessman husband who, for her, epitomises the qualities of a typical Mills & Boon® hero. Her daughter and son are proud of her, but are embarrassed when she uses their names for characters in her books! Recent titles by the same author: HIS CAPTIVE INDIAN PRINCESS

Title Page His Runaway Royal Bride Tanu Jain www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication To the catty girls who add so much colour, Parul, Jaya, Priya, Rashmi, Ekta, Hemangini and Bhavana. To the centre of my universe, GJ. And, last and importantly, to an avid romance-reader and daughter of my heart, Vasundhara.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Epilogue

Copyright

THE RUMBLE OF a helicopter sounded in the distance. Meethi looked up, her hand stilling and her heart thudding violently. It was an alien sound. Helicopters were never heard here.

Her neck began prickling dangerously, and a hunted look entered her eyes.

Had he finally traced her? It had been a long time now—three years, to be exact—and she had begun to hope that he had finally accepted the facts that she had been at pains to scatter around.

But she trusted her instincts. They had stood her in good stead.

The paintbrush she had been holding fell from her nerveless fingers, and she sprinted inside her modest house. She couldn’t afford to wait and see who was in the helicopter. She wouldn’t risk staying. Not when it could be her husband or his men.

Hurriedly collecting the bag she always kept ready and dragging on her sports shoes, she locked the house and vanished into the adjoining forest.

HH Maharaj Vidyamaan Veer Singh of Samogpur jumped out of the helicopter he had been flying with a grim face. His back ramrod-stiff, he flexed his palms and stretched his powerful shoulders to loosen his tensely knotted muscles.

The bodyguards accompanying him exchanged nervous looks. They had known him long enough to sense that he was furious.

Veer tried to control the murky anger swirling inside him.

He was at breaking point. He wanted to give vent to the tidal waves of fury that were threatening to get out of hand. Anger rolled through him again as he thought of how his errant wife had deceived and betrayed him.

She had made a fool of him. A royal fool! he thought with dark bitterness.

She had feigned her own death and disappeared. He dragged his thoughts back to focus on the matter at hand.

He followed his bodyguards, who had gone forward to check out the house. One of them went inside while the other went to the small garden that stood in front of the house.

‘The house is locked, Hukum!’ one said. The other came with the news that there was a canvas with wet paint in the garden.

Canvas and paint. It had to be her. Wet paint meant that she had left in a hurry. But where had she gone? There were no vehicle marks and the nearest house in this small little village was at least three kilometres away.

He turned and looked at the forest. He nodded to his bodyguards, who spread out and began trawling the thick undergrowth silently and quickly.

Suddenly, Veer sensed a movement in the forest farther ahead. Adrenalin pumping, he increased his speed and, soon enough, espied a slight figure in shirt and jeans running silently.

His long legs ate up the distance and, reaching her, he grasped her from behind. She tried to evade his grip but he held her fast.

The sudden impact made them lose their balance and they both fell down, rolling a short distance.

Gritting his teeth as the dry undergrowth scratched his bare arms and small sharp pebbles dug into him, Veer tried to cushion her with his body, protecting her as much as he could, and they came to a stop when they crashed into a huge boulder. Jarred by the collision, they lay stunned for a moment.

Veer felt her heart fluttering like a tiny bird’s against his chest. The feel of her in his arms after so long sent tremors through his body. Filled with self-contempt at the betraying weakness, he got to his feet, holding her by her arm.

What would she do now? There was no escape. He had discovered her deception. Meethi bent her head, trying to stop her fear from showing. Her head seemed to be spinning and she could barely hold herself upright.

‘So, my dead wife is alive and kicking!’ Veer said with barely disguised fury.

Meethi felt a roaring in her ears and sweat trickling over her entire body.

‘You cold, heartless liar! You let us believe in your death and left us mourning and grieving for you whilst you ran away. You made fools out of us!’ he bit out ferociously.

After all that he had done for her, she had turned on him and betrayed him. She had made a mockery of their marriage vows and played with his emotions in the worst possible way.

Veer sensed his wife’s fear and felt a moment’s hesitation. She had hurt him, but he would never do the same to her. He knew he must hold back the fury rolling through him and control himself.

But when Meethi bent her head, refusing to even meet his gaze it infuriated him.

His burning eyes bore into her and he watched his beautiful young wife turn white before fainting in his arms.

Veer looked at her slumped body in shock and panic as he suddenly felt something wetting his fingers. Removing his hand from her hair, he saw that his fingers were red with blood. She had hurt herself, but how?

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