When We Meet Again (10 page)

"You should inform your family of your return, " Lady Overton said to her cousin.

"My family." Miss Effington winced. "I had completely forgotten about my family. They shall certainly wish to meet"—she cast Alexei a weak smile—"my fiancé."

"He'll make a grand impression, which, after all, is precisely why we're pressing him into service," Lady Smythe-Windom tossed back over her shoulder. "It's been years since I've been here, you know. I see Elizabeth did nothing to keep the place up. We shall certainly..." The younger ladies trailed after their aunt.

Alexei stared at the closed door and absently accepted a glass of brandy from Roman. "What just happened here?"

"What happened, Your Highness, is that we are apparently at the mercy of those who are erroneously called the weaker sex. Lady Smythe-Windom, Miss Effington, and, I suspect, even the quieter Lady Overton are a force to be reckoned with."

Alexei snorted. "And do not forget Valentina. Even if her reformation is genuine, she will still be a force as well."

"Your Highness, I could never forget Valentina."

Alexei took a long sip of the liquor and let the warmth of the alcohol flow through him. "Why is it that Englishwomen place such importance on the sheer number of women a man has been with? The last time I was with an Englishwoman she said precisely the same thing about my having bedded half the women in Europe."

Roman chuckled. "It is a charge not entirely without merit, Your Highness." He paused for a moment. "It was the owner of the earbob, was it not? The last English-woman to make such a charge? The lady from Venice?"

Alexei nodded.

"And that was?"

Alexei blew a long breath. "Four years ago."

"Yes, of course," Roman said quietly.

It was not at all odd that Roman was not acutely aware that the interlude in question had occurred precisely four years ago this March past. He had not held his position then. It was before the days of Valentina's effort to seize power and her corruption of Alexei's former chief advisor. Before the day his sister had left Avalonia to marry an English lord, and Dimitri was still in command of her safety. Before Alexei's world had changed irrevocably.

Alexei had told both friends the story on more than one occasion, usually late in the night after copious amounts of liquor and tales of lovely ladies from the other men. Tales of another time. In those days Alexei had indeed lived a life that could well be considered excessive, at least to the English, although he had never particularly considered it such himself; nor had he ever been chastised for it. Oh, he had never shirked his responsibilities or his obligations. He had simply lived as princes not yet ascended to a throne tended to live: lavishly, with an eye toward the next entertainment and the next enthusiastic, accommodating lady.

He still was not sure why that particular night and that particular lady had stayed in his mind. Lingered like a melody he could not get out of his head always playing faintly in the distance. She had lost an earbob in his bed. A pretty thing, made of Venetian glass. Not at all valuable but charming and unique. He had kept it in his waistcoat pocket ever since. An odd sort of talisman that as a child he would have thought of as magic. It was not, of course, but he held on to it nonetheless. Just as he had his memories. In truth, it had bothered him somewhat, this grip she held on him. Certainly she was lovely from what he could tell although he had not seen her face save by the light of the stars. But he had had any number of beautiful women, and he had certainly had lovelier. Nor was she particularly skilled at lovemaking but rather quite, quite sweet and most enthusiastic and well, loving, even though that was not precisely the right word. How could it be for a single night of passion between strangers?

He had given that night a great deal of thought through the tumultuous years that had followed in those rare, odd hours when nothing else demanded his attention. The moments after he had dropped into his bed alone at night, exhausted, or the moments before he rose in the morning. Appropriate enough, he supposed, as he had been with her again and again in his dreams. He had tried to tell himself it was neither the lady nor the evening but rather the unique combination of factors: Venice and the mystery of not knowing who she was and perhaps, yes, even magic.

For good or ill she had touched something in him. His soul perhaps. One would have thought he was too cynical, at least when it came to women, to be touched. He had wondered if it was because she, of all the women he had experienced, seemed to want nothing from him. Marriage had been out of the question. He had been destined then to make a marriage of political advantage. Nor did she want the prestige of becoming his mistress or even the panache of being seen in his company. And if it was his child she had sought, to what end? She had never again contacted him, so he had assumed there was no child of their union. He suspected he was very much like the men in his family who had never produced large numbers of offspring. His parents had had only three children. Even so, Alexei had always been particularly careful in that respect and did not, to his knowledge, have unknown children scattered across Europe. At any rate, he no longer had a crown and a country to pass to a child, little to offer at all save his name.

He was a prince without a country haunted by the memory of an unknown woman about to embark upon a fraudulent engagement with a lady who was obviously not at all as she appeared. It would be most amusing if it were all happening to someone else. As it was, it was his life. His new life. His new, absurd, ridiculous farce of a life.

But it did have the oh-so-delectable and completely unique Miss Effington as a rather large part of it, at least for the moment. Life might be rather amusing after all.

"Did you notice her perfume, Roman?"

Roman frowned in confusion. "Whose perfume?"

"Miss Effington's. " Alexei pulled his brows together and tried to recall where he had smelled that scent before. "It is most intoxicating and vaguely familiar."

"I had not noticed, Your Highness. " Roman paused for a moment. "But then I was not nearly as close to the lady as you were."

Alexei ignored the suggestion of impropriety in Roman's comment and swirled the brandy in his glass.

"She is rather lovely though, isn't she?"

Roman chuckled. "Which one?"

"All of them really, but I was referring to Miss Effington."

"She is attractive enough."

Alexei glanced at Roman and raised a brow.

"I simply thought the quiet one more classically lovely. " Roman shrugged. "Personal preference, no doubt. I have always been rather fond of dark-haired beauties with green eyes." Alexei grinned. "Her eyes were green?"

"Indeed, they were. A charming emerald color. Most exquisite. But even they are not her most appealing feature."

"Oh?"

"He best feature was that she was remarkably quiet and well-mannered. " Roman sipped his drink.

"Unlike her cousin."

Alexei laughed. "I daresay Miss Effington is unique among women. She has a great deal of spirit and knows on his hands.

"And I daresay I shall enjoy this one. Besides, a ruined Miss Effington is an entirely different matter than a proper Miss Effington. " Alexei took a sip of his brandy and grinned. "And a great deal more interesting. "

Five

If ever I see the overly sanctimonious and oh-so-righteous Captain Petrov again, I shall do all inmy power not to shoot him on the spot It shall not be easy.

Her Royal Highness. Princess Valentina Pruzinsky

The man had ruined her life as surely and thoroughly as George had. If she wasn't on her guard every moment, he would probably do it again—or rather she would do it. but it would be entirely his fault. Pamela paced across the large bedchamber in the suite of rooms she had chosen as much for its location in the farthest corner of the house as for anything else.

Prince Alexei Pruzinsky of the Kingdom of Greater Avalonia was the very last person she'd ever thought she'd see again and, for the most part, the very last person she ever wished to see again. Oh, certainly she had always known there was the possibility of coming face-to-face with him on a ballroom floor in Paris or at a garden party' in Greece or in a hunting lodge in the Alps, but she was prepared for that. Indeed, she had a dozen or more charming, witty phrases rehearsed for their introduction because, of course, he wouldn't recognize her. Even so, she had at least twice that many prepared in case he did. What she was not at all ready for was his presence in her very own house. If there was a saving grace at all, it was that the house was more than sufficient in size for the prince's party as well as the new owners and could likely accommodate a small army as well. Indeed, it rivaled her uncle's home—Effington House—in size. Pity it did not do so in grandeur. The house was not quite shabby, but it was sorely in need of renovation. Yearly rental might well have kept the building standing upright and the roof in adequate repair, but had obviously paid for little else. Well, it was her house now, at least a third of it, and improvements would certainly be made. Not that that was of any concern at the moment.

No, right now she had to decide what she would do about His Highness. Although do was not entirely accurate. There was nothing she could do about him.

Pamela paused by the window, rested her hands on the sill and gazed unseeing at the back gardens, relatively small but at least from this vantage point, apparently better kept than the house itself. There were, as she saw it, several specific problems. First of all, if Alexei recognized her and acknowledged their past, she would be the subject of scandal all over again. However, after considering the matter rationally, she conceded that particular concern might not be at all valid. Alexei might well have been a rake in the past, might well still be for all she knew, but the man she'd met this afternoon also struck her as a man of honor.

Even if he should remember their brief interlude, and realize she was the lady behind the mask, she suspected he would not allow that knowledge to become public. She could be wrong about his character, but apparently she would have ample opportunity to find out, as they would be spending a great deal of time in one another's company.

And that was the second problem. The more she was with Alexei, the greater the chances of a slip of the tongue on her part. How on earth could she fully guard against that? After all, she had dreamed of the blasted man. Relived every moment spent together. If she wasn't careful, she might well call him "Alexei" instead of "Your Highness. " At the very least, he would think her forward and presumptuous. The last thing she wanted was his recognition or recollection of her. She was not ashamed of their night together, even if she was a tiny bit embarrassed by her patently seductive actions. It was simply that it was in the past, and she preferred it stay firmly in the past. Long ago and best forgotten. Even worse than all else, she suspected she had fallen more than a little in love with him on that single night so many years ago. Oh, certainly the mere idea was the height of absurdity. No one fell in love after one night. One needed to get to know another person, become well acquainted with character and temperament, before one could truly declare oneself in love. Granted, she had thought she had known George rather well and had been horribly mistaken as to both his character and her own feelings. The love she had fervently declared for him hadn't lasted quite as long as the sheer humiliation of his betrayal. Whatever it was she felt for Alexei had lingered for four long years. It might well not be love at all but a sort of unrepentant lust wrought by a man overly skilled in the art of love-making. Regardless of its definition, it obviously still held her in its vile grip. She'd been hard-pressed not to fling herself into his arms this very afternoon when he had been blatantly flirtatious and standing entirely too close. There was something about the resonance of his voice and the intensity in his eyes and the memory of his touch that even now weakened her knees and her resolve.

Still... an odd thought struck her, and she straightened. Wasn't it entirely possible that it was the memory of the man, the dream, that enthralled her? It had been four years, after all. and it was to be expected that time and distance had changed what was no more than an enjoyable evening into something far more spectacular that it had in fact been. If there was love involved at all, it might well be for a man who did not really exist. Perhaps she needed to determine her true feelings for this all-too-real prince before she did anything whatsoever. Perhaps the way to do that was to get to know this prince—this man—better. She had shared his bed, but in truth she did not know him at all.

She glanced at the aged French clock on the ladies' desk by the window. There were still a few hours remaining until dinner. If she hurried, she could dress and be downstairs well before Aunt Millicent and Clarissa. If she were lucky, Alexei would be downstairs already. If she were smart, she'd make certain of it.

She sat down at the desk and penned a quick note. She would have a footman deliver it to Alexei at once. Oddly enough, the simple act of doing something rather than waiting for something to happen eased her anxiety. Certainly she didn't expect this meeting to resolve her questions about her own feelings. Nor did she expect anything whatsoever on Alexei's part. However, it was a first step. Better yet, it was on her terms. Why, her response to him today could well be attributed to nothing more than shock at seeing him again. This evening she would be prepared. She would be charming and clever and perhaps even use some of those phrases she had practiced just for such an occasion.