When We Meet Again (23 page)

His kiss was hard, decisive almost, as if he were claiming her as his own. And, dear Lord, she wanted him to claim her, mark her, own her. As she would own him in return. She wrapped her arms around his neck and reveled in the power of the need that tied them together. No, more than mere need. Recognition. Of the half that made her whole. Did he feel it as well? Or did he feel nothing but lust? And did she care? Here and now she was in his arms, and here and now, little else mattered. She pulled back and stared up at him, her voice annoyingly breathless. "Are you planning on seducing me?"

His voice was nearly as unsteady as hers. "What? Here? Now? In a library?" She nodded. "Here and now?"

"A library is rather cursory, is it not?" He blew a long breath. "And rather insulting as well, I should think."

"Insulting?"

"Why, it shows a definite lack of planning." He grinned slowly, in that wicked way he had that shivered through her blood. "No, I had not really thought about seduction in a library, but it has a certain appeal I suppose. Particularly"—he brushed his lips across hers—"right now." She couldn't help a slight sigh. "Then you weren't planning to seduce me?" He chuckled. "I do rather like the note of disappointment in your voice."

"I am not disappointed," she said indignantly, and tried to push out of his arms, but he held her fast.

"Oh, do not mistake my words, Pamela. I fully intend to seduce you." His gaze searched hers. "Or perhaps I shall allow you to seduce me."

She gasped. "Why, I would never..."

"Never?" His brow rose.

"Well, perhaps once." She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips back to hers. She kissed him until she felt her knees might well buckle beneath her, then reluctantly drew away. "Or twice."

"Only twice?"

She stepped away. "You are very good at this. Your reputation is well-founded."

"Surely you did not doubt it?"

"Not for a moment." She caught his gaze, an unyielding note in her voice. "I should warn you, Alexei, I am entirely serious about my desire for marriage. I will not allow emotions or desire or lust to sweep aside good judgment."

"I expect no less of you." He paused, as if choosing his words. "I should warn you as well, Pamela, I have no intention of marrying. Ever."

A heavy weight settled in the pit of her stomach. She ignored it and kept the tone of her voice matter-of-fact. "As long as we understand one another."

She nodded. "Then I shall see you at dinner?"

"I would not miss it." His voice was as cool as his eyes, and she had no idea what he was thinking.

"Until this evening then." She forced a pleasant smile and headed toward the door. Her own thoughts were muddled and horribly confused. She wanted him now and wanted as well to be with him for the rest of his days. And if she could not do so as his wife, would she be willing to settle for less?

She had no idea. She only knew she could not live without him.

"Pamela."

"Yes?" she said without turning around.

"You do realize my intentions have not changed? I want you in my bed, and I will have you." She hesitated for an endless moment, her fingers on the door handle. At last she drew a long, shuddering breath and cast him a brilliant smile over her shoulder.

"I shall look forward to it."

The door snapped closed behind her, and he stared at it unseeing.

What in God's name was he thinking? Or was he thinking at all?

He was right. He knew it now as surely as he knew his own name. He should have realized it from their first kiss, but he never would have imagined the irate Miss Effington would be the inestimable Serenissima. His Serenissima. The woman of his dreams.

He snatched up his glass, strode to the brandy decanter, and refilled the glass, ignoring the way the liquor sloshed over the side. He tossed it back with an unsteady hand and immediately filled the glass again.

And he never would have known at all if not for this absurd farce of an engagement. Indeed, if not for being thrown in one another's company, he never would have suspected the truth. Never would have found her again.

But to what end?

Alexei pulled the earbob, her earbob, from his waistcoat pocket and stared at it. The Venetian glass caught the late-afternoon sunlight and twinkled in his hand as if it had a life of its own. As if it was magic. He never imagined he'd find her again. He had toyed through the years with the idea of searching for her, but he had no idea where to start. Shortly after his sojourn in Venice his life had become far and away too embroiled in matters of state and politics and the survival of his country to pay any attention to matters of the heart. Besides, he had nothing save an earbob and the memory of a face seen only by starlight, and even that grew vague with the passage of time and far too many dreams, until he was not certain what was memory and what was illusion.

But he remembered the feel of her skin beneath his hands. And the way her body meshed perfectly with his. And her kiss.

It struck him now that even before he had realized the truth, possibly from the very moment Pamela had ordered him out of the house, there was something about her that had called to something in him. Something indefinable but no less compelling. And struck him as well that whatever he felt for her, and he feared it was indeed love, had blossomed well before he so much as suspected Pamela and Serenissima could be one and the same.

Still, it made perfect sense. Regardless of name or circumstance, she was half of his soul. He knew it four years ago, and he knew it now. She was his fate, his destiny. His love. To what end indeed?

He had meant everything that he had said to Roman this morning. He could not allow the woman that he loved to share his fate. It was bad enough that he had allowed Roman and Dimitri to share it. He had no country, no future and, for the moment at least, no money. His fate was as uncertain as the winds. He had nothing to offer her except his heart, and that was simply not enough. No. The best thing he could do for Pamela was proceed with their farce exactly as it had first been planned. He would play the perfect royal fiancé and ensure her acceptance into London society. He would make certain every man who saw her saw her through his eyes until she found a man she could marry. Then he would allow her to break it off with him and make sure the rest of the world saw her actions as wise and justified.

And there would be no more talk, or thought, of seduction.

She would never understand any of it, of course. He suspected, no he was certain, she shared his feelings. He could see it in her eyes. It was rather ironic to note that she probably did not care about his position or future or fortune. But he did. It was the height of arrogance no doubt. And it would be his downfall.

All in all, it was rather a pity. To find one another after all these years only to know they could never be together.

Star-crossed.

Still, he did agree with her. The ending of Romeo and Juliet was not at all to his liking.

Ten

When I see him again I shall apologize profusely and beg his forgiveness. Or, better yet, I couldsimply flee the country. Yes, I like that.

Millicent, Lady Smythe-Windom

"Your Highness?"

Effington House, the London home of the Duke of Roxborough, was certainly not a palace, but it was most impressive nonetheless, as were the festivities. The grand ballroom was overflowing with guests, the din of the crowd drowning the efforts of the musicians. Still, Alexei scarcely noticed.

His gaze skimmed the gathering, searching for one guest in particular. Pamela and Lady Overton had spent the day with her family in preparation for the evening, and he had not laid eyes on her since dinner last night. She had been remarkably quiet at dinner, but then, so had he.

"Your Highness?"

Even Lady Smythe-Windom had abandoned him, claiming a need to be present before the start of the ball. He and Roman had arrived a scant half an hour ago. If there was a saving grace to tonight, it was that he needn't worry about anything Valentina might say or do. Given her past encounters with the Effington family, they had agreed that the princess, and therefore Dimitri as well, would not attend the ball. It was an indication of Valentina's desire for reformation that, while she was not at all happy, she grudgingly agreed her absence was for the best.

Alexei rather envied her at the moment. Here in Pamela's uncle's house he was remarkably ill at ease. In truth he could not remember ever having been so ill at ease before. It was not the deception of their false engagement that bothered him. After all, he had had no choice in the matter, and ultimately all this was in Pamela's best interest.

No, it was his own turbulent emotions that set his nerves on edge. How could he possibly spend an entire evening, a week, a month as an attentive fiancé, then keep his distance from her? It was the height of irony to realize the pretense of a man in love had become reality. And acting as if he did not care about her was now the deceit.

"Your Highness!"

"Yes," he snapped, then drew a deep breath. "My apologies, Roman. You were saying?"

"I was wondering if something was amiss. You have not been your usual self since our arrival. No." Roman studied him thoughtfully. "You have been pensive and remote since yesterday." Alexei smiled in a grim manner. "My engagement is about to be publicly announced. My feigned engagement. Surely under such circumstances any preoccupation on my part is understandable."

"Understandable but..." Roman shook his head. He stopped a passing waiter long enough for them both to exchange empty champagne glasses for fresh ones. "That is not what is on your mind."

"Perhaps I simply dislike being on display." Alexei did indeed feel as if all eyes in the room had been on him from the moment he was announced. As if he were the topic of any number of whispered conversations, the target of pity.

"You have always been on display, as it were, Your Highness." Roman paused. "However, I am well aware that this is your first public appearance since..."

"You can say it aloud. My first public appearance since Avalonia ceased to exist. Since the loss of my father and my country and my home." Since my failure to preserve my nation's independence and myfather's legacy.

Roman sipped his champagne in a casual manner. "My king and my country and my home as well."

Alexei stared at his friend. "Of course. My apologies. It is easy to forget the loss is not mine alone." He took a bracing swallow of his champagne. Silly, frivolous stuff, but he was rather fond of it. "Do not think I am feeling sorry for myself or wallowing in self-pity."

"I would never think such a thing," Roman said mildly. "I think this has less to do with the loss of a country than the loss of a woman. And in that respect, perhaps a bit of sympathy for yourself, even a moment of wallowing, is to be permitted."

"Do not be absurd. I have not lost Miss Effington. She was never mine to lose."

"Lady Overton and I noted a great deal of tension between the two of you last night."

"Of course there was tension," Alexei said, his tone a shade sharper than he wished. "We are about to embark upon an enormous deception." He glanced around the crowded room. "Where is the blasted woman anyway? How long can it take to repair a dress?"

They had been greeted upon their arrival by Pamela's parents, Lord and Lady Edward, the younger Miss Effington, and Lady Smythe-Windom. Lord Edward had been cordial but not overly friendly, as if he were assessing Alexei's suitability as a husband, in direct contrast to Amanda, who appeared quite overcome with glee at Alexei's appearance. Lady Edward had told them Pamela and Lady Overton had retired to repair some sort of problem with Pamela's dress, and they would return shortly. Immediately thereafter Alexei and Roman had been besieged by one introduction after another. One curious conversation following the next with any number of people whose names he could not possibly remember. That, too, was an indication of his state of mind. He had always had an uncanny ability to recall names.

"Your Highness." Roman nudged him and nodded toward a doorway at the far end of the room. "I believe the repair has been completed."

Alexei glanced in the direction Roman indicated. His breath caught. Pamela was a vision wrought from magic and fire and every dream he'd ever had. She stood chatting with Lady Overton and another woman, but he saw no one save her. Even the crowd seemed to fade away like ships enveloped by fog.

Pamela wore a gown of a shimmering copper color, and even from this distance he could see it enhanced the fair tones of her skin and the golden hue of her hair and the sable of her eyes. She looked every inch a goddess. Every inch a queen. A dream—his dream—at last come to life. Serenissima.

Her gaze caught his, and a radiant smile lit her face. His heart twisted, and he steeled himself against the desire to rush to her side, take her in his arms, and carry her off. And never let her go. This was going to be considerably more difficult than he had imagined.

"She is remarkable." A note of awe sounded in Roman's voice.

"Indeed she is," Alexei said softly.

Roman paused. "With your permission, Your Highness, I intend to marry her."

"You intend to..." Alexei stared then chuckled. "You are speaking of Lady Overton."