When We Meet Again (7 page)

"I fear I am somewhat confused." Clarissa's glance darted between her cousin and her aunt. "What does any of that have to do with any of this?"

"Nothing at all really. I just thought I should explain my reticence to return to London. Permanence, whether in regards to residing in a particular city or a specific house or marrying a certain man, should be given a great deal of consideration and is not to be embarked upon lightly. Once we step through that door and claim this house, there can be no turning back." Aunt Millicent sighed. "That's really all I meant."

"Your point is certainly well-taken." A firm note sounded in Pamela's voice, even as she wondered precisely what the point really was. Not that it truly mattered at the moment. "Now if there's nothing else."

"Oh, I'm sure I could think of something," Aunt Millicent said under her breath, then started, as if unaware she had said anything aloud, and favored her niece with a bright smile. Pamela once again grasped the door handle, opened the door, drew a deep breath, and stepped inside. The overagitated butler was on the far side of the room addressing two seated gentlemen and paying far too much attention to the queries of the as-yet-unseen gentlemen to note Pamela's presence until she was nearly upon him.

She mustered an authoritative tone she hadn't known she possessed and noticed yet another surge of strength within her. "Mr. Graham, wasn't it?"

At once, the seated gentlemen jumped to their feet. She ignored them and pinned the butler with an unyielding gaze. "Mr. Graham, I demand you explain your behavior at once." The butler's eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed and opened once more. Something that might have been panic flashed through his eyes, replaced almost at once by resignation. He heaved a slight sigh.

"It appears we have something of a problem, Miss Effington."

"And what precisely would that problem be, Mr. Graham?" She met the butler's gaze directly.

"The house is leased for the season, Miss Effington," Graham said reluctantly. "As it was last year and
the year before that and nearly every year since Lady Gorham ceased coming to London."

"This is absurd." Pamela's brows pulled together. "My aunt's solicitor said nothing about this."

"I am not entirely sure Lady Gorham's solicitor was aware of the situation," Graham said under his breath.

"I don't understand." Pamela studied the man carefully. She had the distinct impression he was not being entirely honest. "Did Lady Gorham know what you were doing with her house?"

"Absolutely, miss." The butler's voice rang with indignation that she would suggest such a thing. A bit too much indignation perhaps. "Lady Gorham long ago permitted me to rent the residence for the season, as it proved impossible to maintain the house and staff without a steady income."

"Be that as it may." Pamela crossed her arms over her chest. "Lady Gorham is now deceased. Indeed, she has been deceased for more than half a year's time. This house is now the property of Lady Overton, Lady Smythe-Windom, and myself. And we fully intend to occupy it."

"Before you unpack your belongings, please allow me to introduce myself, Miss Effington. I am Count Roman Stefanovich." One of the gentlemen, tall and distinguished in appearance with a vaguely foreign lilt to his voice, stepped forward and bowed. "At the moment, and indeed for the better part of the next six months, this house has been quite properly, and I might add, quite legally, leased by my party." She stared in annoyance but held her ground. "Regardless, my lord, your lease was agreed to under the mistaken belief as to the ownership of this house. As my aunt was already dead at that point, it seems to me Mr. Graham did not have the authority to reach such an agreement."

"Nonetheless," the count said smoothly, "there are universal principles in law, even in England I believe, based on the concept of past practices." He raised a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. "You could certainly challenge our claim in the courts of your country; however, I would wager that by the time the question was settled it will be past the date of the expiration of the lease and would be a moot point."

"The only point I see is most pertinent." She narrowed her eyes. The man was altogether too clever and most annoying. "This is to be my home, and I fully intend to take up residence here at once. Not six months from now."

"Miss Effington, I am certain we can come to some accommodation that will best suit us all," the second gentleman interjected in a smooth and most diplomatic manner.

Pamela drew a calming breath, prayed for strength, and prepared to do battle with yet another stranger who was probably as clever as his friend. But this was her new home, her new life, and she did not intend to let it slip through her fingers—even for no more than six months—because of some absurd agreement she'd had no say in.

"My dear sir." Pamela turned to address the count's companion and froze. Surely, it couldn't be...Her breath caught and her chest tightened. It simply wasn't possible—

Behind her, Aunt Millicent gasped. "Your Highness!"

Your Highness? Alexei?

Prince Alexei Pruzinsky, heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Greater Avalonia, smiled apologetically at her aunt. "Forgive me, my lady, but I fear you have me at a disadvantage. Have we met?" Have we met? Sheer panic surged through Pamela. He had Aunt Millicent at a disadvantage? Hah!

"I couldn't possibly expect you to remember, Your Highness, you meet a great many people and have a great many responsibilities. I am Lady Smythe-Windom." Aunt Millicent sailed past Pamela, once again her old self, curtseyed, and extended her hand to the prince. "Besides, it was years ago, in Venice if memory serves."

Venice. Pamela groaned to herself. Of all the princes Aunt Millicent had ever met and all the places she had ever met them in, why had she met this particular prince in Venice? Oh certainly, Pamela had met him in Venice, but neither her aunt nor her cousin knew the gentleman Pamela had dallied with in that city was the very same gentleman who was now occupying her house in this city.

"Ah yes, Venice, that explains my lapse of memory." The prince took Aunt Millicent's hand and raised it to his lips.

Did he remember Pamela? Probably not. In truth, she didn't wish him to remember. Hadn't she taken great pains at the time to conceal her identity and ensure he would not recognize her if ever they met again? Indeed, he had never even seen her face other than by the faint light of the stars. And why would he remember her? She was simply a minor indiscretion in a lifetime of indiscretions for him.

"Oh?" Aunt Millicent raised a curious brow.

Of course, Pamela remembered Venice and a night of sheer magic in the bed of a prince as if it were yesterday.

A night illuminated by the very essence of starlight and accompanied by the faintest hint of violins in the far distance and water gently caressing the docks.

"Only Venice could erase the memory of meeting a woman as lovely as you." His lips brushed across the back of Aunt Millicent's hand, his gaze never left her aunt's. His was the polished manner of a man well used to flirtation. To seduction.

And Pamela remembered him as well. Everything about him. The dark intensity of his eyes, the tender skill of his touch, the very timbre of his voice when he had murmured endearments in the throes of passion. She had remembered him during the long, lonely hours of the night in the years that had passed since then and joined with him again in the freedom of her dreams. And she had remembered him each and every time she'd so much as considered sharing another man's bed, which really did rather muck things up.

"I daresay I have always found Venice to be rather amusing," Aunt Millicent said with a flirtatious smile of her own.

"Venice is much more than amusing." He released Aunt Millicent's hand and paused for a moment as if recalling the delights of Venice to mind.

The prince had given her an evening so truly wonderful, Pamela had never wished to spoil it with anyone else. It—or rather he—had quite dashed her plans to become a woman of the world.

Venice is unique on this earth. There is nowhere else like it. It is a place of dreams." An enigmatic smile lifted his lips. "La Serenissima."

La Serenissima? Pamela sucked in a sharp breath, tried to catch herself, and choked. Then coughed and choked again or perhaps coughed again. Regardless, the odd, strangled sounds emanated from her with a total disregard for her desire to remain as unnoticed as possible at this moment and instead ensured the attention of everyone in the room.

Aunt Millicent stared at her with concern. "Pamela, my dear, are you all right?"

"Quite," Pamela gasped, struggling to catch her breath. Of all the times she had dreamed of meeting the prince— Alexei—again this was not at all as she'd imagined. She had rather thought she'd be elegant and collected and not sputtering and gasping like a dying fish.

The butler, obviously far better trained than he had appeared thus far, hurried to her side with a glass of water, and she accepted it gratefully. She sipped the water and glanced discreetly at Alexei. He studied her with an expression that mixed concern and amusement and carried no hint of recognition whatsoever. Excellent. She had no desire for so much as a slight breath of scandal, and his recalling their night together might well be the first step toward a scandal of immense proportions. After all, it was one thing to lose one's innocence in the misguided belief that one was in love and quite another to seduce a prince as the launching of a life of experience.

"Pamela?" Clarissa stepped up beside her and peered into her face. "Are you certain you're all right?"

"I am quite recovered, thank you." Pamela flashed a polite smile at the gathering, and tried and failed to avoid Alexei's clear brown eyes. They held a touch of ordinary curiosity but nothing beyond that. She brushed aside the tiniest bit of what might well have been disappointment.

"Your Highness, do allow me to present my nieces." Aunt Millicent gestured at the younger women.

"Clarissa, Lady Overton—"

Clarissa murmured a polite greeting.

"And Miss Pamela Effington." Aunt Millicent nodded at Pamela. "I fear she's rather outspoken these days."

Alexei chuckled. "I am well aware of that."

"We've never met," Pamela said quickly.

"Indeed we have not. I would most certainly remember such a meeting." Alexei studied her. "I was simply referring to your confrontation with Graham and Count Stefanovich."

"Of course," she murmured, and prayed her cheeks did not appear nearly as hot as they felt.

"It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear ladies. I am Alexei Pruzinsky." He nodded a bow. "And I am at your service."

Count Stefanovich frowned. "Your Highness, your title, your position—"

"Is as moot a point as others that have come up today." Alexei met the other man's gaze. "We are embarking upon a new life, Roman. It is time to leave the trappings of the old one behind." The trappings of the old? Pamela stared, then realized exactly what he was speaking of. She had read that his country had been annexed by Russia, and he had relinquished all right to the throne. He was indeed embarking upon a new life. One he could never have imagined.

"You will always be a prince, Your Highness," the count said in a low voice. "It is the right of your birth. Who you are."

Alexei considered the count thoughtfully. Her heart twisted for him. He was a man made to rule. How could he leave his heritage behind him? Indeed, how could he go on at all?

"Your Highness, I understand your desire to put the past behind you," Aunt Millicent said quickly. "But I for one would be most uncomfortable referring to you as anything other than Your Highness, and I daresay others would feel a similar discomfort."

Alexei smiled wryly. "Do you really think so, my lady? I am a prince without a country after all."

"To my mind, it scarcely matters." Aunt Millicent nodded firmly. "You have always been a prince, and regardless of the political state of the world, you remain so. I think your behavior and that of others in regard to you should continue to reflect that position."

"I appreciate your sentiment, but the very world itself has changed and so, too, should I." Alexei shrugged. "Regardless, it is not a question to be decided now."

"What are you doing here?" Pamela said without thinking.

Alexei's brow rose. "You are indeed outspoken. Very well, Miss Effington, the answer is quite simple. I am living here."

"We have leased this house," Stefanovich said firmly.

Pamela huffed. "I am well aware of that. I meant what are you doing in England?"

"I have nowhere else to go." Alexei chuckled. "It is a depressing state to find oneself exiled to a country that has never held a great deal of appeal. I do have relations residing in England though, and they appear fairly content with their lot. I have no intention of living in London for the rest of my days, however; I propose to purchase an estate in the country. That plan has now been delayed so, for the moment, this house is my residence, the residence of my staff and of my cousin. Our home, as it were." He met Pamela's gaze, and a distinct challenge glimmered in his eyes. "And I have no intention of leaving." She stared at him, ignoring the unsettled feeling churning in the pit of her stomach, and raised her chin.