It was definitely a mystery. Intriguing and most delightful. And solving it would be great fun, especially since it would mean, indeed, it would require him to kiss her again. Over and over and over again. Why, with any luck at all, it would be a most difficult mystery to solve.
"Did her aunt not say you had met in Venice?"
Alexei nodded. "Unfortunately, I do not remember the meeting. No doubt it was at one gala or another, a crush of guests, an endless blur of faces and names."
"You forgot the aunt; is it not possible that you forgot the niece as well?"
"No, " Alexei said firmly. "I would not forget her."
"Your Highness. " Roman paused thoughtfully. "You commented on her charging you with having bedded half the women in Europe. Is that not the exact phrase another Englishwoman, another Englishwoman in Venice, once used with you? Is it possible—"
"Do not be absurd. Miss Effington is not at all the type of woman to engage in an evening predicated on nothing but desire and mystery. I scarcely know her, but I am already confident of that." Although there was her unexpected comment about throwing herself in his arms or his bed... Regardless, the very idea of Miss Effington being the one woman who had joined him in his bed and remained in his soul was utter nonsense.
Still... absently he touched the glass earbob in his waistcoat pocket. "I want you to determine where she and I might have met."
"As you wish. " Roman's voice was casual. "Lady Overton might well have some insight into that."
"Indeed she might. " Alexei chuckled. Roman had obviously taken a liking to the quiet lady. And why not? It was past time he found a wife and a life of his own. "One more thing, Roman."
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"I need you to make a few discreet inquiries as well."
"Regarding?"
"The scandal that led Miss Effington to flee London six years ago. I should very much like to know the details of the incident that ruined her reputation as well as the name of the man involved." Roman frowned. "Your Highness, are you sure—"
"Oh, I am indeed. After all. Roman, I am her betrothed. I would hate to appear an idiot should some reference be made to it. Besides, our Miss Effington is full of secrets. " Alexei watched Pamela laugh in response to something her cousin said, and he smiled slowly. "And before this escapade of ours is over, I shall know each and every one of them. "
Seven
When I see my sister again I shall not let her know that the life I chose has been anything butwonderful. I shall never let her know that I may not be completely happy with the decisions I havemade and the path I have walked. And I shall never let her know that just possibly she was right.
Millicent, Lady Smythe-Windom
Dinner was a delightful occasion. Or as delightful an occasion as dinner could possibly be when some of those present were marking a betrothal that didn't exist, while others were pretending said betrothal was not merely legitimate but a triumph.
Petrov spent most of his meal glaring suspiciously at Valentina, who variously ignored and baited him. Aunt Millicent seemed to find them both fascinating and alternated her attention between the princess and the captain, leaving Pamela, Alexei, Clarissa, and the count to engage one another in conversation. Which would have been enjoyable had not Clarissa turned most of her efforts toward unabashed flirtation with Stefanovich, who did not hesitate to flirt back. And then there was Alexei. He was the consummate guest, dividing his attention evenly among the ladies, but he had the most annoying way of watching her when he thought she wasn't looking. But, of course, she was.
Dinner had all the reality of a dream in which one is terribly confused, has no idea where precisely to go but is desperate to get there, and doesn't realize until far too late that she is absolutely naked. By the meal's end, Pamela had had quite enough and begged off any further involvement with the rest of the company, claiming weariness from travel and an aching head, only part of which was untrue, and fled to her rooms.
Sleep, however, was as elusive as clarity. She'd tossed and turned through the long hours of the night in a bed that had seemed remarkably inviting at first but was in truth little more than a torturous device composed of twisted sheets and tangled blankets. Even nature itself was taunting her with the pale, growing light of dawn. Pamela heaved a frustrated sigh, tossed off the covers, and slid to her feet. It was obvious that whatever feelings she still had for Alexei had not dimmed with the passage of time. Whether those feelings were merely of a lustful nature or something more significant she had no idea. All she knew was that she wanted to be in his arms and, God help her, in his bed. It was no way to begin a new life of respectability.
She paced the room, vaguely noting the threadbare feel of the carpet against her toes. He had certainly been charming enough tonight. No, more than charming.
Four years ago, Alexei had the charm of a man confident in his ability to have whatever he wished, women and anything else. That confidence did not appear to have lessened, at least not regarding women, but seemed to have tempered.
In addition, he was rather more than he had seemed to her upon their last meeting, although admittedly they had not a great deal of conversation regarding such serious matters as the responsibility of rule or the expectations of princes. Still, there was a decidedly different air about him now. Richer, deeper as if he had indeed been forged by fire and emerged whole and strong. And if there was a shadow of sadness across his eyes, a suggestion of regret in his voice, it was subtle and private and nothing he would ever reveal or admit or acknowledge. At least to anyone other than himself. It all made him rather remarkable and quite admirable.
She had thought he would make a good king when first they'd met. Now she suspected he would have been great.
Four years ago he had been a prince she could share a delightful evening with. Today, he was a man she could possibly love.
If she didn't already, of course.
Just a few hours ago she had thought that one needed to set to know a man before one could fall in love. Since then Alexei had revealed a great deal about himself both in what he had said and what he hadn't said. Even aside from the way his touch made her weak, the man was most intriguing. Indeed, in this one conversation she knew more about him, about who he was rather than what he was, than any man she'd ever met. Including George.
Alexei Pruzinsky, once the heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Greater Avalonia, was a good man. She could certainly do far worse.
The thought pulled her up short.
Where on earth had that come from? Their engagement was an act—a deceit concocted by her aunt to help reestablish Pamela in society. The very idea that it could be more was absurd. After all, Alexei was a prince. Why, she'd just told Clarissa that regardless of his political status, he was still eligible for a royal match.
But to what end? With his country now little more than a region of Russia, his value as a political match was minimal. A marriage to him offered nothing in terms of alliances. Certainly his bloodline alone assured that he could marry a minor princess from an equally minor country. But if that was what he wished for his life, it made no sense for him to be in England wanting nothing but privacy and solitude. Besides, Alexei was not the type of man who would be happy as the consort to a princess. What kind of woman, what kind of life would make him happy?
And what would make her happy?
Certainly Pamela wanted to resume her life, a proper and respectable life, the life she would have had if she hadn't been such a fool. If not for her mistake with George, she would have made a suitable match, become a wife and mother, and taken her expected place in society. She would have done precisely what was expected of her.
Instead, she had fled England to travel the world. She had walked in the footsteps of the Caesars in Rome, traced the paths of the great philosophers in Athens, climbed the pyramids. She had studied the world's greatest art in Paris and been moved to tears by the music of Beethoven in Vienna. She had met great men, composers and artists and writers, those with power granted by birthright or fortune or talent. Upon reflection, it hadn't been an exile at all but a grand adventure. And it had made her the woman she was today.
Good Lord. She sank down onto the bed. How could she have thought, even for a moment, that she could pick up where she had left off? Or that she would want to? Certainly, she wished to be wed and have a family of her own, but throwing herself back into the marriage mart might not be the best way to accomplish that. After all, she was no longer eighteen or even twenty. And she hadn't been particularly successful at attracting suitors when she was younger.
She scrambled off the bed and crossed the room to stand before a cheval mirror. Her reflection was distorted by aged glass and the pink light of the new day. Immodest as it was to admit, she was rather nice-looking now, even lovely, where she hadn't especially been before. Still, appearances aside, men did seem to prefer younger women for wives. Perhaps because they were rather malleable and yet to be formed. Pamela shuddered. She feared she was rather distinctly formed at this point. Yet she did want to be accepted back in society. With luck, this ruse with Alexei would accomplish that. And she did want a husband. She studied the image in the mirror with a critical eye. She was clever and she was pretty and she came from an excellent family. Even if she were older than the other eligible ladies this season, she was certainly not yet on the shelf. She simply needed to find the right man. A man who could appreciate who she was. A man who wouldn't concern himself in the least with a long-ago scandal. Such a man might well be rare, but with Alexei's help she would at least attract his notice. What did he say about a woman already taken being much more desirable than one who is readily available?
As for Alexei, it was absurd to think even for a moment that there could be anything between them aside from that annoying question of lust. She would simply have to ignore the way her mouth went dry when he gazed into her eyes, or how her heart leapt when he brushed a kiss across her hand, or the manner in which her legs seemed barely able to support her when he took her in his arms. Alexei was indeed someone she could love given the right circumstances. But the circumstances weren't anywhere near right, and she couldn't imagine they ever would be.
No, this was definitely the best course for her life. She nodded at the reflection in the mirror. She wouldn't regain her position in society as much as she would carve out a new place with Alexei's help. Oh, they could certainly be friends. At least as long as he, or anyone else, never knew that for one single night they'd been significantly more than friends. She wasn't entirely sure what, if anything, he'd do if he discovered their shared past, and she preferred not to find out.
She climbed back into bed, curled around her pillow, and closed her eyes. Determination washed through her. She would put Alexei out of her mind as anything other than a means to an end. Her decision brought a surprising sense of relief and a deep weariness. Perhaps now she could rest. In the last moments before sleep finally claimed her she wondered if she could keep him out of her dreams as well.
Alexei nodded a pleasant good day to the footman who opened the door one beat ahead of him. The house might not be in the best of repair, but the servants were impeccably trained and the facilities for his horses were in excellent condition. Indeed, Alexei's mount might well be better housed than the rest of his party.
He had long been in the habit of an early-morning ride, and even here in London retained the practice, finding Hyde Park limiting but still suitable for his purposes. He quite looked forward to the day when he could ride, without restriction, in the countryside. At the moment, however, the park would have to do. At least his new life offered the benefit of a solitary ride rather than one accompanied by a retinue of retainers. Solitude in which to consider any number of questions including how on earth he got himself into an absurd feigned engagement and, more importantly, the women who shared this farce. The more he thought about it the more he was convinced he and Pamela had indeed met. Why then would she pretend they had not? And why did he not remember her? It made no sense at all unless one subscribed to Roman's theory that she was the lady he shared a single night with in Venice. Serenissima.
It was not possible. He had never seen her face, but he did not doubt if he ever met her again he would know her at once, without hesitation, without question. His soul would recognize hers. Plato and the ancient Greeks believed that man and woman were originally one being, split by the gods and condemned to spend their lives searching for their other halves. Alexei had dismissed the idea as foolish romantic nonsense until one memorable night and one unforgettable woman. No, whatever Miss Effington was hiding, that was not her secret.
He started toward the dining room. In the scant few days since his arrival the staff had become quite adept at anticipating his needs, and breakfast would be waiting on the sideboard. He was becoming rather fond of the servants here, particularly Graham. After all, the man had managed to run the house, lease it year after year, keep the exterior and the grounds pristine even if the interior was lacking, and do it all without attracting undue attention from either the owner or her solicitors. When Alexei at last purchased an estate in the country he would probably need additional staff, and he doubted he could find better than Graham and the others. If, of course, he could induce them to leave the new owners. That might not be nearly as difficult as getting them to leave the house itself, which he suspected commanded a great deal of loyalty. After all, it was their home.