"And that, while an explanation of sorts, is certainly not an answer. " He chuckled. "In truth, I suppose, I never found a bride who would be both politically advantageous and personally palatable."
"I can see where politically advantageous as well as personally palatable would be difficult." He shook his head. "You have no idea."
They approached the Serpentine, and he glanced at her. "Would you care to walk by the lake for a bit?"
"That would be lovely. " She smiled. "Alexei."
The moment she said his name aloud she wished she hadn't. There was an enormous difference between using his given name when there were others present and calling him Alexei when they were alone. It was indeed personal and extremely intimate. Worse still, she had always thought of him as Alexei in her memories and her dreams. With every minute in his company, it was more and more difficult to keep her memories and dreams separate from the here and now.
He dismounted, then moved to help her down. His hands fastened around her waist, and she slid off her horse and into his arms. He made no effort to pull away. She made no effort to move. For a long moment they stared at one another.
"You are an excellent rider, Pamela. " The look in his eye, of admiration and invitation, quite took her breath away. "I do not know how women can abide sidesaddles."
"I've ridden astride on occasion in the country, and I quite prefer it. " His hands were still lightly on her waist, hers rested on his shoulders, and she wondered that she continued to breathe.
"Do you?" His voice was low, intense, and resonated in her blood.
"I met an Italian countess once who had a pillow in the shape of a leg that she would affix to her saddle so that it appeared she was riding properly when, in truth, she was riding"—she swallowed hard—"astride."
"Was she?" His gaze drifted to her lips then back to her eyes. "Astride you say?"
"Oh my, yes. " Her heart pounded in her ears. "I have often thought it quite a clever ruse and well worth the effort for the... the... ease of riding"—she struggled for breath—"astride."
"And the pleasure?" The word was a caress, a promise.
"Most definitely. " Absently she wet her lips. "The pleasure."
"Miss Effington. " He drew her closer. "Pamela."
"Yes?" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
"Do be quiet, " he said, and his mouth met hers in a kiss at once firm and tender. For an endless moment his lips caressed hers in a gentle exploration. Teasing, tempting, inviting. Heat pooled in the pit of her stomach. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her tighter against him. She could feel the heat of his body through the layers of clothing separating them, the solidity of the muscles of his chest, the hard lines of his thighs. Desire, hot and aching, washed through her. He deepened his kiss and crushed his lips to hers as if he felt it, too. As if the need that gripped her flowed between them, binding them together. His mouth plundered hers, demanding and hungry, and she responded in kind with a greed of her own. Lord help her she wanted him now as she had wanted him every day and night for the past four years. Wanted his lips on hers, his hands on her naked flesh, his legs entwined with hers—
Alexei wrenched his lips from hers, held her out at arm's length, and stared. "Where in the name of all that is holy have we met?"
"What?" She gasped for breath. "What are you talking about?"
"Where have we met before, Pamela?" His voice was sharp with frustration. "It is a simple enough question."
"Simple? No doubt but... " She shook her head to clear it, more than a bit frustrated herself. "Why are you asking it now? At this particular moment? I know I was not the least bit concerned with... with questions! At least not of that nature!"
His brows drew together, and he glared at her. "Because for some absurd reason you are pretending that we have never met when I am certain that we have."
She stared in disbelief, shrugged off his hands, and moved away from him. Another moment in his arms, and she would have been willing, even eager to tell him anything he wanted. She would have thrown caution to the winds and confessed everything. Now, however, she wasn't at all sure she wished to reveal so much as her own name. He was just so... so... commanding and royal. She chose her words carefully. "Why are you so certain that we have met?"
"I never forget a woman I have kissed. And a woman I have kissed never forgets me. " His manner was lofty in a matter-of-fact sort of way, as if there was no possibility that his kiss would not be memorable.
"Come now, Your Highness. " Pamela snorted in disdain. "Given the vast numbers of women you have kissed, I cannot believe you remember each and every one. Nor can I believe they remember you."
"I do, and they do."
"Nonsense. One kisses so many men, and so few are worth remembering."
"Perhaps that is why one becomes embroiled in scandal, ruined, and is forced to flee one's country!" She sucked in a hard breath.
At once regret showed in his eyes. "Pamela, I—"
"At least I still have a country to flee from, " she said without thinking, turned on her heel, and stalked off.
How could he have said something like that to her? Worse, how could she have said that to him? A dreadful sense of shame rushed through her.
How could she have said that to anyone let alone to him? She knew what losing his country had done to him. It was not at all the type of hurtful thing she would ever have said to anyone, but the blasted man did things to her. Made her say and feel things she no idea she was capable of. Certainly his own snide comment warranted her reaction, but still that was no—
"You are not getting away that easily, " he called after her. A moment later he grabbed her elbow and whirled her around to face him. "That was a vile, wicked thing to say, Pamela."
"I know. " She drew a deep breath. "And I regret it more than I can say. You did not—"
"I deserved it. My comment to you was contemptible and mean in spirit. I do not know what it is about you, Pamela. I find myself saying things I should not say and thinking things I have no right to think."
"Oh?" She jerked her chin up. "What kinds of things?"
He yanked her hard into his arms. "I think about the feel of the silken heat of your naked skin against mine."
"Stop it. " She pushed against him, but he would not let her go.
"Never. " He bent his head and murmured against the side of her neck. "I think of the manner in which your eyes will darken in the throes of passion."
"Stop, " she said again, rather weakly and without the least bit of conviction, and tried to hang on to her anger. And failed.
"I think about the sounds you will make when I give you pleasure you have never imagined."
"Alexei... " She shuddered as much with his words as his touch.
"I think about the way your scent will linger on my pillow after you have gone."
"Dear Lord. " She could barely gasp out the words. "You have had a great deal of practice at this." In the tiny, rational part of her mind that still cared about respectability, she noted that while it was extremely early—indeed the park was nearly deserted—this was still a public place, and a display such as Alexei nuzzling her neck in a manner that left her weak was simply not permissible. If she could gather enough strength of will, and if her legs did not collapse, she would tell him so. Any moment now.
"I have thought about you, dearest Pamela, every day, every hour, every minute since we first met. " His voice was intoxicating, tempting and irresistible. "Do you recall? The first moment we met? The first time we kissed?"
"Yes, of course. " She struggled to breathe, to think. "The first. when we... " Realization struck like a dash of cold water, and she pushed out of his arms. "You are a beast! A royal, impossible beast! Does it matter if we have met before? Or kissed before?"
"Yes. I am never wrong about things like this. Besides"—he narrowed his gaze—"l dislike secrets, and you, my dear, have secrets."
"Any secrets I might or might not have are none of your concern. You are not, in truth, my fiancé."
"I dislike dishonesty as well."
"Do you?" She tilted her head and considered him. "Yet here you are about to embark on a public deception. Apparently you have no trouble with hypocrisy."
"This is entirely different. I had no choice."
"Then dishonesty is acceptable if one can justify it?"
He gritted his teeth. "Pamela—"
"I have not been dishonest with you, and I deeply resent your implication that I have. I have not told you a single falsehood, nor have I misled you in any way. What I have done is keep my secrets, as you call them, my own. " She wagged an accusing finger at him. "I told you on the very first night I preferred to keep my life, my past, private. I know that is difficult for you to understand as you revel in yours and insist on boasting about it."
"I do not boast. I have never—"
"And furthermore"—she thrust out her hand to quiet him—"as much as you claim to dislike dishonesty, I dislike"—she fairly spit the word—"arrogance."
"Arrogance?" He practically sputtered the word. "Arrogance?"
"Yes, arrogance!"
"You cannot possibly be accusing me of arrogance. " He stared in complete disbelief. "I have no need of arrogance. Arrogance is for men who need to prove their worth to the world. I am simply confident in the knowledge of who I am and have no need to prove anything. " He crossed his arms over his chest. "I am a prince."
"You don't think you're arrogant? Hah!" She planted her hands on her hips and mimicked him in her most sarcastic imitation of an overly dramatic European accent. "I nevair forgeet a woman I ave keessed, and a woman I ave keessed nevair forgeets me. Do forgive me, Your Highness, but having now kissed you, I think it was eminently forgettable."
He glared at her. "I do not sound like that."
She shrugged dismissively.
"I speak nine languages fluently, and I scarcely have an accent in any one of them, let alone one that sounds like a bad actor in a worse play."
"The accent was not the point."
"Nonetheless, I am highly insulted. " Indignation rang in his voice.
"That was precisely the idea, " she snapped, turned, and started back toward the horses. "If you would be so good as to help me up, I should like to return home now. Alone."
"As you wish. " He stalked past her to reach the horses a step or two before her. "I know I would like nothing better than for you to return home. Alone."
He hoisted her onto the sidesaddle in a manner that could barely be called civil and not at all lingering and turned away pointedly. Not that she cared, of course.
"I shall leave you in the capable hands of Lady Overton. I see that she and Count Stefanovich are but a short distance away. " His manner was crisp and cool, and she would have liked nothing so much as to smack him on the top of his head, very hard. It would have been extremely childish and just as extremely satisfying.
"Excellent. " She wheeled her horse around and urged him to a canter. She spotted Clarissa and the count up ahead and at once slowed to a walk. She could well use a few minutes to consider what had just happened.
Never in a hundred lifetimes would she have imagined he would recognize her from a kiss. She should have paid more attention to that moment the other night when he had asked if they'd met. It had simply slipped her mind. After all, he hadn't been as insistent about it then as he had been now. Was there really any harm in telling him at this point? Certainly in the beginning she'd feared he'd say something and shatter any possibility of a proper, respectable future. Now she knew he would never say a word. She was confident of his discretion and his honorable nature. In truth, there really wasn't any reason at all why she shouldn't tell him.
Unless, of course, he didn't remember the night they'd shared. It was entirely possible one night spent with one particular woman was insignificant in the story of his life. There had probably been countless such nights with an infinite number of women. Why would she expect that he would remember the one spent with her? And if, or rather, when he didn't remember?
It would be quite the most devastating thing she'd ever experienced. Certainly it was foolish on her part to place so much importance on a single night, but it was the most wonderful night of her life. To learn it meant nothing whatsoever to him—well, George's betrayal would pale in comparison. No, she'd much prefer never to have him know they once spent an enchanted evening together rather than take that risk.
"Clarissa, Count Stefanovich. " Pamela nodded in greeting. "Clarissa, I should like to return home now. That is if you would not mind accompanying me."
"Of course, " Clarissa said with a smile.
"And I believe I shall join His Highness. " The count's gaze met Clarissa's.
"It has been a most enjoyable morning, Lady Overton."
"Indeed it has, my lord. " An enigmatic half smile curved Clarissa's lips. The very same smile she wore every time Stefanovich was around.
The count touched his hat, turned his horse, and headed off.