"And I have no intention of allowing you to stay. This is my house now, soon to be my home, and I want you and the count and anyone else you may have with you to vacate the premises immediately."
"Pamela!" Aunt Millicent's voice rang with shock. Aunt Millicent had always been overly fond of princes or royalty of any kind. She could count among her friends members of most of the royal houses of Europe. Indeed, she collected royalty as one might collect precious gems.
"That's not at all gracious of you," Clarissa said under her breath, and laid her hand on her cousin's arm.
"Surely there is somewhere else we could stay in London until their lease expires?"
"Where would you suggest?" Pamela's words were addressed to Clarissa, but her gaze stayed locked with Alexei's. "Neither you nor Aunt Millicent has property here. It is the start of the season, and I suspect there is not another acceptable residence available in all of London."
"There are hotels," Aunt Millicent offered.
"Ladies do not stay in hotels." Pamela narrowed her eyes and ignored the amusement that now shone in the prince's eyes. The blasted man was enjoying this. "I have a perfectly acceptable house right here, and I have no intention of living anywhere else."
"We could always stay with your family," Clarissa said hopefully. "Your parents or perhaps even the duke and duchess would no doubt be more than happy—"
"No." Pamela's voice was sharp, and she jerked her gaze to her cousin. "That will not do." Clarissa and Aunt Millicent traded resigned looks. Pamela had no intention of explaining to these gentlemen why she had no desire to return to the homes she had spent the better part of her life in. She loved her family and had no doubt of their love for her. But she had become a competent, independent woman in the years since she'd left London. She had the most unreasonable fear that all she'd gained would be lost, that returning to her previous home would return her to her previous character, and that she would not risk. Especially when there was no need to do so.
"Mr. Graham." Pamela nodded at the butler. "Please see to it that whatever amount the prince has paid for the lease of the house is returned to him and send a footman at once to the Clarendon or the Pulteney to see if there are accommodations available for the prince and his party."
"That might be rather awkward, miss," Graham said in a decidedly reluctant manner. Her gaze snapped to his. "Which part?"
"Hotels are notoriously full at this time of year and," Graham winced, "as for the money..." She did not like the look on the butler's face one bit. "Yes?"
"It cannot actually be returned," he said slowly. "That is not entirely. Or rather not all of it." He shrugged apologetically. "Expenses, miss."
"Very well." Pamela gritted her teeth. "I shall refund their money out of my own funds."
"That, too, might be awkward, Pamela. Have you forgotten that we have yet to receive the financial portion of our inheritance? Mr. Corby said the funds would not be immediately available." Aunt Millicent glanced at the count. "Unless it is an extremely reasonable amount?"
"It was exorbitant," Stefanovich said dryly.
Aunt Millicent heaved a delicate sigh. "I'm afraid exorbitant is out of the question." Pamela cast her aunt a beseeching look. "Couldn't you—"
"Oh, I certainly could, but I have a much, much better idea than refunding the prince's money and sending him on his way." A considering light shone in Aunt Millicent's eye. "I suggest we take up residence here as we have planned and—"
"And?" Pamela held her breath.
"And," Aunt Millicent continued, "we allow His Highness, and the rest of his party, too, of course"—she glanced at Alexei—"you did say there was a cousin here as well? A royal cousin I presume?" Alexei nodded. "A princess."
"A princess? Oh I do like that. A prince and a princess under my roof, I can't wait to tell my sister." A wicked gleam sparked in Aunt Millicent's eye. "As I was saying, we allow them to remain—"
"Never!" Pamela glared.
"Oh my," Clarissa said faintly. "Here?"
"As our guests," Aunt Millicent finished with a flourish.
"Delightful," Stefanovich muttered.
"How very clever of you to think of such a solution, Lady Smythe-Windom." Alexei stepped forward, took Aunt Millicent's hand in both of his, and gazed down at her. Surely he wasn't going to kiss her hand again? That would be entirely too much even for a man of his reputation. "I am in your debt. If there is ever anything I can do for you in the future, please do not hesitate to ask."
"I'm certain I can think of something." Aunt Millicent stared up at him with a smile that hinted of all sorts of things. Naughty, wicked things.
Immediately a number of naughty, wicked things that could be done with Alexei flashed through Pamela's head, and for a moment her knees weakened. She pushed the thoughts aside and struggled for control. "Aunt Millicent." She drew a deep breath. "I don't want this man and his entourage in my house."
"It is really not much of an entourage," Alexei said thoughtfully. "Not at all like the old days. What do you think, Roman?"
"No, Your Highness." The count shook his head regretfully. "Our number is woefully small in comparison to the old days."
"Indeed." Alexei sighed in a dramatic matter. "Why, it is little more than a handful really. Aside from the count and myself, there is Captain Petrov, our respective valets, a few drivers and stable hands, whatever servants my cousin has, and of course, our cook." He leaned toward Aunt Millicent in a confidential manner. "He is most extraordinary, Lady Smythe-Windom. Why, the cook here has completely allowed him to have his way in her kitchen, and I suspect, given his mood since our arrival, has furthermore allowed him to have his way—"
"And do not forget your cousin, Your Highness," Stefanovich cut in.
"I could never forget Valentina." Alexei's voice carried a hint of resignation.
"There now, Pamela." Aunt Millicent cast her niece a satisfied smile. "Why, there are so few of them, and this house is enormous, we shall scarcely know they're here." She glanced at the butler. "Would it overly tax the staff to have a larger party in residence?"
"Not at all, my lady," Graham said with a subtle but definite air of relief.
"Excellent." Aunt Millicent nodded. "If you would be so good as to inform them of all this."
"At once, my lady." Graham nodded a bow and took his leave. The moment the butler closed the door behind him, Pamela threw her hands up in frustration. "Of course we'll know they're here. Everyone will know they're here. The entire world, no doubt, will know they're here. He's a prince. It's difficult to hide the presence of a prince. And any possibility of respectability or propriety will be out of the question."
"Nonsense," Aunt Millicent said firmly. "I am a widow and the Countess of Smythe-Windom. There is nothing the least bit improper about my having royal guests upon my return, indeed, my triumphant return, to London. Beyond that, Clarissa is a widow and eminently proper as well. And we have long served as your"—Aunt Millicent's gaze locked with her—"chaperones." Pamela opened her mouth to reply, then thought better of it. Aunt Millicent had been her teacher, mentor, guide, and dear friend but all three women knew she had been a dreadful failure as a chaperone. And none of them would have had it otherwise.
She looked to her cousin for assistance. Clarissa appeared as helpless as Pamela felt. Pamela drew a deep breath. "I still don't think—"
"Effington was it?" Alexei said thoughtfully. "Are you any relation to the Marquess of Helmsley?"
"Thomas is my cousin." She narrowed her eyes. "Why do you ask?"
"Because it changes everything. Helmsley is married to the sister of the Viscountess Beaumont. The viscount is my cousin." Alexei smirked. "You and I are related." Pamela snorted. "Distantly and by marriage. It scarcely counts."
"It most certainly does." Aunt Millicent grinned. "A prince in my family. I never imagined such a thing, and I quite like it."
"I do not. I don't care what he is, I still don't think it's the least bit proper having him under this roof. Besides"—Pamela aimed an accusing finger at him—"this man has a notorious reputation. He is reputed to have shared a bed with half the women in Europe."
"Oh not nearly half although I do appreciate the compliment." Alexei grinned. "I am not really old enough to have bedded half..." He paused as if recalling something, then shook his head. "Regardless, Miss Effington, while I admit to having earned that reputation, I regret to confess I have not entirely lived up to it in recent years." He shrugged. "My life has been far too complicated with matters of state and politics, rebellion and crisis to concentrate on pursuits of a more amorous nature. You need not worry about my presence in your household. I shall make no attempt to seduce you." Pamela gasped. "I never imagined.. .that is I did not think—" "Regardless of what wicked thought might have been in your mind, cousin dear"—Alexei strode to the nearest chair, dropped into it in a most unprincely manner, picked up a glass from the table beside the chair, and raised it in a salute—"we are relations, and you cannot throw someone who is a member of your own family into the streets."
"I should like nothing better than to do precisely that. And do you realize you're sitting while I'm standing?" She glared. "How indescribably rude of you."
"Not at all. I am well used to sitting while everyone else stands in my royal presence. What say you, Lady Smythe-Windom?" Alexei nodded at Aunt Millicent. "Is it entirely proper for me to sit?" Aunt Millicent glanced from Alexei to Pamela, a speculative look in her eyes. Pamela's heart sank. Her aunt had far better insight than anyone ever credited her with. Aunt Millicent turned her attention back to Alexei. "You are a prince, Your Highness, and doing as you wish is entirely proper." He laughed and got to his feet. "You are indeed gracious, Lady Smythe-Windom, but your niece was right. It was inexcusably rude. Even for a prince." He turned to Pamela and bowed. "My apologies, Miss Effington."
Pamela stared at him for a long moment. Here was a man who had lost everything that was of importance to him. His home. His country. His very purpose in life. He, too, was attempting to start anew. She would have sent him away from what might well be his only sanctuary at the moment because she feared he would reveal her secret and cause yet another scandal. It was not the least bit gracious or noble or even nice.
Not at all the thing an Effington would do.
"No, it is I who should offer my apologies, and beg your forgiveness. I am the one who has been rude. Regardless of the circumstances we find ourselves in, this is my home, and I should have been as gracious as my aunt." She bowed her head and dropped a deep curtsey. "Forgive me, Your Highness."
"Of course," he murmured.
She glanced up and met his gaze. Curiosity and appreciation shone in his eyes. Precisely as it had four years ago. Her breath caught.
"Now that that question is resolved, we should make our plans." Aunt Millicent tapped her forefinger thoughtfully against her bottom lip. "I must send out cards announcing my— our—return to London. Then, of course, the invitations will pour in. Perhaps we can have a small soiree ourselves. Or better yet, a ball. This house cries for a grand ball, and I doubt it has seen one for many years." Aunt Millicent practically glowed with anticipation. "Just think how exciting the season will be with a prince in tow. Why, we can have an event in his honor. Something unique. A reception perhaps or a masked ball—"
"No," Pamela blurted.
"No," Alexei said at precisely the same time.
A frown creased Aunt Millicent's forehead. "Why ever not?"
"My dear Lady Smythe-Windom, I fear I have not made my position clear." Alexei's voice was firm.
"That I am here during your social season is nothing more than mere chance. I have no desire to attend balls and soirees, indeed, I have no intention of partaking of society in any manner whatsoever. I quite agree with Miss Effington. I do not wish to make my presence in London, even in this house, known. Therefore, I am sorry to spoil your plans, but I refuse to be towed anywhere."
"Oh dear, Your Highness, I'm afraid I have not made my position clear." Aunt Millicent smiled sweetly, and Pamela braced herself. She had seen that smile before. "There is a condition to your residency." Alexei grimaced. "You wish to tow me."
"Nothing so dire I assure you, Your Highness." Aunt Millicent cast him a pleasant smile. "I simply wish you to court my niece."
Four
If ever I find her again I shall confess that she, unlike any other woman, has stayed in my dreamsand even, I suspect, in my heart. Still, as I have nothing to offer her it is best that I never see heragain. I do not even know her name.
His Royal Highness. Prince Alexei Pruzinsky
Miss Effington gasped. "Court me? Me?"
Alexei stared at the Lady Smythe-Windom. "You mean with an eye toward marriage?"
"Marriage? To him? Never!" Miss Effington's voice rose. "He's not at all what I want in a husband. Why, he's a prince, and you've just seen how very demanding and arrogant they can be. His reputation is dreadful and—"
"I beg your pardon." Alexei brushed aside the fact that he had no desire to wed at all, let alone marry her, and glared. "Dreadful reputation or not, I am indeed still a prince. Arrogance is my birthright. Regardless, most women would cut off an arm to wed a prince."