dressed.
Still, an annoying voice in the back of her head that refused to understand she was trying to start a new, respectable life, whispered in a most wicked manner that it might well be easier—but it would certainly not be as much fun.
"Your Highness. " Miss Effington sailed into the parlor with a lighthearted air and a charming smile. One never would have imagined that a scant few hours ago she had been a termagant ready to throw him bodily into the streets.
"Miss Effington. " Alexei met her halfway across the room, noted wryly the symbolism, and took her hands in his. "You are looking exceptionally lovely this evening."
She arched a brow. "Very polished, Your Highness. Yet another example of your charm?" His gaze met hers, and he raised her hands to his lips. "Only if it is successful. " He brushed his lips lightly across the back of one hand, then the next. "Regardless, its success does not diminish its truth. " All the while he kept his gaze fixed firmly on hers. "You are indeed a vision."
"And you are indeed well practiced in the art of charm. Nonetheless, I will concede your point. " The corners of her lips quirked upward in the satisfied smile of a woman who knows she looks her best.
"Excellent. I detest false modesty'. " He lowered her hands but did not release them and continued to stare into her eyes.
Admittedly, it was a technique of seduction that was most effective. This meshing of his gaze with hers created an impression of intimacy even in a crowded room and he had perfected it. Not that it was a particular hardship gazing into eyes like hers. They were luminous and very dark, with a hint of sensuality, suppressed probably in spite of her ruin, but still almost... erotic. And shaded with intelligence. Alexei had never been overly fond of intelligent woman. Politically, they were dangerous. Valentina was a prime example of just how dangerous they could be. Personally, clever women were never satisfied and had always wanted more than he'd been willing to give. Political favors, preferential treatment at court, a permanent position in his bed, commitment of some sort. Of course, his life was different now. He had nothing of that nature left to give, or rather, left to lose. Regardless, he had meant it when he had told Miss Effington that his charms were not contingent on his title. It was obviously time to prove it. And what better way to prove it than with an intelligent woman? This particular intelligent woman.
"What else do you detest, Your Highness?"
"Mutton, " he said without thinking.
She laughed. "Mutton?"
"Even as a boy I never liked mutton." He shuddered. "I have always considered it rather repulsive. " He paused to think. "And Avalonian brandy."
"Avalonian brandy? I've never tasted it."
"Consider yourself blessed."
"You don't like it then? And I gather it's from your country?"
"From what was my county, " he corrected. "No, Avalonian brandy may well be the only thing I do not miss. Dreadful, bitter stuff that we are— were—forced to drink for state celebrations in some sort of gastronomical barbarism dictated by tradition. It is made by a monastic order, and I suspect the making of it is penance for their sins and the drinking of it penance for ours."
"Do you require penance for your sins then, Your Highness? If so, I should be most willing to hear your confession."
"Would you grant absolution as well?"
She shrugged. "I suspect it depends on the sins."
"And what of your sins, Miss Effington?"
"I daresay, Your Highness, my sins would pale in comparison." She firmly pulled her hands from his.
"You would no doubt find them very, very dull."
"I cannot imagine that." He chuckled. "However, as neither of us is inclined at the moment toward confession and therefore penance, and as there is thankfully no Avalonian brandy available at any rate, I thought perhaps a glass of champagne before dinner would be appropriate. To toast our betrothal." He glanced past her. "Graham?"
Graham
Still, an annoying voice in the back of her head that refused to understand she was trying to start a new, respectable life, whispered in a most wicked manner that it might well be easier—but it would certainly not be as much fun.
"Your Highness. " Miss Effington sailed into the parlor with a lighthearted air and a charming smile. One never would have imagined that a scant few hours ago she had been a termagant ready to throw him bodily into the streets.
"Miss Effington. " Alexei met her halfway across the room, noted wryly the symbolism, and took her hands in his. "You are looking exceptionally lovely this evening."
She arched a brow. "Very polished, Your Highness. Yet another example of your charm?" His gaze met hers, and he raised her hands to his lips. "Only if it is successful. " He brushed his lips lightly across the back of one hand, then the next. "Regardless, its success does not diminish its truth. " All the while he kept his gaze fixed firmly on hers. "You are indeed a vision."
"And you are indeed well practiced in the art of charm. Nonetheless, I will concede your point. " The corners of her lips quirked upward in the satisfied smile of a woman who knows she looks her best.
"Excellent. I detest false modesty'. " He lowered her hands but did not release them and continued to stare into her eyes.
Admittedly, it was a technique of seduction that was most effective. This meshing of his gaze with hers created an impression of intimacy even in a crowded room and he had perfected it. Not that it was a particular hardship gazing into eyes like hers. They were luminous and very dark, with a hint of sensuality, suppressed probably in spite of her ruin, but still almost... erotic. And shaded with intelligence. Alexei had never been overly fond of intelligent woman. Politically, they were dangerous. Valentina was a prime example of just how dangerous they could be. Personally, clever women were never satisfied and had always wanted more than he'd been willing to give. Political favors, preferential treatment at court, a permanent position in his bed, commitment of some sort. Of course, his life was different now. He had nothing of that nature left to give, or rather, left to lose. Regardless, he had meant it when he had told Miss Effington that his charms were not contingent on his title. It was obviously time to prove it. And what better way to prove it than with an intelligent woman? This particular intelligent woman.
"What else do you detest, Your Highness?"
"Mutton, " he said without thinking.
She laughed. "Mutton?"
"Even as a boy I never liked mutton." He shuddered. "I have always considered it rather repulsive. " He paused to think. "And Avalonian brandy."
"Avalonian brandy? I've never tasted it."
"Consider yourself blessed."
"You don't like it then? And I gather it's from your country?"
"From what was my county, " he corrected. "No, Avalonian brandy may well be the only thing I do not miss. Dreadful, bitter stuff that we are— were—forced to drink for state celebrations in some sort of gastronomical barbarism dictated by tradition. It is made by a monastic order, and I suspect the making of it is penance for their sins and the drinking of it penance for ours."
"Do you require penance for your sins then, Your Highness? If so, I should be most willing to hear your confession."
"Would you grant absolution as well?"
She shrugged. "I suspect it depends on the sins."
"And what of your sins, Miss Effington?"
"I daresay, Your Highness, my sins would pale in comparison." She firmly pulled her hands from his.
"You would no doubt find them very, very dull."
"I cannot imagine that." He chuckled. "However, as neither of us is inclined at the moment toward confession and therefore penance, and as there is thankfully no Avalonian brandy available at any rate, I thought perhaps a glass of champagne before dinner would be appropriate. To toast our betrothal." He glanced past her. "Graham?"
Graham
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