Always a Princess (8 page)

“Fascinating.” Chumley took the remains of the flower from her and studied it. “It seems we have our first clue.”

“Dear Lord,” the dowager duchess grumbled.

“I went into the study and found the safe open,” Lady Farnham said. “This orchid was in the safe, inside a box.”

“And it was then you noticed that the diamond was missing?” Chumley asked.

“But I didn’t see a diamond,” Lady Farnham replied.

“Exactly,” Chumley said, wagging one finger in the air. “Because the diamond had already been stolen!”

“Obviously,” the duchess muttered.

Chumley cleared his throat. “Now then, Lady…”

“Farnham,” Lady Farnham supplied.

“Let’s retrace your steps, shall we?” Chumley said.

Lady Farnham took a breath. “Well, I couldn’t go into His Grace’s study with my son and the princess because of the pigs.”

“The pigs,” Chumley repeated.

“Yes. You see, my husband was telling Lady Quimby about his pigs,” Lady Farnham said. “She’s of a delicate constitution, I’m afraid, and can hardly tolerate horticulture, let alone animal husbandry.”

“Your husband, madam?” Chumley said.

“No. Lady Quimby. My husband isn’t delicate at all, more’s the pity.”

“Mother, I think the constable is asking who your husband is,” Wesley said.

“You, of all people, should know who he is, Philip,” Lady Farnham snapped. “He is your father, after all.”

Wesley looked at Chumley. “The lady’s husband is the Earl of Farnham.”

“Well, of course he is,” Lady Farnham said. “Where
is
the blessed man?”

“Right here, my dear,” Lord Farnham said, appearing finally. Eve stepped aside to allow him access to his wife’s side. He walked to Lady Farnham and took her hand. “What’s all this, then?”

“Really, Reginald,” Lady Farnham said. “The Orchid Thief’s been here and a diamond stolen. The entire company is in an uproar, and you know nothing about it?”

Lord Farnham huffed a few times. “I’m here now, and I’ll take you home where you can be safe.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” Chumley said. “I need to interview all of you.”

“Rubbish,” the duchess declared. “I won’t allow my guests to be interrogated.”

“Mother,” the duke said softly.

“It’s too much,” the duchess complained. “I won’t have it.”

Chumley walked up to Lord Farnham and stuck his nose into the taller man’s face. “And may I ask where you’ve been all this time, my lord?”

Lord Farnham cleared his throat. “In the privy, if you must know.”

“Can you prove that?”

“Really!” the duchess interjected.

“No, I can’t prove it,” Lord Farnham answered. “I didn’t have anyone in there with me.”

Wesley snorted at that last, and Eve managed to get an elbow into his ribs just before Chumley turned his attention to him. “And you, my lord. You were in the duke’s study with a princess of some sort?”

“Not of ‘some sort,’ but of this sort,” Wesley said, indicating Eve with a nod of his head. “The Princess Eugenia d’Armand of Valdastok.”

“Your Highness,” Chumley said. Eve didn’t answer, but merely smiled. Regally, she hoped.

Chumley gave his mustache another twirl and turned his attention back to Wesley. “You were in His Grace’s study earlier, hmm?”

“Yes.”

“To what end?”

“To satisfy my curiosity,” Wesley replied.

The idiotic man. He had that look about him again—arrogant, smug, confident to the point of cockiness. How could he stand there and stare down a constable? Even one as pudding-headed as Chumley. He was doing his best to get the both of them arrested with that look. If only she could stamp her foot onto his instep without anyone seeing.

Chumley’s eyes narrowed. “Curiosity about what?”

“I’d heard that His Grace kept his prized collection of Lepidoptera in there, and I wanted to see them.”

Lepidoptera? What in hell were Lepidoptera? And why was the fool making up stories that could be easily exposed as fakery?

“The butterflies,” the duke exclaimed. “That dastard can’t have taken my butterflies.”

Chumley glanced at the duke. “Then you keep such things, Your Grace?”

“Of course. Oh, blast…he can’t have taken my butterflies.” The duke rushed from the room, presumably to check on the safety of his butterflies. Only how had Wesley known about them?

Chumley looked back at Wesley. “So, you went into His Grace’s study to look at butterflies.”

“Yes.”

“And the princess was with you?”

“Yes.”

The little man looked into Eve’s face. In fact, she was the only one he didn’t have to look upward to do it. “You went in there to look at some butterflies?”

“Mais oui,”
she said. “They were…ah…how shall I say?…words fail me.”

“Hmm.” Chumley looked them both up and down. Clearly, he didn’t believe a word of the butterfly story, and Eve couldn’t blame him.

The constable walked all the way around Wesley. Slowly. Wesley just stood his ground as if having stupid little men examine him happened every day. Finally, Chumley stopped in front of him and gave him an oily smile. “What do you have in your pocket, your lordship?”

“My pocket?”

“Your pocket, sir.”

“A box,” Wesley said. Eve’s knees nearly buckled. Wesley had a box in his pocket, all right. He had a box with an enormous, uncut,
stolen
diamond in it. The purloined Wonder of Basutoland was in the box in his pocket, but he himself appeared completely at ease. The man was either made of stone, or he was mad.

“May I ask what’s in the box?” Chumley said.

“I’d rather not say,” Wesley said.

Dear God, could he have said anything more wrong than that? Maybe she could get them out of this somehow. Maybe if she could manage to faint dead away she could distract everyone from the fact that this idiotic man had just begged the inspector to examine the contents of the box in his pocket.

“I’m afraid I must insist,” Chumley said.

As calmly as if he were removing a handkerchief, Wesley reached into his pocket and produced the box, finally placing it into Chumley’s outstretched hand. Eve watched, her limbs leaden, and the constable opened the box to reveal
…nothing.
Nothing? The box was empty!

She looked up into Wesley’s face and found that smug glint in his eyes. She was going to kill him. With her bare hands. The very minute she had him alone, she was going to rip him into pieces and throw the scraps into the Thames. Really she was.

“There’s nothing in here,” Chumley said.

“I might have told you that,” Wesley said.

“But you didn’t, your lordship.”

“Well, you see, there’s a story behind the fact that the box is empty,” Wesley said.

There bloody well was a story, and Eve planned on hearing it the moment they were alone.

“Earlier this evening, the box held the earrings that the princess is wearing right now. They were a gift from me, and I don’t usually discuss such things in public,” Wesley said.

“Is this true, Your Highness?” Chumley asked.

“Mais oui,”
she said. What else could she say?

Chumley stood in skeptical silence, staring at Wesley and twirling his mustache.

“Very well, Constable Chumley,” the duchess intoned. “You’ve had your interrogation, now you can set about finding the diamond, which is why we summoned you in the first place.”

“But, Your Grace,” the man implored.

“Never mind all that,” she growled. “You’ve insulted my guests quite enough for one evening.”

“I should say so,” Lord Farnham said as he helped Lady Farnham to her feet. “I’ll just take my wife home.”

“Please do,” the duchess said as Lord Farnham escorted his spouse from the room. The duchess glared at Chumley. “Why don’t you go search somewhere? Make yourself useful.”

She followed that last with a sweep of her hand that left no doubt that the constable had been dismissed.

He took one last parting look at Wesley. “You’ll be available if I have more questions?”

“Of course.”

Chumley turned and stalked from the room, followed by most of the assembled throng.

Wesley took Eve by the elbow, just as he always did, and led her in the direction of the front door.

“Now, where are you taking me?” she whispered.

“To a certain flowerpot—third from the end under the study window.”

“Why in God’s name there?”

“Because that’s where I tossed the diamond, and I’d rather we got to it before Chumley does.”

Unbelievable. She really was going to kill him. Really, she was.

“And so you threw the diamond into the flowerpot while I was checking to see if the corridor was empty?” Miss Stanhope asked.

Philip studied her across the darkened carriage. Her eyes had taken on an almost feverish gleam, her skin had flushed, and her voice had lowered to a throaty contralto. Anyone happening across them right now might think that he’d interrupted them during the first stages of heated lovemaking. How utterly delightful and utterly sexual. And exactly the sort of excitement Philip had sought when starting out in his career in crime.

For now, he’d keep his pleasure to himself, though; he merely smiled pleasantly at her.

“Hiding the Wonder seemed the safest course of action,” he said. “In case it came up missing while we were still there.”

She pursed her lips in the most delicious way imaginable. “And the butterflies, how did you know about them?”

“Kent is almost as tedious about his butterflies as my father is about his pigs.”

“But I didn’t notice them in the study.”

“Neither did I,” he confessed. “He must keep them hidden in a drawer somewhere.”

“But you didn’t know they were in there when you told that Chumley person they were the reason we’d gone into the study.” He shrugged.

She laughed, a deep and wicked sound that went right inside him and to his groin. There appeared to be two Eve Stanhopes—the prickly proper one who’d come to his house to attempt to extort money from him, and a hot-blooded little vixen who had grabbed his derriere the first night they’d met. The vixen enjoyed excitement as much as she enjoyed kisses, it seemed. He could give her plenty of both.

And the evening was about to become even more stimulating, as the carriage approached the church where he’d collected her hours before. As they went past, she sat straight up in her seat and watched the church go by.

“Stop,” she ordered. “We’ve gone too far.”

“To the contrary. We haven’t gone nearly far enough.” He hadn’t meant to use double entendre in this situation, but since the opportunity had presented itself…

“Lord Wesley, you were to see me to that church.”

“But I prefer to see you to your home.”

Just then the carriage turned the corner onto the dismal alley Hubert had indicated earlier, and recognition dawned in her eyes. “I didn’t want you to know where I lived.”

“Under the circumstances, that couldn’t be helped.”

“Of course, it could. You could have left me at the church.”

“Miss Stanhope, no gentleman would leave a lady alone in this neighborhood at this time of night.”

“And you’re a gentleman, I suppose,” she said.

“I hope so,” he said. “At least where it matters.”

She pursed her lips again, making him more than a little aware that he was a man, too. At least where it mattered. But that didn’t bear examination. She kept looking at him out of wide green eyes until he had to shift in his seat in an effort to get comfortable.

“And do you think I’m a lady?” she said finally.

“Of course,” he said.

“But you can’t know that really, can you?”

That question was a quagmire, judging from the soft intensity with which she asked it. Without any certainty of what she wanted to hear, he’d have to try honesty and hope for the best. “You’re a very beautiful woman.”

That couldn’t have been what she’d wanted him to say, because she turned her head and looked out the window just as the carriage pulled up in front of the building in which she lived. The gesture gave him a view of the column of her neck—far too long for such a small person and as pale as the moonlight—but it also gave him the distinct impression that she’d frosted over with disapproval.

“Any number of men would be more than willing to take advantage of you in a place like this,” he continued.
Including me.

She still didn’t say anything, but continued staring out the window at the disreputable-looking building she called home. If anything, she looked even colder. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine what he’d said wrong. He’d called her a lady, and he’d called her beautiful. He’d expressed concern for her safety. How could she fault him for any of that?

“You couldn’t bear for Hubert to stay in that church all alone,” he said for lack of anything better. “I couldn’t bear for you to be on these streets. Surely, that makes some sense to you.”

“You’re right,” she said, reaching for the doorknob. “Thank you.”

He reached for the knob, too, and his hand covered hers. “Oh, no. I’ll see you inside.”

She looked up at him, and the action brought her face to within inches of his. She immediately pulled back. “Is that really necessary?”

“Really,” he said. “I don’t suppose that building is any more savory on the inside than it is outside.”

She sighed and let him open the door. After climbing out, he reached up a hand to help her. The cold and dampness hadn’t abated over the evening, and neither had the dinginess of St. Giles. The sooner he got them both inside, the better. He quickly ushered her up the stairs and into the building. When she indicated the floor above, he led her through the darkness up those stairs, too, until they stood outside the doorway that led to her suite of rooms.

She turned to him then. “Thank you, and good night.”

“Wait. Just a moment, please.”

He could only barely make out that she’d cocked her head as if she couldn’t tell whether she should trust him or not. “Wait for what?”

Wait for what? He stood there in a blackness so profound he almost couldn’t make out the woman standing only a step away. The dampness chilled his bones, and he imagined all sorts of sounds: the rustling of clothing from someone who shouldn’t be there; the scuttling of rodents, insects, all sorts of unpleasant creatures. He
was
imagining them, wasn’t he?

He put his hands on Miss Stanhope’s shoulders. “I can’t leave you here.”

“This is where I live.” She took a very determined step backward.

“I know. I just…I can’t leave you here.”

“Hubert’s inside. I’ll be safe.”

He couldn’t help himself—he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. She resisted at first, but he stroked her back and whispered into her ear, “Please.”

The stiffness in her shoulders fell away, and she rested against his chest—a very warm and satisfying bundle. He stood and rocked her for a moment, fighting off the cold of this dreary corridor with his body. If only he could hold her like this all night. If only he could show her somehow that he cared what happened to her.

Well, there was one way. He bent and placed his lips over hers. Softly, gently. She didn’t respond at first, but neither did she push him away. The ice princess won out for a moment, but then the female animal inside her took over. She slid her arms up his back and pressed herself to him as she parted her lips and sighed into his mouth. He groaned in response—how could he not?—and pulled her against him to take her mouth the way he’d wanted to all night.

They continued that way for several moments. Clinging to each other as the heat rose inside and all around them. Such fire, such delicious abandon. His body reacted in the predictable manner, making itself hard and ready for her. She pressed against him everywhere, her skin setting fire to him.

Finally, he managed to pull away before he lost his head completely and made love to her on the spot. He gasped for air and stood watching the frantic rise and fall of her breasts. What a woman.

After a few erratic breaths, she raised her hand to her mouth and wiped her fingers across her lips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to kiss you, at least not like that.”

“How did you mean to kiss me?”

“Well…sweetly,” he said. “Nicely.”

“Nicely?” she repeated. “How do you kiss someone nicely?”

“You do it gently. With respect and admiration.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she said.

“I might have managed it if you hadn’t responded the way you did,” he replied.

“And just how do you think I responded?”

“As though I were some joint of meat and you hadn’t eaten for weeks.”

“Now you really are being ridiculous,” she said.

“I? Ridiculous?” he repeated. “You very nearly ravished me right where we stand.”

“I did no such thing, and I’m certainly not going to stand here and debate the point with you.” She fumbled in her bodice for a moment, in the valley between her breasts. The bank notes she’d taken earlier fell out and fluttered to the floor, but she appeared to take no notice of that. She finally produced a key, turned and shoved it into the lock in the door.

“Eve,” Philip said.

That only earned him a scowl from over her shoulder.

“Miss Stanhope,” he tried again.

“Good night, Lord Wesley,” she growled as she finally got the door open and slipped into the flat. He tried to follow, but the door slammed in his face, almost flattening his nose. He knocked but got no answer.

“You left the bank notes out here,” he called.

Good God, what was he thinking? One didn’t stand in a hallway in this neighborhood shouting about bank notes unless one wanted to be robbed at knife-point. He bent and scooped up the money and then stared at it for a moment before bending again and slipping it under the door.

How in hell would the woman make any kind of thief if she didn’t keep the proceeds of her thievery? And why in hell should he care?

He left the building and headed toward his carriage and, with any luck, some sanity.

“So, this is where you get the orchids.”

Philip turned and found Eve Stanhope in the doorway of the glasshouse. He’d been so intent on the flowers of his latest acquisition—the veitchiana
—
he almost hadn’t heard her come in. “Indeed it is,” he said. “How did you find me out here?”

“Your mother told me where you were.” She approached him slowly, walking between the benches and staring at the profusion of color in the blooms around her. She belonged here, in the middle of the splendor of the orchids, not in a dismal, soul-killing place like St. Giles. But how was he going to remove her from there?

He’d spent a good bit of the night lying awake and pondering that very problem—and a few other things that would require some doing—before arriving at a solution just before dawn. A solution she most definitely was not going to like.

“My mother’s grown quite fond of you,” he said.

Her brow arched. “Fond of me or fond of the idea of you marrying royalty? Even if that royalty is foreign.”

“My mother wants me to marry well,” he said. “Why shouldn’t she? She’s a good woman and wants me to be happy.”

She studied him, skepticism clear in the green depths of her eyes. “How would your mother feel if instead of marrying a princess you married someone like who I really am?”

He set down the plant and turned toward her. “And exactly what sort of woman would that be?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she settled her gaze on the veitchiana and stared intently at it.

“Who are you, Miss Stanhope?”

She still didn’t look at him but lifted a finger to the orchid. “It’s rather gaudy, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“This flower,” she said. “It’s orange and pinkish-purple—a rather garish combination.”

“The combination must appeal to the orchid’s pollinators, whatever they are,” Philip said. “I’m sure the plant doesn’t care about our opinions of its appearance.”

“How fortunate for the plant.”

“Did you have some purpose in mind for this visit, Miss Stanhope? Or did you only come here to insult my orchids?” he said.

That brought a smile to her lips and a blush to her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“You might give my mother the benefit of the doubt, too. She appreciated your kindness toward her last night.”

That news seemed to surprise her, as she turned toward him and her brow rose again. “My kindness toward her?”

“Offering to escort her home after her ordeal with the Orchid Thief.”

“But I only did that to try to escape from the situation myself.”

“Miss Stanhope,” he said and then sighed. “You extended yourself to a member of my family, and I’m trying to thank you. Would it be too much to expect a simple ‘you’re welcome’?”

She curtsied. “You’re very welcome, your lordship, I’m sure.”

Why was he even trying? But the truth was that his mother
did
like Eve Stanhope. And against his better judgment, he’d grown more than a little fond of her himself. A lot of that fondness had to do with the kisses they’d shared—that remarkable way she had of resting against him as lightly as a whisper and then turning into liquid heat in his arms. She’d done it both times he’d taken her in an embrace, and both times he’d lain awake with the memory—and with a very male reaction to that memory—for most of the night.

If he wasn’t very careful he’d have that same reaction right now among his plants in the bright light of day. He’d need to keep his wits about him if he was to put his plan into action. If he succeeded at that, he’d have her nearby and available for lustful exercises whenever he wanted.

He leaned against a bench and smiled amiably at her. “So, you haven’t come here to admire my orchids or to win my mother’s friendship. What have you come for?”

She reached into her reticule and groped around for a moment. Finally, she pulled out her hand. When she opened it, the emerald earrings were resting on her palm. “I wanted to return these.”

He glanced from her face to the earrings and back again. She had that look about her—that stubborn set to her jaw that told him dispute was pointless. Oh, why in hell couldn’t she just accept the things? He certainly had no need of a pair of emerald earrings. He sighed and took them from her, finally putting them into his pocket. “Was that all you wanted?”

“There’s also the diamond,” she said. “And how to dispose of it.”

Now, there they had a bit of a sticky wicket, because Philip had no intention of allowing that miracle of nature to be cut into baubles. He’d have to think of some convincing way of buying her off without being obvious about it. That would come after he’d another plan into action. After seeing the ghastly place she lived, he’d decided she would move in with him and his family. Now, he only needed to convince her to do it. No small task.