Always a Princess (13 page)

“Oh, I don’t see how,” one of the ladies exclaimed. She was a pinch-lipped, waspish creature Eve had avoided since she’d arrived. “Children are nasty little creatures. Quite beyond anything good unless punished severely.”

“I’ve never found that to be true,” Lady Farnham said.

“Your two boys have always been well behaved,” the dowager duchess of Kent declared. “Even if the younger one is a bit odd.”

“Philip is not odd,” Lady Farnham said. “He’s only traveled a bit, and he’ll forget all that nonsense now that he’s home.”

He didn’t show any inclination toward forgetting “that nonsense” to Eve. What would his dear mother think if she knew that the slightly traveled and somewhat odd Lord Wesley was the Orchid Thief?

“Redemption is not in the criminal’s nature, I’m afraid, Lady Farnham,” the doctor intoned. “His puny brain cannot be brought to enlightenment.”

Puny brain, indeed. If the theories floating around the room weren’t so insulting, they’d be amusing. On the other hand, it might be fun to hear Lord Wesley’s reaction to the doctor’s assessment of his brain—or the duchess’s reaction, for that matter. But after his drunken state the night before, his brain might not be ready for further insult.

“We’re not here to salvage the Orchid Thief,” the duchess said. “We’re here to keep him from stealing more of our jewelry.”

“Quite right,” Lady Farnham said. She’d accomplished quite a coup in attracting the dowager to the group, but since she’d arrived, the woman had done nothing but criticize. First the servants, then the tea cakes and then the speakers. Her opinions of Constable Chumley had caused the little man’s ears to color a bright red.

At least Chumley appeared to approve of Her Grace’s latest statement. He’d fidgeted in his chair through much of the doctor’s presentation, and now he rose and cleared his throat. “Like any criminal, the Orchid Thief is a simple creature. We don’t need any medical hocus-pocus to bring him to justice.”

“We certainly need something beyond your efforts so far, Chumley,” the duchess said. “You’ve been to my home to humiliate my guests and interfere with my servants, but as far as I can see, you’ve yet to produce any results.”

Chumley’s entire face reddened at that. “But, Your Grace…”

“Precisely, Your Grace,” the doctor said. “A systematic approach is needed here, a scientific inquiry.”

The duchess huffed and looked at the doctor with as much scorn as she’d recently given the constable. Chumley glared at Kleckhorn, too, and a titter of disapproval rippled through the assembled women. Only Lady Farnham smiled at the doctor.

“Explain to us how modern science can help with our problem, Doctor, if you please,” she said.

He bowed toward his hostess, clicking his heels together as he did. “Thank you, my lady.” He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, for many years past, England has carried out a most laudable campaign to rid itself of its criminal under-classes through such programs as transportation to the penal colonies.”

“How can you say that?” the duchess demanded. “The more criminals are transported, the more arise to take their places. The vermin breed like rabbits, or those disgusting little insects that get on my roses.”

“But now we know how to identify the criminal
before
he’s committed a crime,” the doctor said.

“And how do you do that, Doctor?” Lady Farnham asked.

“With phrenology, madam. Through the systematic study of the dimensions of the criminal skull.”

Chumley gaped at the doctor as if he were speaking an unintelligible language. “His skull?”

“You see, the criminal brain is notoriously deficient in the centers of noble thought and reasoning.” He raised his hand to his head, and pressed his fingertips to the top. “Here. Where the upper-class brow is a lofty, gracious height, the criminal’s head is squat and deficient.”

Lady Farnham raised her own fingers to her forehead. “Here?”

“Just so, my lady.” The doctor turned and placed his palm against the back of his head, just above his neck. “And here, where the baser drives are seated, we find pronounced bumps on examining the lower-class skull.”

“And you can use those differences to predict criminal behavior before it’s happened?” Lady Farnham asked. Even she sounded skeptical about that last part.

“With a great deal of certainty, my lady.”

The duchess felt the front of her own head and then the back, scowling the entire time. “There are bumps at the back of my head.”

“Of course, there will be
some
bumps there, Your Grace,” the doctor said.

“It’s a lot of nonsense,” she said. “Besides, how are you going to measure the heads of all the scoundrels in London?”

“Exactly,” Chumley declared, twirling the end of his mustache. “An impossible task.”

A chorus of “tsks” went through the assembled ladies, accompanied by the bobbing of hats.

“What I have to suggest is much more practical,” the constable said. He put his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, looking quite satisfied with himself. “I propose that you ladies have counterfeit jewelry made up to look just like the originals. Then you can wear the fakes while the real gems are held safe.”

“Counterfeit?” the duchess said, nearly snorting the word. “You expect me to wear imitation jewelry?”

“Desperate times demand desperate measures, Your Grace,” the constable said.

The buzz in the room increased at that declaration. All these fine ladies wearing jewelry made out of paste? The man might have suggested that they take a tumble with the footman too.

“That’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard,” the duchess said, to murmurs of assent from the other ladies. “I won’t do it.”

“But, Constable,” Lady Farnham said, “all the jewels have been stolen from safes. None have been stolen from around our necks.”

“Thank heaven,” the woman who hated children said. “The very idea.”

“Our safes aren’t safe,” Lady Farnham said. “Oh, dear. You know what I mean.”

“I’ve thought of that. You must all bring your most valuable jewels to the constabulary for safekeeping.”

That brought the duchess out of her seat. “Now, that really is too much. Lady Farnham, I don’t know what you were thinking to invite this man here,” she said, gesturing toward Chumley. “But so far, it’s only been a waste of my time.”

Lady Farnham rose, too, and stretched out her hands toward the duchess in a frankly conciliatory manner. “Please do sit down. I only wanted us to hear what the authorities had to say before we began our own deliberations. The whole idea was to bring our feminine reasoning to bear on the problem.”

“Then why did you bring in a pair of men to address us?” the duchess demanded, to the ever-louder agreement of more of the ladies, several of whom had already risen to their own feet. “I never listened to my husband’s opinions—God rest his soul. I don’t know why I should pay any attention to these two.”

“You mustn’t become agitated, Your Grace,” the doctor said.

“I’m not agitated, Kluckhen or Klockhaven or whatever your name is,” the duchess said. “I’ve been robbed. I’m Wonder-less.”

Lady Farnham placed herself between the irate dowager duchess and Kleckhorn, as if the two of them might come to blows. “I’m sure the doctor didn’t mean to be insulting.”

Eve wasn’t nearly as sure of that as Lady Farnham appeared to be. In fact, the doctor looked entirely too pleased with himself and the dowager’s agitation. He gave her a frigid, Germanic smile. “A gentlewoman of your age, Your Grace, should not allow herself to become so exercised. It isn’t good for the womb.”

A thunderous gasp went up among the assembled females, and the duchess straightened into a quivering tower of indignation. “Mention my womb again, and you’ll have bumps on the back of your own head, Klickhovel.”

“Please,” Lady Farnham cried, throwing her hands into the air. “Please, ladies, take your seats, and we’ll proceed.”

“Psst.”

Eve jumped at the sound. It was soft enough that she shouldn’t have heard it, but she did. She glanced around to see if one of the ladies might have been trying to get her attention, but they were all busy either hurling outrage at the male guests or speaking in hissing whispers to each other. Above all the feminine hue and cry, Lady Farnham was still trying to restore order.

“Psst,” the sound came again.

She turned fully in her seat this time and looked toward the doorway. The door had been opened a crack, and a male hand extended into the room, the index finger crooking in her direction. As she watched, the door opened even farther to allow her a view of Lord Wesley’s face. He winked at her and then gestured with his head for her to join him.

And why not? She’d seen enough of feminine ire for one afternoon.

She set her teacup on a nearby table and rose. A brief glance at her hostess confirmed that Lady Farnham wouldn’t notice her leaving, so she skirted the assembled throng and joined him at the doorway. He appeared a bit haggard—his eyes red and his skin pale. That was no surprise after his state the night before, but nothing had dimmed his smile or lessened its mischief.

“The ladies through deliberating, are they?” he asked. “Have they finished their cataloguing of the deficiencies of the male species?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“But they won’t require your services any longer, will they?”

“I doubt it,” she said. “I haven’t dared to open my mouth all afternoon.”

“Good, then. Because I require your services outside.”

A secluded spot in the park—someplace pleasantly shaded and with a gentle breeze—was just what Philip’s overwrought senses needed after his night of debauchery. He led Miss Stanhope to his favorite bench and said a silent prayer of thanks when she took a seat without argument. After his behavior in the library the night before, any respectable lady would refuse to even speak to him, let alone accompany him to a quiet corner of the park. A place just crying out to serve for a lovers’ tryst. Convincing her to abandon a room full of hissing harpies was one thing. Joining him here was quite another.

She sat very daintily on the bench and looked up at him, her gaze full of mischief. She had him at a disadvantage and clearly knew it. Oh, well, he deserved whatever punishment she decided to mete out.

He sat down beside her and cleared his throat. “I want to apologize for my behavior last night.”

She arched a brow in a gesture that was at once regal and amused. “Your behavior?”

“We needn’t play cat-and-mouse, Miss Stanhope. We both know I acted like a beast toward you.”

“At times, I suppose,” she said. “At other times you were rather endearing.”

“Really?” He took her hand in his like a smitten schoolboy, and bless him if he hadn’t begun to feel like one. “What did you find endearing about me?”

“The way you called yourself an ass,” she said.

“Oh, that.”

“And then, you said that you were pathetic,” she added, her grin positively wicked. “‘Half a man,’ you called yourself.”

“You find self-abasement endearing, do you?”

She laughed outright at that and squeezed his fingers. Miracle of miracles—he was still holding her hand, and she was allowing him to do it.

“You were most amusing when you speculated on Long Tom’s specific taste in women,” she said.

Oh, good God. “I said that?”

“In great detail,” she said. “It seemed that no woman in London would satisfy you but me.”

Philip didn’t answer that but merely groaned.

“You were most emphatic on that point,” she concluded with a smirk.

“Enough,” he said. “I surrender. You must forgive me. For that and all the other things.”

She blushed at his mention of the other things. No doubt she had an even clearer memory of the kisses that had preceded the confessions she found so endearing. No doubt she remembered how their bodies had fit together as if they’d been designed for each other. No doubt she remembered the whimpering cry she’d given him when he touched her breast. God help him, he couldn’t get it out of his mind. And it wouldn’t take much to put him back into the same sorry state of wanting he’d been in last night.

“I have no explanation for my actions except to say that…” He stopped and took a breath. “I’ve grown fond of you, Miss Stanhope.”

“Fond,” she repeated. “First your mother and now you. What on earth can I have done to cause such an epidemic of fondness among the Rosemont family?”

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

She looked down at their intertwined fingers and smiled shyly. “I didn’t suppose you did.”

What a splendid afternoon this had turned out to be, after all, with the leaves rustling overhead and the birdcalls in the distance. If only his head would stop pounding, he might truly enjoy himself. He gazed at the curl to Miss Stanhope’s lips and felt a pleasant fluttering in the general vicinity of his heart.

“Might I come to think of us as friends, then?” he asked. “Might I even have hope to think we can be more than friends?”

She sat in silence, gazing off into the distance, although she didn’t appear to be looking at anything in particular. After a moment, she sighed and put his hand into his own lap, removing her fingers from it. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“Because our positions in society are different?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. She just sat, not looking at him.

“I don’t care about that,” he said. “I don’t care what your station in life is. Hell, I don’t even know what it is. I don’t know who you are, for that matter.”

“I’m a jewel thief,” she said. “But not a very good one.”

“You’re much more than that.”

She turned to him and struck a theatrical pose. “I’m a princess from a forlorn Eastern European country.”

“Sometimes I can almost believe that,” he said.

She dropped the pose and looked at him with frank astonishment in her eyes. “You can?”

“Not the Eastern European part, but yes, you’re a princess. At least to me.”

“What an absurd thing to say, Lord Wesley. Very kind of you, I suppose, but perfectly absurd.”

She was right there. That last declaration of his did qualify as a colossal absurdity. Or at least, he would have sworn so on the first night he’d met her. Perhaps the whiskey he’d drunk so copiously the night before had addled his brain. Perhaps he’d had some sort of enchanted dream of her in the night that he’d since forgotten. But looking at her today—with the occasional ray of sunlight dancing in her hair and the warm glow of bewilderment in her green eyes—any man with a heart beating in his chest would think her a princess. And his heart was most assuredly beating in his chest. In triple time.

She raised a hand to his head and placed her palm against his forehead. “Are you sure you’re quite recovered from last night?”

“Yes,” he said. “That is no.”

He took her hand in both of his again and brought it to his lips for a kiss. When she tried to pull it away, he held on. “There are so many things I want to know about you, Miss Stanhope.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t much about me that’s worth knowing, Lord Wesley.”

“That isn’t true,” he said. “I want to know who you are and what brought you to stealing and living in a place like St. Giles.”

She laughed at that, not altogether pleasantly. “Not only is that an unhappy story, but it’s also quite tedious.”

“Rubbish. I find everything about you fascinating.”

She blushed and lowered her gaze. “Really, Lord Wesley.”

“Most especially, I want to know who hurt you.”

Again, she tried to pull her hand away, but again he hung on. “Someone—a man—has hurt you. Rather badly, I suspect.”

“You’re imagining things,” she said.

“I don’t imagine it when you pull back from my touch,” he said. “We’ll be getting along famously, and then you suddenly freeze over and push me away.”

“But that’s what a lady is supposed to do. We’re supposed to resist to the death a man’s baser nature. And only tolerate our husband’s attentions in order to produce his children. Surely, someone’s explained all that to you.”

“Of course, I’ve heard all that. It’s what’s put me off all of English ladyhood.”

“Then I don’t know why you’d expect me to be any different.”

“Because you
are
different,” he said. How could he make this clear to her when he scarcely understood it himself? “There’s a fire inside you. You try to keep it hidden, but even you can’t suppress all that ardor completely. You want to give of yourself, want to let all that passion free, but something stops you. I want to know what.”

She did pull her hand free at that. She used enough effort that he’d have had to struggle with her to keep her hand between his. She blushed and refused to look at him, even turning away so that he couldn’t see her face clearly. Just talking about passion and ardor upset her, it seemed. She’d shut him out again, and he’d get no further with her today.

“I’m sorry, Eve. It’s just that…” He let his voice trail off for lack of words. “Oh, hell. It’s just that I care for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to care for me, and I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Very well.” He sighed. “Your wish is my command, my princess.”

If only he could stop caring about her so easily. He could continue to amuse himself by stealing with her by his side. He could bed her or not, depending on her wishes. If only he could make his heart stop tripping in his chest when he looked at her. If only he could get past the feeling that, no matter how much she gave him, he wanted more. “I promise to stop caring immediately.”

“It’s better that way,” she said finally, turning to face him. “Better we keep our relationship to business and leave that other alone.”

That other.
Really. She called this aching, gnawing hunger for her “that other.” Well, that other had been keeping him awake at night, making him want the most impossible things. And the worst was, they weren’t truly impossible—especially to a man who’d learned a bit about lovemaking in his travels. They only required her permission.

If he couldn’t win her permission today, he’d nevertheless seen some chinks in her armor. They’d have to satisfy him for now. He’d search for other ways to breach her defenses later.

“Very well, business,” he said. “Let’s start with this. Why were you in the library last night?”

“Let’s start with the Wonder of Basutoland instead,” she said.

“Library,” he replied.

“Wonder,” she replied just as forcibly.

“Library.”

“Wonder.”

“Library,” he said, much more loudly than he’d meant.

“But that isn’t business.”

“It’s my business if you’re going to go rummaging around in my house in the middle of the night,” he said.

“It was nothing,” she said. “I told you. I was looking for something to read.”

But he knew perfectly well she was lying. Just the look on her face the night before told him that she’d been up to no good. One thief could hardly relax completely around another one, now could he? She seemed too decent to steal from his parents, but if she could put her hands on the jewels he’d stolen from other people, she’d take those. She’d be stupid if she didn’t. Lots of words came to mind when he thought of Eve Stanhope, but
stupid
wasn’t one of them.

“If you don’t trust me, Lord Wesley, you should never have invited me to stay in your house.”

“Perhaps I can trust you better where I can keep watch on you.”

“Hah,” she said. “As if you could watch me all the time.”

“You won’t find the Wonder or any of the other jewels, you know. I’ve hidden them too well.”

“Some people might take that as a challenge,” she countered.

“Take it any way you like. You won’t find the jewels.”

Her eyes took on a truly vicious gleam. “I don’t see why I should have to. We’re supposed to be partners.”

“For the Wonder only. I stole some other gems before I met you.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “Then give me the Wonder.”

“I’m not ready to dispose of the Wonder yet.”

“When will you be ready?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“I don’t know,” he shouted back.

“Oh, for the love of—”

“Eve,” another voice said, a male voice. “Well, well, it is you.”

Philip glanced up to find a man approaching along the path. He was of average height and build and had an unpleasant squint to his face. He seemed unconcerned that he might be interrupting a private conversation, and further, he’d called Eve by her real name.

Philip glanced into Eve’s face to find an expression of utter repugnance. It appeared that she most definitely knew the man and even more definitely didn’t want to see him. All the more reason Philip
did
want to meet the fellow.

Philip rose, pulling Eve up beside him. She turned toward him as though she could bury herself in his waistcoat and disappear. The other man seemed to take no notice of that but came right up to them, a rather sly grin on his face that displayed a gap between his front teeth.

“I say,” the man said as he took Eve’s hand into his. “Spending your afternoons on long strolls now?”

“Mr. Cathcart,” she said.

“Mr. Cathcart?” he repeated, letting his gaze roam from Eve’s head to her bosom and back again. “I think we know each other better than that.”

She glowered at Cathcart with a fury she’d never shown Philip, thank the Almighty. The expression faded quickly, though, and she again turned toward Philip.

“Why don’t you introduce us, Eve?” Philip said, putting more than a little emphasis on her name.

“Lord Wesley, allow me to present Mr. Arthur Cathcart.”

Cathcart removed his hat, which exposed the thinning hairs on the top of his head to the breeze.

“Wesley, eh?” Cathcart said as he stuck out his hand. “Good to meet you.”

“Viscount Wesley.” Philip took Cathcart’s hand and shook it briefly.

“Viscount.” Cathcart gave Eve an oily smile. “It seems our Eve’s come up a bit in the world.”

Eve must, indeed, have done if this fool had been Philip’s predecessor.

“If nothing else in life, I always aspire to be an improvement on what came before,” Philip said.

“Clever chap, Wesley,” Cathcart said, still wearing that smile. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

Could Cathcart here have caused Eve’s aversion to men? That wouldn’t be hard to imagine if he’d touched her. But it was hard to imagine her—or any woman—allowing the fellow to touch her at all.

“It was good to see you again, Mr. Cathcart,” Eve said.

“Ah-ah-ah, Arthur,” Cathcart corrected, wagging a finger at her.

“Arthur,” she repeated. “Now, we really must go.”

“To the contrary,” Philip said. “We have all the time in the world.”

“It’s late. We’ll be missed,” she said, with a strong undercurrent of warning.

“Nonsense,” Philip replied. “I wouldn’t dream of cutting this tender reunion short. Right, Arthur, old chap?”

“Right. It isn’t every day that one runs into a dear old friend like Eve,” Cathcart said.

“We were never friends, Arthur,” she said from between her teeth. “Especially in light of certain things.”

Those things must have caused a melee, judging by the expression of utter scorn on her face. He’d only seen that look on a few women’s faces in his lifetime and could happily finish out his days without ever seeing it again. Cathcart blushed to the roots of his thinning hair and smiled in a particularly sickly way. “I say, we don’t want to discuss that now, do we?”

“No, we don’t,” Eve said with a tone as brittle as shattering ice.

“Oh, but I wish you would,” Philip prompted. “Just pretend I’m not here and discuss away.”