Always a Princess (15 page)

She placed a hand against his chest and pushed him gently away. “Yes. Or we will. I am here to learn English so that I may best to teach it to my people.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. I wish to bring my people out of the darkness and into the glorious light of Queen Victoria herself and all the modernness of her Empire.”

He rubbed his chin in a frankly skeptical gesture. “Do you plan to teach each of them yourself, one at a time?”

“I was speaking figuratively.”

“Hmm,” he said again.

Dear heaven, where was Lord Wesley? Why hadn’t he taken the necklace and returned? If he did now, would Kleckhorn examine him the way he’d been examining her? Would he suspect that Wesley had something in his pocket that he oughtn’t to have? Would he alert Chumley and his men?

Damn Wesley, anyway.

“I wonder if I might make a study of your head, Your Highness,” Kleckhorn said.

She raised her hands to the sides of her face and laughed. “Right now? At a party?”

“In my laboratory,” he said, “where I have all the proper scientific measuring instruments.”

She laughed again, although the sound was forced, even to her own ears. “You think I’m a criminal?”

“No,” he said quickly, entirely too quickly. “I’m interested in the heads of all types of people, including royalty, such as yourself.”

“I see.”

“Indeed, someday I hope to collect all the crowned heads of Europe,” he said and followed his little joke with a rusty laugh that made him sound as if he didn’t laugh often.

“Or, the bumps on the crowned heads, you mean?” she said.

He stopped laughing and cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Might I expect your visit soon, then?”

“No,” she answered. “That is, I think not. I have much to do with the learning of English.”

“But, Your Highness.”

“I must be firm on this. My head bumps are not so important as the fate of my country, sir. I am surprised you do not see that.”

“Well, of course, if you put it that way.”

“I do. Yes, I do. And in fact, the fate of my country calls me elsewhere right at this minute. I must leave.”

“I meant no offense, Your Highness.”

“None taken,” she said, turning away from the doctor. “Good evening to you, sir.”

Before he could say anything else she headed off looking for a crowd to get lost in. After she disappeared from Kleckhorn’s view, she’d dash upstairs and find Wesley, and they’d leave. If he’d managed to grab the necklace, they’d take it with them. If not, they’d leave without it. Tonight was most definitely
not
the night to be stealing jewelry.

Just when it seemed that things couldn’t get any worse, a familiar nasal voice sounded behind her. “Well there, Eve. Hallo, old thing.”

Arthur Cathcart. Good Lord, with everything else, she had to endure him, as well?

He’d dressed as Julius Caesar in a toga that reached nearly to the floor but didn’t manage to hide the fact that he’d worn black hose with his sandals. He’d twined ivy in his thinning hair, for lack of laurel leaves, no doubt. The whole effect made him look silly, and his vacuous grin didn’t help matters. She’d laugh outright if he weren’t the most dangerous person to her identity who could possibly have appeared at the ball. Thank heaven for her mask.

“You are confuse me with someone else, sir,” she said in her best Valdastockian. “I do not know this Eva.”

“Jolly good costume you have there, Evie, but I’d recognize you anywhere.” To prove his point, he lowered his gaze to her bosom, a place it had lingered more than once during her employment in his father’s house. “One doesn’t forget a friend like you, eh what?”

“
Monsieur,
I am the Princess Eugenia D’Armand of Valdastock.”

He laughed, not quite a hoot this time but irritating, nevertheless. “So, that’s what the costume is. I rather thought it might have been one of the beheaded French queens.”

“Sir, you breach the etiquette with your manners. The proper authorities will be informed.”

“Ah, a game is it?” Before she realized what he was doing, he’d reached to her mask and pulled it off. “Reveal the princess. I win!”

She snatched the mask back. “All right, you’ve won. Now, I have to go.”

“Not before I collect my prize,” he said. “What shall it be? A kiss.”

If her stomach hadn’t flopped a few times, that prospect would definitely have turned it over. “I won’t kiss you, Arthur.”

“A waltz, then.”

“Nor that, either.”

“I know.” His eyes took on a cunning gleam, or as cunning as Arthur ever appeared. “Have my parents introduced to the earl and his wife. That’ll earn me some standing with them.”

“Your parents are here?”

“At the refreshment table. I couldn’t get them into costume.”

She searched in that direction and found a couple that might have been the Cathcarts. At the distance and with all the crowds between them, she couldn’t tell for sure.

“They wouldn’t miss a party like this one.”

Nor an opportunity for social climbing. No doubt, the pair would be aware of the princess. Though thoroughly unpleasant, the elder Cathcarts weren’t as stupid as their son and would see through the costume and the princess persona and figure everything out.

“I have to go,” she said.

“But, Evie…”

Before he could utter another word or reach for her again, she took off at a discreet run. First Chumley and his men. Then Kleckhorn. And now Arthur Cathcart and his parents. Forget the diamond necklace. She’d find Wesley and get the hell out of here before anything else could go wrong.

Philip had almost exhausted the possibilities for hiding places for jewelry in Lady Harrington’s boudoir when Eve Stanhope rushed in. She appeared out of breath and near panic—her eyes wide and her pale skin even paler than normal. The real Marie Antoinette could hardly have looked any more panicky on her way to the guillotine.

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered as she rushed to him where he sat at the dressing table. “We have to get out of here.”

He took her hands in his and squeezed them. “What’s wrong? Is someone coming?”

“No,” she said, her hands trembling in his. “At least, I don’t think so.”

“Were you followed here?”

She took a breath and shook her head no.

He rose and walked to the doorway, glancing out and searching the hallway in first one direction and then the other. Nothing seemed amiss. He walked back to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Where are Chumley’s men?”

“Downstairs where they were before. Still serving refreshments.”

“Then I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”

“Kleckhorn. He’s here.”

“That sham scientist you told me about?”

“Yes,” she said. “He was talking to me.”

“I suppose even Germans talk to people.”

She put her hands over his wrists and gripped them like some sort of lifeline. “But he wanted to measure my head.”

“Calm down, Eve. You’re not making any sense.”

“The bumps,” she said, now clearly agitated beyond reason. Philip placed his fingers over her lips to quiet her. She moved his hand away. “The bumps on my head. It’s part of some theory he has. He thinks I’m a criminal.”

“Well, he can’t be wrong all the time.”

She placed her hands on either side of his face—a move he’d normally enjoy a great deal, but she didn’t seem motivated by passion at all. “He suspects me, Wesley, and Chumley suspects you. And there are spies all over the place. And we have to get out of here.”

“And we will,” he whispered back. “Just as soon as I’ve found the diamond necklace.”

“Worse. Arthur Cathcart is here.”

“That fellow we met on the street?” he said. “He didn’t recognize you, did he?”

“He did. The very first time he’s ever shown any perceptiveness, and he had to choose tonight.”

“A definite complication.” Still, Cathcart couldn’t have connected Eve to the Orchid Thief. “Do you think he linked you to the princess?”

“I pretended to be the princess.” She took a few panting breaths. “He thought that was part of my costume for the ball.”

“There you are, then. Nothing to worry about.”

“But, his parents are here, too.”

“Did they spot you?”

She bit her lip. “No.”

“Calm down.” He took her hands in his and brought them to his mouth for a brief kiss, more assurance than caress. “Go over to the door and listen for anyone coming.”

“And what if someone does come?” she asked.

“We’ll get away somehow.”

“I suppose we could climb out the window if we have to,” she said.

“Yes, yes, the window. Whatever you want. I don’t understand why you’ve suddenly lost your nerve.”

She looked around for a moment, still clearly frightened, but eventually she took a breath and nodded in agreement. Finally, she went to the doorway, and Philip resumed his search for Lady Harrington’s diamonds.

He’d found several jewel boxes, but they only held small, insignificant pieces. He hadn’t found anything at all that looked like a safe. Perhaps their hostess had more sense than the rest of them and kept her jewels where a thief really couldn’t find them. In that case, they’d leave empty-handed tonight, and he’d have to think of some other way to keep Eve from insisting on selling the Wonder.

Only, how in hell could he do that?

He looked around the room, and his eyes fell on the bed. It was a ponderous piece of furniture for such a feminine room—heavy oak, with intricately carved panels all the way to the floor. Might it serve as more than just a bed?

He walked over and knelt before the panels so that he could examine them. One panel toward the bottom seemed rather larger than the rest, and an edge appeared loose.

“What are you doing?” Eve asked from her station at the doorway.

He didn’t answer, but just put his finger to his lips to signal her to be quiet. Then he tested the edge of the panel with his fingertips and pulled it away from the rest of the bed to reveal a hidden compartment behind the oak. Eve’s eyes grew round again, and she rushed over.

“A safe?” she whispered.

Philip reached inside the enclosure, and his fingers touched metal. “I do believe so. Hand me the letter opener from the dressing table.”

She fetched the opener and returned, dropped to her knees, and handed it to him. “Can you get it open with this thing?”

He placed the point of the opener under the edge of the metal door and pushed. “I hope so.”

“Hurry.”

The metal blade caught on something—the locking mechanism, most likely. Philip put some effort behind it, and after a few pushes, the lock gave way. He set the opener down and reached inside the safe. His hand immediately found a large box, which he pulled out and opened.

“The diamonds,” Eve gasped. “You found them.”

He certainly had. The necklace was a heavy thing, with dozens and dozens of diamonds ranging in size from small to perfectly huge. It sparkled and shone in just the dim light of the candle he’d brought from downstairs.

“Good,” Eve said. “Now we can get out of here.”

“Yes.” He put the diamonds in his pocket. “Just get me the orchid from the top of the dressing table.”

“Right.”

Before she could make a move in that direction, though, they were interrupted by a sound from a corner of the room. A loud snort. The sort of noise a man made in his sleep.

Philip didn’t budge from where he was, and neither did Eve twitch a muscle. They just knelt there, staring into each other’s faces. Perhaps he’d imagined the sound—please, God, let him have imagined the sound. But if he’d imagined it, so had she, or she wouldn’t have gotten that look of stark terror back on her face.

Philip held his breath and listened. The sound came again, more loudly this time. He glanced slowly over his shoulder and noticed the barest movement behind a curtain. Someone was back there, and he was snoring. Probably one of Chumley’s men had been assigned to guard Lady Harrington’s bedroom, and the fellow had fallen asleep on the job.

Philip placed his hand over Eve’s mouth again, to signal her to remain silent. She didn’t utter a sound. In fact, she looked so terrified as to be incapable of speech. Satisfied that she’d be quiet, he pointed toward the doorway and with his fingers pantomimed a pair of legs walking in that direction. She swallowed and nodded and rose to start tiptoeing out when a real alarm went up.

Footsteps and shouting. Chumley and other voices he didn’t recognize. Coming from the floor below and headed in their direction.

“This way, Constable. Up here.”

“Find Wesley and the princess.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Perkins. Perkins, are you up there?”

Whoever had been snoring behind the curtain came to life with one last, loud snort. Feet scuffled back there, and the curtain billowed and rippled.

If they didn’t find some way out, and fast, they’d be discovered.

Philip watched Eve slink to the window and lift the sash in total silence. She inclined her head in a signal for him to join her and climb through. Surely she was joking. He had no intention of jumping out to his death.

The footsteps from downstairs grew louder with every passing second, and only the fact that the snorer behind the curtain had managed to tangle himself in it kept that fellow from catching them too. Philip crouched, unable to move, and watched the huge, grunting bundle struggle with the heavy material, almost pulling the rings free of the rod.

“Psst.”

He turned and found that Eve had climbed outside and now leaned inside, glowering at him and motioning angrily with her hand for him to join her. Her wig bobbed furiously, making the birds perched in it weave as though they’d been tippling. “Hurry.”

Oh, hell, he’d never wanted to climb out an upstairs window in his life, but what choice did he have? He joined her and looked outside—and all the way down, down, down to the ground.

“For heaven’s sake,” she hissed into his ear. “Climb out here. Fast.”

A bit of roof extended past the end of the window, offering more than a ledge for him to climb onto. Thank God for that. He slid one leg out and onto it, gripped the sill as if his life depended on it and swung his body and the second leg out.

Eve had already scampered up and around the gable and peered at him from a position where she could hide from anyone not on the roof with her.

“Close the window and come here,” she whispered hoarsely.

“The window,” he repeated.

She made an up-and-down sawing motion with her arm. “The window. Close the window.”

He turned and pushed at the bottom of the sash. The world lurched, and he nearly lost his balance, but he managed to get the window shut finally. He slowly inched his way across the roof tiles toward Eve.

“Hurry, you great clumsy oaf,” she said. “Over here before they see you.”

Couldn’t she see he was going as fast as he could? She came back toward him, extending her hand. He took it gratefully. She wasn’t nearly strong enough to catch him if he started to fall, but the firmness of her grasp gave him some anchor in a whirling world of shouts and slippery tiles.

Together they made it to her hiding place just as the window flew open behind them.

“No one out here,” a voice called, probably Chumley’s. “Where did they go, Perkins?”

“I didn’t see no one, Constable,” another man said.

“Then how did that orchid get there?”

“I don’t know, sir. Is it her ladyship’s?”

“Did her ladyship steal her own diamond necklace?” Chumley said.

“No, sir.”

Well, that settled it. The orchid had been spotted and the necklace missed. No chance now of trying to undo the crime and merely return to the party. Chumley and his men had caught the Orchid Thief, midtheft, and Philip had the damning evidence in his pocket.

“Search the house,” Chumley ordered. “Examine all the servants and the guests. I want every inch of this place scoured!”

The window closed again, cutting off any further orders the constable might give to his men. Philip slumped against the roof and took a breath. “Bloody hell. We can’t go back in that way.”

“I don’t think we’d want to, in any case,” Eve said. “They were specifically after us, you know.”

“Then, what do you suggest? We can’t stay out here all night.”

She rose and looked around her. “We’ll search until we find a way down.”

“A way down?” He leaned out and checked to see if the ground had gotten any closer since he’d climbed out the window. It hadn’t.

“A tree we can jump into or an arbor to climb down. Maybe a place where the roof dips low enough to drop off.”

“My dear Miss Stanhope, I’m not in the habit of jumping off roofs.”

“You should have thought of that before you agreed to climb out the window,” she said.

“I did no such thing.”

“Yes, you did. When I suggested it, you said we would.”

“I couldn’t have said something like that.”

She didn’t answer but put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

“Well, if I said it, I certainly didn’t mean it.”

“I don’t know why not,” she replied. “It’s the only intelligent thing you’ve said all night.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he repeated.

“Profanity isn’t going to help us, Lord Wesley.” She reached her hand down toward him. “Let’s go find a way off this roof.”

He took her hand and rose carefully. Luckily, it wasn’t raining, or the slick tiles would have been even slicker. His footing felt anything but firm, though, and the knocking of his knees didn’t help matters. He took a few steps and glanced around. Eve was far ahead of him and scampering over the steeply pitched roof like some sort of mountain goat—if mountain goats wore silk gowns and powdered wigs. And she was doing it in her slippers with the elevated heels.

She stopped and looked back, obviously surprised to find him only a few feet from where she’d left him. She raised her arms in a silent question, and all Philip could do was shrug and smile. She sighed and headed back to him.

When she reached him, she looked up at him with curiosity and more than a little irritation in her eyes. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you standing here?” she said. “This is no time for contemplation.”

“I know that.”

“Well, then?” she demanded.

“Well, I’m not quite used to this, if you must know. The roof is steep and the tiles slippery, and there’s a healthy drop to the ground below. Or unhealthy, as the case may be.”

“You’re afraid of heights,” she declared. “Oh, my goodness, the notorious Orchid Thief is afraid of heights.”

“Let’s just say I have a profound respect for the force of gravity. There’s no disputing Newtonian physics, you know.”

She took his hand. “Come along, then, Sir Isaac, and I’ll get us both out of here.”

She was laughing at him. In a very obvious manner. But as long as he was holding her hand—and as long as he didn’t notice that the trees were all below him—he could follow along at almost the same speed as her nimble gait. They scrambled up the side of one gable and down the other side, nearing the rear of the house.

“You sound like a team of horses,” she said. “Do you want to alert everyone inside that we’re up here?”

“I’m doing the best I can,” he said.

“Well, do better.”

“Why are you so good at this, Miss Stanhope? It appears you’ve had practice.”

“Sometimes a roof is the best place to get away from…well…things.”

“What sort of things?”

“Just things,” she said. “There are places in the city where the houses are so close, you can hop from building to building until you encounter a street.”

Thank heaven they weren’t in one of those places, because one rooftop was quite enough for Philip. More than enough, in fact. Miss Stanhope didn’t seem the least put off by their precarious position. More than anything, she appeared to be enjoying herself. And now, he had even more to ponder about her—namely what sort of things had driven her to rooftops in crowded parts of London. He’d ponder that
after
they got down from this rooftop, not before.

They neared the back of the house, and the pitch of the roof became even steeper. She turned sideways and began downward, crab fashion, dragging her skirts and Philip along with her. He did his best not to look down, but all he could see was the ground rising up to meet him. He hung back, hindering her descent, but she was going too fast, anyway.

Finally, they reached the edge, and she released his hand so that she could crouch down and look over the side. The hoops of her farthingale billowed up as she did, giving him a view of her drawers that he would have enjoyed under other circumstances. Instead, he sat as best he could, anchoring his arse against the tiles and groping around for some handhold.

After a moment, she looked back up at him. “There’s a flat roof just below us, probably a back entryway. It’s a bit of a drop, but you should be able to make it.”

“I?” he said.

“Yes. You can hang from your arms, jump the last few feet and then catch me.”

“Why do I have to do it?” he asked.

“Because you’re the man. I can hardly catch you, now can I?”

He might very well be the man, but she was the roof climber, and if he could drop to that lower roof, so could she. Of course, she couldn’t catch him, and he’d still be stuck up here until he found the courage to jump himself. So he might as well just do it and save what little male pride he had left.

“Very well.” He rolled onto his stomach and slid his feet out over the edge of the upper roof. He inched along slowly until he could no longer control his descent and he plummeted over the side. He caught the gutter with both hands just in time to break his fall, and swung above the lower roof—who knew how far below. Finally, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let go.

When he opened his eyes again, he was standing on the lower roof. He’d made it to something solid—or at least level. He looked up to find Eve peering down at him.

“Ready to catch me?” she asked.

He raised his arms. “More than ready.”

“You are sure you can manage this, aren’t you?”

“I assure you, what talents I lack in roof-hopping I more than make up for in lady-catching.”

She laughed. She truly
was
enjoying this, the irritating female. The next thing he knew, her dainty feet were pointed at him, followed by the frills of lots and lots of petticoats. He caught sight of a delicately turned ankle and a nicely rounded calf below her drawers. And then, she was suddenly in his arms.

All the breath went right out of him. Not from catching her—she weighed nothing at all—but rather from the totality of holding her so close while his heart still pounded from his journey over the roof. From the overwhelming rush of awareness of her softness, her scent, the crush of her breasts against him. He touched her throat and felt her pulse racing just under the skin. She hadn’t been afraid, so maybe this was the effect of exertion throbbing under his fingertips. And then again, maybe it was the same thing he felt…

The world lurched again, but this time it wasn’t fear searing through him and fogging his mind. Before he knew what he was doing, he had her up against the wall and was kissing her as if his life depended on it. And curse him if it didn’t feel like his life did depend on it. He couldn’t breathe without stealing her breath to do it. His heart couldn’t beat without matching the rhythm of her heart. And in his breeches, his sex grew thick and hard, eagerly seeking release in the cushion of her belly.

She responded just as hotly. She dug her fingers into his hair, pulling his face to hers so that she could devour his lips. She whispered his name into his mouth as she sampled him, alternately kissing and sighing and tugging at his lower lip with her teeth. He pushed her back, harder, driving his hardness into her until she gave him a little moan of pleasure. He abandoned her mouth and nipped first at her earlobe and then along the length of her throat.

“Oh, yes,” she cried. “So good. Please. Oh, don’t stop.”

No danger there. He’d long ago gone past any placef for stopping. He covered her breast with his hand and rubbed his palm over it to stiffen the nipple. She caught a sharp inward breath and let her head fall back. He squeezed her gently, and she cried out again. He pulled her against him, and she moved in a way that drove him past passion to madness.

“Perkins, Smith, check the grounds,” came a call from below. Philip almost didn’t hear it through a brain numbed by arousal.

“Yes, Constable,” another voice called. “If they’re back here, we’ll find them.”

Philip lifted his face from where it had nestled in the valley between Eve’s breasts and pushed her back again—this time to hide the two of them in the shadow of the roof overhang. His body didn’t realize that, though, and his member throbbed with unsated passion. He put his face next to Eve’s and drew in air in fast, shallow breaths. Her own breath came just as hard, and even in the dark he could make out the rise and fall of her bosom. Her fichu had disappeared, and somehow he’d managed to free one breast from her bodice. The nipple stood hard for his view.

He didn’t dare move for fear of the sound alerting the men below. So he stood, hopelessly aroused and staring at a woman in the throes of the same passion. Could there be any more exquisite torture? How bloody long were those imbeciles going to take?

“They ain’t out here,” one man said. “They ain’t nowhere near here, those two. They’re gone.”

“Still, we’d best check or the constable will give us hell.”

“You check all you want.” That was followed by the sound of a match being struck and a short silence long enough for a man to light a pipe. “Chumley don’t know what he’s looking for.”

“Come on, Perkins.”

“Oh, all right.”

The two of them moved about, making as much noise as a pair of men could conceivably make walking through a neatly tended garden. If they seriously meant to catch any criminals, those noises would give them away long before they could corner their quarries. Philip held as still as he could. So did his sex, not losing any of its frantic hardness. Eve moved only enough to tuck her breast back into her bodice. The sight of her fingers against that tender nipple almost undid him. If those two idiots hadn’t been within hearing distance, he’d have her on her back somewhere, and he’d be giving both of them what they needed.

He held his breath and counted backward from one hundred. That didn’t work, so he tried counting backward by threes. Hopeless. He’d just have to endure this until he could either get away from her or make love to her.

“Come on, lad,” Perkins said after what seemed like an eternity. “Ain’t no one back here.”

“The constable said to search.”

“And where’s the constable? Inside where it’s warm, that’s where. And that’s where I’m going, too.”

The other man heaved a sigh loud enough to be heard all the way up on the roof. “You’re right, I guess.”

“’Course I am. Let’s go back inside.”