Always a Princess (9 page)

Just when things might have become truly awkward between them, another person appeared in the glasshouse. Phillip looked over to find Constable Chumley. He’d expected the man to appear at some point. The fellow wasted no time investigating the latest jewel theft.

Not someone a thief would normally welcome seeing, but a diversion, nevertheless, the constable looked about the space as though he’d happened on a clue but couldn’t quite fit it into his current puzzle.

Eve spotted him, and her hand flew to her throat as she let out a nervous little laugh. As much in warning as comfort, Philip placed his hand at her elbow and cleared his throat softly.

“Why, Chumley, what a surprise,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“Orchids.” The constable placed his hands at his back and walked toward Philip, glancing from bench to bench as he went. “These are orchids, aren’t they?”

“Absolutely.” Although none of them looked like the flowers he left as calling cards at the scene of his crimes. He’d hidden the cattleyas toward the back of the house that very morning in case the constable decided to visit after their encounter the night before. He’d especially hidden the plant that was missing one spectacular white blossom.

Chumley stopped in front of him and looked up into his face. “I didn’t know you grew orchids, my lord.”

“I would have told you if you’d asked. It’s not a secret.”

“It’s an odd hobby.” Chumley fiddled with the end of his mustache. “Men aren’t usually fond of flowers.”

“We all have our eccentricities,” Philip said. “Kent’s butterflies, my father’s interest in pigs. I had an uncle once who collected beetles. Startled my aunt more than once with his latest acquisition.”

Chumley’s eyes narrowed as he leaned closer. “Did he now?”

“The family thinks it cut short her life, all those little shocks.”

“Humph.” The constable turned to Eve. “And the princess is here…the two of you, together…just like at the duke’s party.”

Eve laughed again as she grabbed the veitchiana and held it between herself and the constable, rather like a shield.

“Her Highness had this plant sent from Valdastok for my collection,” Philip said. “It’s their national flower.”

Chumley peered into the blossom. “It doesn’t look like an orchid.”

In fact, most people made that mistake. Without knowing what to look for, the average person wouldn’t recognize the flower’s most important features.

“It is, though, and very important to Valdastock’s culture and mythology,” Philip said.

Eve straightened to her full height. “Do you question my native plant, sir?”

“Not at all, Your Highness,” Chumley said. “I only meant…that is…well, it doesn’t look like the one at the scene of the crime last night.”

“No, of course,” Eve declared, doing a fine impression of royal high dudgeon. “Our flowers do not go about with thieves,
monsieur le constable.
Careful that you do not offend our mythology.”

That, at least, set Chumley back on his heels. “I meant no offense.”

“Take care you don’t, old fellow. The last chap who questioned the honor of Valdastok…” Philip made a sawing motion of one finger against his throat.

Chumley turned a bit pale around the edges. “I see.”

“We harbor no prisoners in Valdastok,” Eve said. “None.”

Philip clapped the constable on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t go about accusing these flowers of a crime, if I were you.”

“But I didn’t,” Chumley sputtered. “I said the opposite. You heard me, Lord Wesley…”

“Tut, tut. Think nothing of it. The princess forgives you, I’m sure.”

Eve inclined her head toward Chumley quite regally. “Of course.”

“Now, then, to your problem,” Philip said.

“My problem, my lord?”

“You’re looking for an orchid thief, and you don’t know the first thing about orchids.” Philip dug his fingers into the man’s shoulder. “I think I can help you there.”

“How so?”

“I think you should use me as an advisor. I can tell you about the latest shipments into England, who’s growing what, that sort of thing.”

Chumley leaned toward him as though the two had become conspirators, if not outright chums. “The most likely culprits, eh?”

“I’d start with the Royal Horticultural Society…any number of shady characters there.”

Chumley shrank away from him. “If you’re joking, Lord Wesley, I must say it isn’t funny. Her Majesty’s horticultural society? Never, sir. Never.”

“You’d be surprised by what goes on at the meetings.”

“Enough of this.” Chumley pulled at his coat, straightening it. “I have more important things to do than stand here and listen to such nonsense.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“You’ll excuse me, Lord Wesley.” Chumley bowed in Eve’s general vicinity. “Your Highness.”

“Good-bye to you, sir,” she said.

With that, Chumley disappeared. Eve let out a breath that seemed to shrink her a bit and put the orchid back onto the bench.

“He suspects you,” she said. “Which means, he also suspects me.”

“I think we threw him off a bit.”

“I must admit I don’t see a resemblance between this flower and the one we used last night,” she said. “Does it really come from Valdastok?”

“South America.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Do you have to make up lies when they aren’t necessary?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Your high-and-mighty act threw him off, too.”

“For how long?”

“I couldn’t say. Now, let’s have some tea. Dealing with the constabulary makes me thirsty.”

She gave him an annoyed huff. “I didn’t come here for tea. I came here to discuss a certain diamond and how we’re to dispose of it.”

“The Wonder is most likely thousands of years old. It won’t notice if we delay in selling it for a few weeks. Months, even.”

“Months?” she repeated. “I have no intention of waiting months to get my part of the transaction.”

“Well, perhaps not months.” In fact, he wouldn’t require months, but he might need a few weeks for her to move in and grow comfortable enough with his attentions for him to put the rest of his plan into action.

For he’d concluded during the night that someone had forced Miss Eve Stanhope to deny her own sexual nature. That oughtn’t happen to anyone, of course, but least of all to a woman with Eve’s spirit. Good English morality constricted everyone, but it appeared to do so most unfortunately in her case. She needed unconstricting—badly—and he was just the fellow to do it. She had no idea how lucky she was to have stumbled on the one person in all of London who knew about the erotic side of life and wasn’t afraid to share his knowledge. By the time he’d finished with her, her passionate nature would be thrumming like a finely tuned engine.

“…not even weeks,” she said. “Are you listening to me, Lord Wesley?”

“You have my undivided attention, Miss Stanhope.” That was no lie. He’d thought of nothing but her ever since he’d convinced himself to become her tutor in the joys of physical love. “But some things shouldn’t be rushed. First, let’s have some tea.”

“It’s early for tea.”

“Not very early.” In fact, teatime wouldn’t be for a while. He hadn’t planned on her arriving just now. He hadn’t planned on her coming to him at all, but since she had, he’d take full advantage of her visit.

Well, not full advantage, at least not today. He really did have to control the direction of his thoughts—and other things.

“I’m sure Cook can muster something up quickly,” he said.

“Why should she?” Eve asked. “We can conclude our business, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Nonsense. You’re here, and you’ll have tea.”

“If I’d wanted tea, I would have come at teatime,” she said.

“I’m parched,” he said. “I don’t conduct business when I’m parched.”

She glared at him. “I’m beginning to think you don’t intend to conduct business at all.”

If she meant the diamond, he didn’t. If she meant installing her in a suite of rooms near his so that he could instruct her in the enjoyment of the flesh, he did. Tea and his mother were definitely in order for the latter.

He extended his arm toward her. “Tea first. Business later.”

She didn’t look the least bit pleased, but she took his arm, anyway, and let him escort her out of the glasshouse and up the gravel path. When they entered the house, the delicious scents of baking greeted them—yeast and cinnamon and some other spices he couldn’t quite place. His mother had no doubt alerted Cook to prepare tea the moment Miss Stanhope had arrived, and Cook would move heaven and earth to have something delicious ready for royalty, bless her. And bless Lady Farnham and her penchant for matchmaking.

He led Miss Stanhope along the corridor to the sitting room and found that his parents had already arrived and taken their customary places doing their customary things—his father sitting with a book in his lap, and his mother busy with the teapot and cups that one of the maids would have set before her on a tray. His mother was still a handsome woman, despite the very faintest trace of gray just now entering her hair. His father, though not by any means handsome as a man, still exuded a sense of inner peace and contentment. All in all, the two of them made a picture of domestic comfort, if not outright bliss—something Philip had always wanted for himself when he finished with his wanderlust.

The scene even seemed to affect Miss Stanhope, as she stood on the threshold, for once quiet and not even attempting to remove her arm from his. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and found an odd expression on her face.
Wistful
was the best way to describe it. Perhaps even a bit sad. Something had made her into the odd creature she was—at once both prickly and delicate, haughty and uncertain. He might not ever know what had brought her to that state, but he would replace that sadness with smiles and that prickliness with passion. Eventually. For now, he settled for placing his hand over hers and squeezing her fingers.

That brought her up sharply. She stiffened next to him and pulled her arm from his. Before he could respond in any way, she’d lifted her chin and cleared her throat.

“Why, there you are, darling,” his mother said. “The princess found you.”

“She certainly did,” Philip said.

“And none too soon,” Lady Farnham added. “You’re both just in time for tea.”

His father looked up from his book, then over toward where the early-afternoon sun poured through the window. “They are?”

“Of course, dear,” his mother said, although the pointed look of her gaze added a warning. “Just in time.”

“But it’s early yet,” his father said. Always a man of habit, he sounded as if he resented the change in his daily schedule.

“And so it is,” Miss Stanhope said in her best falsified Valdastokian. “I come back another day, no?”

“No,” Philip’s mother said quickly. “That is, we’d love for you to come back another day and often, but do stay now. Cook has made some of her gooseberry tarts especially for you.”

“Gooseberry?” Philip’s father said, his expression brightening. “I always say there’s no need to put off until later a gooseberry tart that’s ready to be eaten now.”

Lady Farnham smiled at her husband. “Very wise of you, my dear.”

“There you are,” Philip said. “We shouldn’t keep the gooseberries waiting.”

Miss Stanhope smiled up at him, more or less. He’d take the expression for a smile. He was going to need whatever smiles he could cajole from her after he’d exposed her to his plans. He gestured toward the settee. Miss Stanhope crossed to it and assumed the seat next to his mother. Philip chose an armchair just to her side and sat down.

His mother picked up a china cup and very delicately poured milk and then tea into it. “I want to thank you, Your Highness, for your courtesy last night during that dreadful affair with the Orchid Thief.”

“Say nothing of it,” Eve Stanhope replied. “I could see that your ladyship was…how shall I say…discomforted over the sad happenstances.”

Lady Farnham handed Miss Stanhope the full cup of tea and then placed her hand over her heart. “Discomforted, my dear princess. Your way with language is certainly understated. Lovely, but understated. I was perfectly terrified.”

“Beastly affair,” Lord Farnham piped up. “And quite thirsty. Might I have some tea?”

“Of course.” Lady Farnham busied herself again and passed first one full cup to her husband and then another to Philip. She poured herself some tea and then leaned back against the settee. “You don’t know what an ordeal it was. You men weren’t even there when it happened.”

Philip drank his tea in silence. His mother hadn’t been there when it happened, either. And as far as an ordeal, she’d had to endure a good deal more during her lifetime than finding a safe open and a diamond missing. Still, if she really wanted to enjoy the drama of the event, who was he to discourage her?

“In fact, the whole thing has given me a brilliant idea,” she said.

Oh dear, his mother had had a brilliant idea. That didn’t bode well. “Might we have some of those gooseberry tarts to fortify us for your idea?”

“Oh my, yes,” she said. She used a pair of silver tongs to serve tarts all around and then picked up her fork. Philip set aside his teacup and started in on his own tart, finding it superb, just like everything Cook set her mind to.

“So,” his mother said, her fork poised for serious contemplation. “It struck me this morning how utterly useless the entire male sex has been throughout this whole Orchid Thief affair.”

“I beg your pardon,” his father huffed.

“It’s true, Reginald. The duke was nowhere to be found, and neither was my own son, while I had to undergo the entire ordeal on my own.”

“But still…” his father interjected.

“You were in the privy the entire time.” Lady Farnham gestured upward with her fork, as though asking for patience from on high. “And that Constable Chumley is no more than an imbecile. He couldn’t find his own shadow on a sunny day.”

“I’m sure we’re all a very great disappointment to you,” Philip tossed in.

His mother smiled indulgently at him. “You men are darlings—most of you. But truly, only the duchess took matters in hand, and only the princess offered me any real comfort.”