Always a Princess Read online

  “What?”

  “On my arse,” he said.

  Oh, dear God. She pulled back and discovered that it was true. She had one hand on each of his buttocks. How had that happened? The last she could recall her hands had been in his hair. Not much better, but still…she’d grabbed his arse?

  “Under other circumstances I wouldn’t mind at all,” he said, smirking again. “But I think right now we might want to get out of here before someone else spots us with her ladyship’s jewelry.”

  Eve jumped away from him and took a few breaths in a concentrated effort to clear her head. Her breasts tingled from having been crushed against his chest, and even now their rise and fall against the fabric of her bodice brought new sensations of fullness and oversensitivity. What in blooming hell had just happened to her?

  “Well, that’s done it,” Wesley said.

  She looked up at him, stupidly no doubt. How else could she look at the man? For heaven’s sake, he’d just drowned her in a sea of sensation, and now he followed the deluge with a declaration as banal as “Well, that’s done it.”

  “Done what?” she said.

  “Neither of us can have the ruby now. We’ve been spotted.”

  Ah yes, the ruby. The reason she’d rifled through Lady Bainbridge’s dressing table. The reason she’d come to this party. Somehow the odious man and his unwelcome kisses had made her forget even that.

  She watched as he walked around her to the dressing table and reached for the ruby’s wooden box. He stopped abruptly, his arm outstretched. “What’s this?”

  “A box. You must have seen it before.”

  “Not that,” he snapped. “This.”

  She followed the direction of his fingers and noticed he was pointing at the daisy she’d left beside the candle. “It’s a flower.”

  “But it’s a daisy,” he said, emphasizing the last word as though daisies disgusted him.

  “Obviously.”

  “But, a daisy,” he repeated.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him. “You dislike daisies for some reason. Perhaps your mother was frightened by one?”

  “But they’re so…” His voice trailed off as he searched for the right word. “Common.”

  “I don’t see why that should matter to you.”

  “It matters, because this means you’ve not only been impersonating a nonexistent princess,” he said, the very picture of outrage. “You’ve been impersonating me. And badly.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I never met you before tonight.”

  Why in heaven’s name would Lord Wesley think she’d want to impersonate someone like him? Leaving a flower behind after taking a jewel was the trademark of…oh, dear. This whole situation was starting to make sense in a perverse, backward sort of way. Impossible sense, and yet unavoidable.

  “You’re the thief who’s been going around London stealing jewels and leaving orchids behind,” she said.

  “What a keen grasp of the obvious you have.” He took a deep breath and let it out with a disgusted little huff. “Of course I’m a jewel thief. What else would I be doing here with Lady Bainbridge’s ruby in my pocket?”

  “Well, I’ll be…” She stopped herself before she added “damned.” “You’re the Orchid Thief!”

  “I don’t know why they call me that,” he groused. “I take jewels, not orchids. I leave orchids behind.”

  “What would you like them to call you? The Prince of Orchids? The Orchid Phantom? Le Seigneur d’Orchidée, perhaps.”

  “Oh, never mind.” He pointed an accusatory finger at her daisy. “The point is, I leave orchids. Orchids, not daisies.”

  “Well, I’m very sorry, your lordship, I’m sure. But I can’t always put my hands on an orchid when I need one.”

  “Well, young lady…whoever you are. If you can’t do a thing right, then you shouldn’t be doing it at all.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “What a pigheaded, pompous, aristocratic thing to say.”

  “You seem to have a problem with the aristocracy,” he said. “What has the aristocracy ever done to you?”

  “Plenty,” she said. “And the particulars are none of your business.”

  “You may keep the sordid details to yourself. In fact, you may keep your sordid self to yourself. But when you make me look common, that’s another matter, indeed.”

  “If you find me so common, what were you doing kissing me a moment ago?” she demanded.

  “I should think that would be clear.”

  Oh for heaven’s sake, what a perfect asinine conversation this had turned out to be. “Only to someone as clever as yourself, your lordship. The rest of us need it explained.”

  “What reason would a man and a woman have sneaking off to a bedroom at a party? Other than to steal jewels, of course.”

  “A tryst?” she replied.

  “What that other couple was up to.”

  “You pretended to be seducing me?” she said. What a thought. What a repulsive thought. Worse, she’d cooperated far more eagerly than she cared to admit, even to herself. “And those people believed you were succeeding!”

  “They left us alone, didn’t they?”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “You didn’t seem to find the prospect alarming at the time.”

  No, she hadn’t, much to her chagrin, when she should have slapped his face. Perhaps she still would, although it did appear that the prime moment for face-slapping had passed.

  “You did a good job of playing your part in the tryst.” He leaned toward her, an equal measure of anger and triumph in his eyes. “You had that other couple convinced you were ready to toss me onto the floor and have your way with me.”

  She glared at him. Maybe the time for face-slapping hadn’t quite escaped her, after all. “You surprised me.”

  “You have a most astonishing reaction to being surprised,” he said. “I wonder what you’d do if someone were to frighten you outright.”

  She lowered her arms to her sides and stiffened her spine. With him bending over like that, she could look him straight in the eye—almost. “You’ll never find out, because you don’t frighten me.”

  “Good.” He tipped ever closer until he was quite off balance. “You’re an incendiary little thing, and I’d hate to scare you off.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. Just because she’d put her hand on to his buttocks—his very firm and pleasantly rounded buttocks—he seemed to think she’d gone completely mad for him. She had been mad momentarily, it was true. Long enough for her hands to travel over his body and land where they’d landed. But that was all past now, and if he didn’t stop grinning and leering at her, she’d have to take some drastic step to remove the smirk from his face. Maybe a little contact between the floorboards and that face would do the trick.

  She pursed her lips into the very best pout she could manage. “You think I like your kisses?”

  His smile grew even broader. “I know you do.”

  “Let me show you how much.” She rested her palm against his chest and gave it a good, solid push.

  It was more than enough to send him reeling and tipping backward, and she took the opportunity to turn and head for the doorway. Behind her, he made a very satisfying crash as he fell to the floor. But as she reached the threshold, she caught the sound of his laughter, too.

  Philip sat in the cavernous dining room of his family’s townhouse and stared into a large fire he’d lit in the hearth. Though the flames leaped and crackled hotly enough to force him to remove his jacket and loosen the front of his shirt, they nevertheless barely illuminated a corner of the room—the place was that huge. For dinner parties, the staff had to light dozens and dozens of candles to create anything that resembled a cordial atmosphere.

  He should have set up his own household by now, and he would have if he’d planned to stay in London for long stretches. Instead, he’d spent all his time searching for adventure in foreign lands and usually finding it. This
house had served well enough as a huge and fully staffed pied à terre for the rare occasions when he found his way back to England. Now that his older brother had died and he’d become his father’s heir and the earl-to-be he’d have to establish himself independently. All that could wait for a bit. For now, the illumination of this fire in this room suited him far better.

  He took a stiff drink of his brandy and let his mind roam free. It came back to where it had been all evening. Who was that woman?

  He could rule out with utter certainty who she was not. She wasn’t a princess from Valdastok or anywhere else. Both her accent and her speech ruled out any type of nobility, domestic or foreign.

  But then she was no common thief, either. A common thief skulked about and took whatever lay available for the taking. This woman’s method was so creative, so audacious it almost cried out for detection—as if she were daring the world to catch her. And yet, if he hadn’t happened on the scene, no one might have detected her fraudulence at all. Incredible.

  Nothing about her was more incredible than the way she’d kissed him, though. He’d only meant the kiss as a ruse to get rid of whoever that was at the door, but the caress had fast taken on a life of its own—to the point where he hadn’t recognized the intruders even though the man had clearly recognized him. He couldn’t say the woman had acted seductively at first. In fact, she’d resisted more than a little. But oh good God, after that she’d ended up kneading his flesh like a cat preparing its bed.

  Before that image could seduce Philip completely, the door swung open, and a tall, gaunt figure appeared in the door.

  “Mobley, it’s late,” Philip said. “What are you doing up?”

  Mobley walked into the room, and even in the dim light Philip could make out the long limbs and hooked nose that made the family butler look like a cross between a bird of prey and a stork.

  “Is there anything you require, my lord?” Mobley asked.

  “At this hour, if I require something I can get it myself, I should think.”

  “As you say, my lord.”

  Philip studied the man. Even at this late hour, he looked starched and perfect in his butler’s uniform of dark suit and white shirt and stiff cravat. Mobley hardly seemed human at times, but more like an automaton with his unbending manner and his tendency to end all his utterances with “my lord.”

  The perfect majordomo, their Mobley—discreet, almost unbearably efficient and perfectly irritating. Still, he’d been with the family since Philip’s father had been in short pants. Little chance now of convincing the fellow to unbend a bit.

  But perhaps for the moment, Mobley’s sense of correctness and the proper social order—oh hell, Mobley’s snobbery—might prove a useful source of information.

  “Tell me something, Mobley.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Sir, this time. Perhaps they were making progress. “I don’t suppose you’d like to get yourself a brandy and join me.”

  Mobley didn’t move, didn’t answer. He stood there as if the invitation had come in some unintelligible foreign language.

  Philip sighed. “No, I suppose not.”

  “You wanted to know something, my lord?”

  “You have an acute ear for language as it relates to someone’s social class, I believe.”

  If Philip hadn’t known better, he would have sworn that won him a smile from the man. Probably a trick of the firelight.

  “Do you ever come across someone whose accent isn’t truly coarse but isn’t truly refined, either?” Philip continued. “You know—hard to place?”

  “Oh, yes,” Mobley answered with more animation than he normally allowed himself. “It’s not uncommon at all, my lord.”

  “What does that usually tell you about someone?”

  “It’s very simple, sir. That type of speech invariably marks the person as one who wishes to rise above his or her rank.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “A social aspirant, my lord. Ambition of the worst sort and not at all unusual, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Your command of the Queen’s English is good enough,” Philip pointed out. “I wouldn’t call you a social aspirant, Mobley.”

  Mobley stiffened until he positively bristled. If Philip tried to touch the man right now, his hand might come away pricked by some sharp corner or other.

  “I know my station,” Mobley said. “And I’m quite content—proud, even—to be who I am.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I’ve worked for your family for four decades. It’s been my pleasure to serve the earl, your grandfather, and now the earl, your father. I’ll continue to serve you when you’ve succeeded your father, my lord. Yours is a fine and noble house.”

  “And we’ve been fortunate to have you,” Philip said. “Please forgive me. It’s been a long and trying night.”

  Mobley relaxed his posture, as much as he ever relaxed his posture. At least he didn’t resemble a suit of armor any longer. “Are you sure I can’t bring you something? Another brandy, perhaps.”

  “No, but thank you. Go to bed.”

  “As you say, my lord. Good night.” Mobley exited, leaving Philip alone with his thoughts. And his thoughts went right back to where they’d been ever since he’d seen a certain pair of emerald eyes. That woman.

  He never had found out who she was—only who she wasn’t. What else had he learned? She stole jewelry, but she didn’t do it particularly well. She impersonated royalty, but didn’t do that well, either. She kissed well. Oh, yes, she did that better than well. Just remembering the heat of her response produced a pleasant tightening in his groin.

  Perhaps he’d been too long without a woman. Hell, he could hardly bed any of the virginal things his mother paraded before him as marriage material. And all the eligible young widows were friends of his family; it would hardly do to take up with a friend of his mother’s. Besides, he hadn’t seen any women who appealed to him as the dark-skinned beauties of the Indian subcontinent had. Even the passionate women of Eastern Europe—who seemed to enjoy misery as much as they enjoyed coupling—held more appeal than any of the women he’d seen at the silly balls and parties he’d attended in London.

  No, not one single Englishwoman had held any attraction for him. Until tonight, until he’d met the green-eyed mystery. And she’d gotten away from him. Stealing with her would be twice the fun as it was without her—showing up at parties with a stunning princess on his arm, dancing with her and flirting outrageously, and then stealing upstairs to pilfer a diamond here, an emerald there…

  He’d started the whole Orchid Thief enterprise to ease his boredom, a crazy idea that stealing jewels from his parents’ friends might entertain him. The fact that he was actually rather good at it had come as a complete surprise. No one had caught either the Orchid Thief or the woman who’d been impersonating him. What a deplorable state of affairs when not one but two thieves as completely inexperienced as himself and the “princess” could go about the city lifting jewels from their rightful owners at will. He ought to write a letter to the Times about it, he really ought.

  He chuckled at the thought. What a wonderful new development that would be—the notorious Orchid Thief writing to the Times about his exploits. He might yet, but if he could find that woman again, he’d have more fun continuing the charade with her by his side.

  Yes, all he needed to do was find that woman.

  The door to the flat flew open, and Hubert Longtree stood on the threshold, his silver hair skewed every which way and his blue eyes wide. “Child. There you are. I took the carriage at the appointed time, but you’d already left. Eve, tell me where you’ve been. I’ve been sick with worry.”

  Eve clutched her wrapper tightly around her and rose to greet her dear friend. “I had to leave the ball early, and I had no way to get word to you.”

  “Where have you been?” Hubert demanded.

  Eve walked to the door and shut it against the nig
ht’s chill. She turned to Hubert. “Give me your coat and then go sit by the fire.”

  She smiled at him, or did the best she could manage under the circumstances. “As I said, I had to leave early. I hurried home, hoping to intercept you. I was too late.”

  “How did you hurry home?”

  “I walked.”

  “Saints preserve us, are you mad?” Hubert grasped her hands in his own, which were still remarkably strong given his four-and-seventy years. “You walked through London? Alone?”

  “I didn’t have the money for a hansom cab, not if we want to eat tomorrow. Now, give me your coat.”

  “You’ll be the death of me.” He raised a hand and shook his finger under her nose. “You’ll be the death of you, and that will be the death of me.”

  Eve ignored the old darling’s protests, as she always did, and firmly grasped his coat so that she could pull it over his shoulders and free the sleeves of his arms.

  “Imagine a sweet little morsel such as you walking through London after midnight,” Hubert continued. “It’s a wonder you weren’t killed.”

  “I’m not sweet, and I’m certainly no morsel,” she said, still struggling with the coat. “Anyone who tried eating me would get a bad taste in his mouth.”

  “You should have waited for me right where you were. I’d have arrived in that old clatter-trap of a carriage eventually and brought you safely home.”

  “I couldn’t wait.” She finally managed to wrest the coat free and hung it on a peg. “And I’m safely home now. So, go sit by the fire. Please.”

  He cast one long, scolding look at her over his shoulder and then grunted. Finally he walked to the fire and carefully settled his old bones into one of the chairs there. “It’s insane. This plan of yours to impersonate a princess who doesn’t exist, it’s insane.”

  She walked to the second chair and sat in it. “It will work if we just give it a chance.”

  “Insane,” Hubert muttered. “Did you even get the ruby?”

  She looked down at her hands. “No, I didn’t.”

  “What happened?”

  “That doesn’t matter,” she said. “I have a different plan now, in any case.”