Always a Princess Page 5

  If she were a more timid sort, she might find all the splendor intimidating. She might even feel cowed by the stern expression of the dowager in the portrait on the wall—glowering down at her from inside a heavy gilt frame. But she had nothing to fear. She had Lord Wesley right in the palm of her hand.

  As if on cue, the door opened, and the very man walked into the room and softly closed the massive door behind him. He turned, leaned against the wood and studied her with a catlike glint to his eye. “Well, well, it is you.”

  She raised her chin and met his gaze. “Your butler was less than cordial.”

  “He’s not used to unescorted ladies visiting me,” he said, putting an ironic emphasis on the word ladies.

  Eve had grown accustomed to that sort of scorn ever since she entered service years ago. It was no longer frightening, but it still irked her. “True gentility and snobbery don’t mix.”

  “What would you know of gentility?” he asked.

  “I know snobbery, and I don’t like it.”

  He straightened and managed to look sheepish. In the light of day, he was even more handsome than he’d appeared at the ball the night before. And when he showed some humility—which probably didn’t happen often—he could be out-and-out appealing. Luckily, her taste didn’t run to tall men with such broad shoulders. They always made her feel overpowered.

  “I do apologize for Mobley,” he said. “He’s a bit stuffy. Now then, why are you here? For another go at my posterior?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  He laughed and pointed toward a lushly upholstered chair.

  “Thank you, I’d rather stand.”

  “Suit yourself.” He walked to a settee, dropped onto it and crossed his legs. Even sitting he was still too large for her taste.

  She straightened her shoulders and prepared to deliver the speech she’d rehearsed. After all, it had to be phrased correctly. “Give me money, or I’ll expose you” was too clearly blackmail. “You wouldn’t want your family to know you’re a thief” wasn’t much better.

  She cleared her throat. “It occurred to me that we each have something the other wants.”

  His eyebrow rose. “And what might that be?”

  “I’m afraid I find myself short of funds at present.”

  “Temporary embarrassment, is it?” he said. “Or something more permanent?”

  “I don’t see why that’s important.”

  “But you want my help.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “How?”

  “I need money.” Oh, hell. She hadn’t meant to be so direct.

  He laughed again. “Who doesn’t?”

  “You don’t. You have plenty of it.” Curse the man. This wasn’t going how she’d planned it at all.

  “How very observant of you.” He smiled at her, not pleasantly. “Good. I have money and you want some. Quite a bit of money, I’d venture to guess.”

  “Some.”

  “A lot,” he countered.

  “A lot to me might seem like a trifle to you.”

  “Touché. How right you are.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and his smile turned downright smug. “Now we know what I have that you want.”

  He was enjoying this, the dreadful man. With any luck, his fun would come to an end soon.

  “What do you have that I want?” he asked. His gaze wandered from her face down to her feet and back up again, pausing at her bosom along the way. “Aside from the obvious, of course.”

  She gripped her reticule and willed her hands not to turn into fists. “I discovered you in a rather compromising position last night.”

  “You mean in Lady Bainbridge’s bedchamber?”

  “With her star ruby in your hand.” She gave him a smug smile of her own. “You’re the Orchid Thief.”

  “And for a trifling amount—to me—you’re willing to remain quiet about my hobby, is that it?”

  His hobby. Only a spoiled, pampered fool would consider stealing things a hobby. For the rest of humanity it was a serious, even desperate business. She wouldn’t do it herself if she had any other way of supporting herself. And this rich bastard considered stealing a hobby.

  “I suppose that sums it up,” she said.

  “Blackmail,” he replied.

  “Such a vulgar word.”

  “For a vulgar undertaking.” He rose from the settee and walked to her until he stood so close she had to crane her neck to see his face. “Well, Miss…what is your name, anyway?”

  She didn’t answer him. She just stood her ground and met his stare. At this distance, she could even see the golden flecks in his brown eyes.

  “If I’m to be extorted, I’ll know the name of my extortioner,” he said. “What is your name?”

  “Eve Stanhope,” she said. The sound came out uncertainly. The man had made her feel small. “You may call me Miss Stanhope.”

  “Well, Miss Stanhope, you’ve forgotten one thing. You were in Lady Bainbridge’s bedchamber for exactly the same reason I was. You’re every bit the thief I am.”

  “I know that,” she said. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Then if we each keep quiet about the other’s thievery, we’re even, wouldn’t you say?”

  She lifted her chin until her nose almost met his. “No, I wouldn’t. You have a lot more to lose than I do.”

  “I do believe you’ve been braiding your hair too tightly,” he said. “What on earth do I have to lose that you don’t?”

  “Your good name.”

  He tipped his head back and laughed outright at that, curse him. His shoulders shook for several seconds with all the hilarity, and Eve stood there and watched, gritting her teeth the whole time. Finally, finally, he stopped and looked back down at her. “Oh, that is rich. My good name. Too delicious.”

  “Most people in your position value their reputation,” she countered. Actually, most people in his position valued their good reputations rather than their good behavior. They’d do anything they pleased behind closed doors. But let any breath of scandal escape the boudoir, and you’d suddenly think them paragons of rectitude for all their posturing. Yes, the nobility were obsessed with keeping up their pretense of virtue, and heaven help anyone who ran afoul of their deceptions.

  “My reputation?” he repeated. “Do you have any idea what my reputation actually is?”

  “Coming from a noble family, I presume—”

  “My reputation is that I’m an annoyance, a colossal bore who takes delight in exposing my peers’ ignorance of the world at every opportunity. And there are plenty of opportunities, believe me. I despise all of them, and they despise me equally. So much for my reputation.”

  “But I saw you in Lady Bainbridge’s boudoir. I can prove who you are.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “And how would you do that? By exposing yourself?”

  “I’d tell the constables that I’d had a change of heart and had planned to leave my thieving ways behind when I found you with the stone in your possession.” Oh, dear, that sounded weak even to her own ears. But she hadn’t planned to have to make any sort of argument at all. She’d thought that just the threat of his ruination would be enough to make him agree to pay her off.

  “For the sake of argument, let’s assume the constabulary believed that pathetic little tale,” he said, grinning. Was there any way to chase that smile from his handsome face? “They’d still have two thieves—you and me. Do you have any idea what would happen to us?”

  Indeed she did—lots of ideas. She’d thought about little else ever since she decided to appropriate society’s jewelry for her own needs. None of the ideas were pleasant.

  “As a commoner, you might face transportation to some godforsaken place. Or the treadmill. If you were lucky, you might just end up in prison picking oakum in total isolation and silence for years and years.”

  “I know that.”

  “I, on the other hand,” he continued, “would be tried in the House of Lords
. I’d never see the inside of a prison.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, I know that, too.” Cursed luck. How in heaven’s name had she managed to happen on the one aristocrat who had no concern for what the rest of his ilk thought of him?

  “If my family were suitably disgraced, they might send me off to India or somewhere,” he said. “For which I’d be profoundly grateful.”

  She gripped her reticule until her fingers hurt. “All right. You’ve made your point.”

  He leaned toward her again. “I’d escape punishment while you languished in a cold, rat-infested prison.”

  “Stop it,” she shouted. “Stop.”

  “So, I think you have a great deal more to lose from this enterprise than I do, Miss Stanhope.”

  Just then the door opened, and an older woman entered. Tall and elegant, she wore the trappings of wealth with obvious ease—from the silk of her morning dress to the shimmering pearls that adorned her bosom. She glanced around with the vacant look of someone who’d never had to worry about anything. When she spotted them, her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Well, there you are, dear,” she said to Wesley. “I was just looking for the Times. Have you seen it?”

  “No, Mother, I haven’t,” he replied.

  How perfectly dreadful. Wesley’s mother, Lady Farnham, the earl’s wife. What would Wesley tell his mother about her—that she was a common thief who’d stopped by to blackmail him? Dear God, why had she come here?

  “I wanted to see if that Orchid Thief has taken any more jewelry,” the woman said. “It’s simply deplorable the number of things that get stolen these days.”

  Wesley raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Eve. “It certainly is.”

  “We really all must do what we can to catch that thief,” his mother said.

  “I couldn’t agree more,” he said.

  Eve took a breath and steeled herself for the worst. If he turned her in now, she could try to talk her way out of an arrest. It might not work, but she knew the risks when she started out as a criminal. She’d far prefer transportation to a penal colony than prison, but she’d endure what she had to, just as she always had.

  Lady Farnham turned toward Eve, and one inquisitive eyebrow went up. “But you have a guest. I didn’t know you were entertaining, dear.”

  “Actually, Mother, you did.”

  “Never mind that.” Wesley’s mother waved her long fingers at him. “Tell me who this young woman is.”

  Eve set her shoulders and stood where she was, glaring at him. If he was going to turn her in, why didn’t he get on with it?

  “Allow me to present Princess Eugenia d’Armand,” he said.

  Eve gaped at him and barely managed to keep her knees from buckling. Finally, she collected her wits enough to turn toward his mother and smile. “Enchantée, madame.”

  “Princess Eugenia, this is my mother, Lady Farnham.”

  “A princess,” Lady Farnham exclaimed. “And French, too.”

  “Oh, no, not French,” Eve said, finally regaining most of her senses. “Sorry to make with mistake, but French is…how you say…language of diplomat, no?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose so,” Lady Farnham said. “Although I don’t speak a word of it myself.”

  Thank heaven for that, or Eve would have had to explain that she really wanted to practice her English. She hadn’t needed to use that tactic often, as very few of the English spoke anything other than their mother tongue.

  “The princess is from Valdastok,” Wesley said.

  Lady Farnham tapped her lips with the tip of her forefinger. “Valdastok, Valdastok. Haven’t I heard of that somewhere?”

  “Our second cousin, thrice removed, is the archduke there.”

  The woman’s face brightened with recognition. “Ah yes, one of those Eastern European places in the middle of some mountain range or other.”

  Eve curtsied. “You know my homeland.”

  “Oh, not at all, child. But Philip’s told me of it.” Her brow furrowed for a moment. “Weren’t you just there a while ago, Philip?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “I don’t recall you telling me about a princess,” his mother said. “Especially one as lovely as this one.”

  “I had been for some time away in the world,” Eve said with an expansive gesture of her hands. “Perhaps my father forgot to mention me.”

  “Forget to mention his own daughter?” Lady Farnham said. Her brow creased even further.

  “That is Father’s side of the family,” Wesley added.

  Lady Farnham’s frown cleared, and her features took on their earlier placid expression. “Well, there you are, then. That explains everything.”

  “Just so,” Eve said.

  “Welcome, Your Highness,” Lady Farnham said, her smile beaming. “Philip will see to it that your stay in England is a pleasant one, won’t you, my dear?”

  “Of course,” Wesley replied.

  “Oh, but that is not necessary,” Eve said hurriedly.

  “Nonsense. You can’t be casting about all alone.” Lady Farnham gave another elegant gesture of her long fingers. “Philip’s a good boy. He’ll see to your every need.”

  Lord, what an image. Right now, Eve’s only need was to get away and get home and muddle out where to go from here. But unfortunately, Wesley chose that exact moment to grasp her elbow, and not gently.

  “In fact, I thought I’d take Her Highness on a stroll through the park,” he said. “There are some things she needs to learn, and I intend to teach them to her.”

  Lady Farnham’s visage clouded again. “Things?”

  “English customs—such as not visiting a gentleman unescorted. Things are done differently in Valdastok, it appears. They’ll be done properly here.”

  “Silly me.” Eve tried, without success, to free her arm from his grasp. “You are too kind. I could not imposition you so.”

  His grip tightened until his fingers dug into her arm through the fabric of her dress. “No imposition. I insist.”

  “Have a good time, then,” Lady Farnham said.

  “I intend to.” Wesley said smiling, as he propelled Eve toward the door.

  Chapter Four

  “You may let go of my arm now,” the impostor princess said, glaring up at Philip with fury in her eyes. Unbelievable. First she’d had the very bad taste to show up at his home with extortion demands. Now, after he’d rescued her from certain exposure as a fraud, she had the effrontery to act as though he was imposing on her.

  “I’m not letting you go until we get a few things settled,” he said.

  She stopped dead in her tracks, bringing both of them to a complete halt in the middle of one of the park’s busiest footpaths. “What’s left to settle? I did my best to threaten you, and it didn’t work.”

  “And now you think I’ll just let you go away again?”

  She looked at him as if he were quite stupid. “Why not?”

  “Why not?” he repeated. “You’re a jewel thief.”

  “No more than you are.”

  “A jewel thief,” he repeated, “and a blackmailer. You brought the whole sordid business to my home, and you expect me to simply wish you a good day and send you off?”

  He didn’t add that she’d fascinated him the night before. Or that by showing up today with her cheeky demands for money she’d amused him more than any woman he’d met since returning from India. From the infuriated look on her face, he got the distinct impression that complimenting her on her foolhardiness wouldn’t sit well.

  “If you won’t let me go, you might at least lower your voice,” she said.

  Philip glanced around and found a couple approaching them from behind. He probably had been speaking too loudly, but she wasn’t helping matters. “You might keep walking so that we don’t make a spectacle of ourselves.”

  “Oh, very well,” she said. She very pointedly removed her elbow from his hand, turned and continued down the path. “Now, what is it you want from me?�
��

  He walked beside her as she moved along briskly. He usually had to shorten his stride for women, but not for Eve Stanhope.

  “You might begin by thanking me,” he said.

  She gave an impudent little ha.

  “I don’t think gratitude is entirely out of order,” he said.

  “Gratitude?”

  “I didn’t have you arrested, for one thing,” he said. “You took quite a risk coming to me like that.”

  “Life is a series of risks, Lord Wesley. At least for people like me. I do what I have to do and accept the consequences.”

  “In this case, the consequences could have been quite catastrophic, Miss Stanhope. I should think you’d be grateful to be spared them.”

  “Thank you,” she said, but she hardly sounded sincere. In fact, the words came out tightly, as though she had to push them past her lips.

  “Not only did I save you from prison or worse, but I presented you to my mother. With her approval, your impersonation as royalty from Valdastok is secure.”

  “Thank you very much,” she replied, no more pleasantly than before.

  “What might have been a disaster for you turned out a triumph. Because of me.”

  “Thank you very very much,” she said.

  “Do try to contain your enthusiasm,” he said. “I doubt my poor heart can take much more of your gratitude.”

  She stopped again, and she stared up at him, shielding her eyes from the late morning light with her hand. Most young ladies carried a parasol to protect themselves from the sun. Perhaps Eve Stanhope had forgotten hers when she left the house intent on blackmailing him. Or perhaps she didn’t own one.

  “I’ve thanked you,” she said. “May I go now?”

  “No, I’m not quite through with you.”

  She huffed—another unpleasant sound—and continued walking down the path. He joined her and walked in silence for a moment as a pair of young girls and their older female companion approached. One of the girls, a chubby-cheeked thing with braids that hung over her pinafore, lifted her fingers to her mouth and giggled behind them. The other girl smiled at him shyly, and their chaperone gave him the stern sort of look society reserved for people engaged in behavior that might not be entirely proper. He smiled in return and tipped his hat. Eve Stanhope nodded her head toward them in a gesture as regal as it was insincere. The older woman herded her charges around them and continued down the path.