by Alice Gaines
“Cursed sow,” Miss Stanhope said under her breath when the three of them had passed.
“That’s an overly strong reaction, don’t you think?”
“Did you see the way she looked at us?”
“Standard matronly disapproval,” he said. “She didn’t mean it as a personal affront, I’m sure.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Putting up with things one doesn’t like is part of being English, wouldn’t you say?” At least it had seemed that way to Philip ever since he’d learned he was in line to inherit the earldom and had to come home. “The Empire might just crumble if we all started enjoying ourselves.”
“Is that what you’re doing right now?” she demanded. “Enjoying yourself?”
“I suppose so. Why not?” And in fact, he was. The day had turned out splendidly, the sun warm but not too warm. A slight breeze played among the flowers and the leaves on the trees. And it toyed with a few stray hairs that had escaped from Miss Eve Stanhope’s coiffure, giving her a ruffled look. The sun put a positive glow to her skin, too, quite out of keeping with the pallor most women found fashionable. With enough imagination, he might even picture her in Eastern costume, dressed in flowing robes with all that ebony hair falling over her shoulders and down her back.
Indeed, the woman was difficult—obstinate and secretive—but at least she didn’t bore him. Yes, he was enjoying himself.
“And you,” he said. “Can you take no pleasure at all in my company?”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “You’re not going to try kissing me again, are you?”
“Not if you don’t want me to. I don’t force myself on women.”
“The other night…” She trailed off.
“Circumstance compelled me the other night,” he said. “You seemed cooperative enough at the time, as I recall.”
“As you said, circumstance.”
More posturing on her part. She’d caught fire in his arms that night, just as he’d gone up in flames. It had truly been an extraordinary kiss, and her closeness now brought it all back to him: her sighs, the feel of her fingers at the nape of his neck, the way her tongue had shyly explored his lips, that thing she’d done with her hands. She could try to blame that on circumstance, but he knew it for what it was—female passion—demanding and surrendering all at once. An irresistible combination he might very well want to explore further and at leisure. But he didn’t have to discuss that with her now. Right now, he’d make her a business proposition and let the pleasure follow in its own time.
“Now that you’ve properly thanked me for my generosity toward you…” he began.
She huffed in disapproval.
“And very prettily, too, I must say,” he continued. “I’d like to offer you my further assistance.”
“I don’t want your assistance.”
“Miss Stanhope, you don’t strike me as a stupid woman.” She didn’t answer but only gave him the same scowl she’d so disliked from the society matron a moment before. He ought to take offense at the look, but coming from such a disreputable source, her disapproval was really rather funny. “You also don’t strike me as particularly wealthy, at least not enough to mingle in with the set that has jewelry worth stealing.”
“Some people steal things because they have to,” she said.
“With my help you can do a better job of it.”
“I’m doing just fine without your help.”
“I don’t think so,” he said. “You didn’t manage to steal the ruby from Lady Bainbridge, and you won’t be able to visit her again unless you have another dress to wear.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and stood, speechless.
“You—and that dress—made quite an impression on everyone there. Especially the men. They’d remember it if they saw it again, and we all know that rich women don’t wear the same dress twice in one season.”
She still didn’t say anything, but the tapping of her toe spoke volumes.
“You’ll need an entire new wardrobe if you’re to continue to impersonate royalty,” he said. “I imagine you’ll need a carriage, too.”
“I have a carriage,” she said.
“Probably not something that could stand up to scrutiny.”
She put her hands on her hips and looked quite put out. “If I had those things I wouldn’t need to be stealing jewels, now would I?”
“Exactly my point,” he replied. “You need all that, and I could provide it.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why would you want to do that?”
“A number of reasons.” Most of which he wouldn’t share with her just now. For example, he wouldn’t tell her that she was the most interesting woman he’d met since returning to England. And he wouldn’t tell her that he did plan on kissing her again—with her permission, of course. Most of all, he wouldn’t tell her that he wanted to help her—to make sure she didn’t get caught and sent somewhere that would ruin her beauty and crush her spirit. She wouldn’t likely welcome anything that sounded like pity or even concern. Not the Eve Stanhope who’d confronted him in his drawing room this morning like a kitten standing up to a pack of dogs.
“I don’t like having competition,” he said finally. “I especially don’t like someone impersonating the Orchid Thief and doing a poor job of it. Really, Miss Stanhope, a daisy.”
“And I suppose you have unlimited access to orchids,” she said.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
One eyebrow went up in positive disapproval. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
“Where is the crime in owning orchids?” he demanded. “Why do you dislike the rich so intensely?”
“They’re stupid and petty, and they think they’re superior when what they really are is lucky in choosing their parents.”
Oddly enough, he’d thought exactly the same—at least of the nobility in England. But coming from her it sounded so much more insulting, especially because she no doubt included him in her analysis. “That’s not true of all of them…all of us.”
“Name an exception.”
Me, for one, he might have said, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear her reaction to that. “My parents. And my brother was a wonderful man.”
“I’ll take you at your word on that.”
“Thank you.” I think. “Now, will you agree to allow me to help you?”
She lifted her chin and looked into his face—the perfect picture of defiance. “No one helps me.”
“Very well.” He took a breath and then another. “Will you agree to be my partner?”
“Let me understand this,” she said. “You’ll buy me dresses and loan me your carriage.”
“Not exactly. We’ll go to parties together in my carriage.”
“And what will you take in exchange?” she asked.
“One half of the proceeds of our larceny.”
“And the cost of the dresses will come out of your half?” she asked, looking at him as if he’d become unhinged.
Perhaps he had. Here he was, staring into the face of a woman who was pretending to be someone she wasn’t in order to steal jewels she had no right to, and he was begging her permission to help her do it. “As you pointed out, I don’t need money.”
“Then what is it you do need?”
Excitement. Freedom. Any number of things that would make him sound like a spoiled child to her. But there was one thing she might understand.
“As the heir to an earldom, I’ll have to choose a wife soon,” he said. “All of society knows that.”
“You can’t mean to marry the princess of a country that doesn’t have a princess, can you?”
“Of course not. But if it appeared that I was courting you, all the husband-hunting young ladies and their mothers might leave me alone. At least for a while.”
She greeted that with some skepticism, if he could read the cold light in her eyes correctly. “So, you’d want me to accept your advances. At least public
ly.”
“They wouldn’t be very amorous advances. You’ve remarked yourself on how stifling society is.”
“No stolen kisses?” she asked. “No passionate embraces behind the potted palms?”
In fact, he’d like something exactly like that, although he’d take great care not to be interrupted. But he wasn’t going to admit that to her. “Nothing like that. Just enough intimacy—within the bounds of good taste—to convince my family and any young ladies with designs on me that I’m taken. You could manage that much, couldn’t you?”
She appeared to consider the possibility as she nibbled on her bottom lip in a most provocative manner. “No more than that?”
“No more.”
“Very well, then,” she said, extending her hand to be shaken. “I accept.”
He took her hand in his and held it, marveling at how such a delicate thing could belong to such an obstinate woman. He could probably crush her fingers without meaning to. Good God. If he weren’t careful he’d end up out of his head with protective feelings for this preposterous female.
“Lord Wesley,” she said after a moment.
“Yes, Miss Stanhope.”
“I’ve agreed to your bargain. You may release my hand now.”
“Quite.” He did release her hand and immediately missed the warmth of her glove against his palm. He’d been much too long in England if a woman’s glove could hold him so in thrall. He cleared his throat. “Well, then. There are a few details we should discuss.”
She cocked her head and studied him. “Such as…?”
“Your dresses, for one. You’ll need to have several made up. My mother uses a Madame LeGrand in Mayfair, do you know her?”
“I’ve heard of her,” Miss Stanhope said. “You’d want me to go there?”
“You have some objection?”
“She’s the most expensive dressmaker in London.”
“As you said, I have plenty of money.”
She looked at him as if he’d gone quite mad. Perhaps he had, but confounding her was such confounded fun. “A princess ought to be dressed for the part. Especially a princess with whom I’m keeping company.”
She shrugged. “It’s your half of the money.”
“Have Madame make you several gowns in various colors. Maybe one in green satin to match your eyes.”
Those green eyes wouldn’t meet his as she gazed quickly away and a blush crept over her cheeks. “All right.”
“And the bodices,” he said, “have them made—how shall I put this?—a bit more conservative than the dress you were wearing at Lady Bainbridge’s.”
“There was nothing wrong with that dress,” she countered.
“What there was of it. It displayed your assets to every male there.”
“My assets are none of your business,” she said.
“If you’re to impersonate my intended, they most certainly are my business.”
“Oh, all right,” she snapped. “Do you have any more instructions?”
“There’s a large ball in a fortnight at the Duke of Kent’s. Madame LeGrand should have a gown or two ready by then. We’ll attend together.”
“Fine. In a fortnight, then.”
She turned to go, but he caught her arm. “I need to know where you live.”
She looked down at his hand for a moment and then up at him. “No, you don’t.”
“How else will I collect you for the ball?”
“I’ll come to you.”
“That would look perfectly ridiculous if anyone saw you. We’re right on the park, remember.”
“Right.” She worried her lower lip for a moment. “I’ll be waiting at the little church on Oxford Street in St. Giles.”
“St. Giles.” Good God. “You live there?”
“I live where I have to, Lord Wesley. You may collect me at that church or forget the whole arrangement.”
“Very well. The little church on Oxford Street. Before dusk.”
“In a fortnight,” she said and turned to go again. Philip watched as she walked away—a bundle of energy and disapproval. Oh yes, he’d see her again, and sooner than in a fortnight. And not in any ghastly place like St. Giles.
At least Eve didn’t have to deal with Madame LeGrand herself, but with a pleasant little Cockney lady named Sadie. Although standing on a stool in front of a cheval glass while someone else bustled about on the floor with a mouthful of pins wasn’t something Eve had ever planned to grow accustomed to, at least she didn’t have to pretend to be anyone she wasn’t.
Sadie rested back on her heels and gave the hem of Eve’s new gown a tug. “One of my better jobs, if I do say so, miss. You look right lovely in that, you do.”
“Thank you.”
“’is lordship was right to order a dress to match the color of your eyes, but you were right to choose the silk over the satin. It’s softer and brings out the blush to your skin.”
“You’ll have me blushing in earnest if you don’t stop flattering me like that.”
“Ain’t flattery.” Sadie hoisted herself to her feet with a grunt. Even as agile as she was, at Sadie’s age lifting her plump frame off the floor took some doing. Sadie walked around Eve, making approving noises, and finally positioned herself behind Eve, looking past her into the mirror. “You’re a beautiful woman, miss. ’is lordship has a keen eye.”
“Has his lordship sent many other women to you to costume?” Eve asked, even though the answer held no importance to her whatsoever. Whomever he saw, whomever he dressed meant nothing to her.
“Lord, no. But I’ve made many dresses for young things with hopes to catch his eye, and ain’t none of them caught it that I can see.”
“These women tell you what man they’re hunting for?”
“No, but I hear idle talk, all the same. They all want him, but none of them ’ave him.” Sadie puffed out the sleeves of the gown and then tugged them gently, just off Eve’s shoulders. “Tell me what you think.”
Eve stared at herself in the mirror, still not believing what she saw there. Despite her small stature, Sadie’s dress made her look regal—everything she’d wanted Princess Eugenia to be but hadn’t managed on her own. Standing on a stool added to her height, of course, but even without it, she looked imposing. With its flat front and smallish bustle, the dress didn’t envelop her in hoops and petticoats but emphasized the length of her limbs and of her throat. And the silk—her own choice—brought out the color of her eyes but in an understated way.
“It’s really wonderful, Sadie,” she said. “I couldn’t have imagined I’d ever look like this.”
“Do you like the sleeves up or down? Down shows off a little bit of bosom, but not too much to my way of thinking.”
“I don’t want to show too much bosom,” Eve agreed. But that wasn’t right. Philip Rosemont didn’t want her to show too much bosom, and his opinions didn’t matter. Although he had paid for the gown.
“’is lordship said the same to me.” Sadie laughed. “Men’s funny. Love looking at women’s breasts but don’t want no one looking at their woman’s.”
“I’m not his woman,” Eve insisted.
“Saints, miss. I didn’t say you were.”
She turned and took the dressmaker’s hands in hers. “Really. I’m not.”
Sadie looked up into Eve’s face and gave a sweet smile. “I believe you. No need to get yourself all exercised about it.”
Of course not. She wasn’t his woman, and she wasn’t going to be his woman. She was his cohort in larceny, and if he wanted to buy her a few dresses, that wasn’t anyone’s business but theirs. Still, Sadie had been so kind, and she couldn’t stand having Sadie disapprove of her as a fallen woman—or worse, pity her as a woman who’d reached for a man above her station and ended up no more than his toy.
Oh, why was she tying herself into knots about this? Sadie obviously didn’t care, so why should she?
“You could do worse than ’is lordship, though,” Sadie said. “A lot w
orse.”
“Thank you, Sadie,” said a deep voice from the doorway. “But I doubt Miss Stanhope will ever agree with you.”
Eve turned, still standing on the stool, and glanced over to find Lord Wesley on the threshold of the fitting room. Even lounging against the doorjamb, he filled the room with his presence.
“Lord love ya, there you are, dear boy,” Sadie exclaimed as she rushed over to greet him. “Come and see what I’ve done with your protégée.”
Sadie took his hand and pulled him bodily into the room, although he didn’t appear to put up too much resistance. He walked to within a few feet of Eve, his brown eyes on a level with her own, thanks to the stool. He studied her, his nostrils flaring slightly, like a predator scenting his prey. “Very beautiful.”
Behind him, Sadie let out a delighted chuckle. “I meant the dress.”
“Ah, yes.” He glanced down at it. Eve covered her bosom with trembling fingers and felt her heart flutter. She’d been closer to him. She’d even kissed him, but he’d never subjected her to scrutiny like this.
“Well done,” he said finally, slowly.
“She picked the silk herself,” Sadie said. “Good choice, if you ask me.”
He smiled at Eve—a genuine expression that lent warmth to his features, especially the deep brown of his eyes. “Very well done, indeed. I hope Sadie’s been treating you well.”
“She has.” Eve lowered her eyes and her voice. “I’m glad she was the one who has waited on me. Madame LeGrand herself might have been too much for me to face.”
He laughed outright at that. “Sadie didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Sadie is Madame LeGrand.” He held out his hand, and Sadie stepped up to his side and allowed him to drape his arm over her plump shoulder.
“You?” Eve asked, looking down into the woman’s face.
“Mais oui, mademoiselle,” Sadie said, in perfectly ridiculous French. “I am, how you say, the dressmaikerre to royaltee.”