Always a Princess

by Alice Gaines

  “He might be new, or only hired for tonight’s party.”

  “Perhaps.” Philip scanned the rest of the throng. Most of them were the sort of people you’d expect at a costume ball—various Napoleon Bonapartes and Cleopatras. But occasionally he’d spot someone who didn’t fit, and all of those someones were large and male.

  “That man, there,” he said. “Over by the doorway, the tall one with the sallow complexion.”

  Eve removed her arm from his and turned to look where he had indicated. “I see.”

  “And the American Indian chief standing by the drapes. He looks as if he’d like to hide behind them.”

  “Yes. Who do you suppose they are?”

  “Chumley’s men, most likely.”

  “Oh, dear,” she said, raising a hand to her fichu-covered bosom.

  “Smile. Don’t let them see any worry.”

  She did and laughed in her high-pitched, fake-princess voice.

  “Perhaps we’d better reconsider,” Philip said. “With enough of them here, they might just catch us at something.”

  “I’ll bow to your expert opinion,” she said. “You are the real Orchid Thief, after all.”

  “Excellent judgment, Your Highness. So, while we’re here, what say we make the best of what looks to be a perfectly tolerable party?” He extended his arm to her again. “Would you care to waltz?”

  She took his arm. “Very well.”

  He led her toward the dance floor, nodding along the way to people he knew or ought to know. Finally, he pulled Eve Stanhope into his arms and led her in the circling steps of the waltz. She matched his movements well. The flat front of her farthingale allowed her body to fit, oh so naturally, next to his. With her small stature, he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d taken charge. As though he’d folded her into his own body to be guided and cherished and kept safe.

  What an odd jumble of emotions for something as prosaic as a dance at a party, and yet he couldn’t deny them. She’d come to dominate his dreams and his imagination. If he weren’t very careful, she’d capture his heart as thoroughly. For now, he’d just enjoy, and worry about the consequences later.

  He looked down into her face. “Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Stanhope?”

  She smiled and lowered her head but didn’t answer him. He raised their joined hands to her face and lifted her chin so that she had to look at him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  She bit her lip for a moment and then smiled at him again. “Yes, I am.”

  Certainly nothing like that simple declaration ought to make his heart swell with pride, but it did. In fact, very little had pleased him nearly so much ever since his forced return to England. If only he could show her the world as he’d seen it and teach her how to enjoy that, too. If he could explore the secrets of the East with her—all of them—he’d be a very happy man, indeed. But, he’d better not think of that right now, or this waltz would turn into something very different and very intimate, indeed.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  Best not to reveal in too much detail where his mind had just been. “I was thinking how beautiful you are.”

  She actually blushed at that. “You flatter me, Lord Wesley.”

  “Can the truth be flattery? Or is it merely truth?”

  “Word games,” she said. “Philosophy. I only understand more practical problems.”

  “Such as?”

  “How much we’ll get from selling the Wonder of Basutoland.”

  Philip stopped dancing abruptly, and Eve looked up at him with a pained expression on her face. “Why did you do that?”

  “Do what?” he said.

  “You stepped on my foot.”

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

  “We were getting along so well,” she said, “and then you jolted to a stop and stepped on my foot.”

  Another couple swirled on by, barely missing them.

  “Perhaps we’d better go sit down somewhere,” Philip said.

  “I want to know what’s the matter with you,” she said, not moving from the spot where he’d made his misstep.

  No doubt she did want to know what had come over him, but he still had no convenient way to tell her that they weren’t going to sell the Wonder. Why in heaven’s name had he even thought she’d forget about the diamond for even a moment?

  “Please, let’s do get out of this crush,” he said.

  She huffed, but took his arm and allowed him to lead her from the dance floor. “I don’t know why you jump every time I mention that diamond.”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t,” he mumbled.

  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye—barely visible behind her mask. But visible enough to see that it was a very disapproving glance, indeed. “What did you say?”

  “I said that I’m sure I don’t,” he said. “Jump, that is.”

  “What would you call it?” she said. “You stop whatever you’re doing and get a sick look on your face, and then you mumble something.”

  “I don’t mumble,” he mumbled.

  “Of course you do. And then you change the subject.”

  “Would you like some punch or something?”

  She stopped abruptly this time, and the pressure of her arm on his pulled him to a stop, too. “There. You did it again.”

  “What?” he demanded.

  “Changed the subject. I mentioned the diamond, and you changed the subject to punch.”

  “Must we really discuss the diamond this very minute?” he asked.

  “I don’t see why not. You wanted to wait to sell the Wonder until we’d stolen something else. You just decided not to steal something else, so now it’s time to sell the Wonder.”

  “You’re right.”

  Her eyes widened, and she looked up at him as if he’d grown a second head. “I am?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “We should steal something else.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” she said. “Will you please make up your mind?”

  “Lady Harrington’s pearls are worth a king’s ransom. While we’re here we might as well help ourselves to them.”

  “She’s wearing her pearls,” Eve said.

  “All right, then. Her diamond necklace, instead.”

  Eve put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “And what about Chumley and his men? Have you forgotten them?”

  “Of course I haven’t, but you know as well as I do that Chumley couldn’t find a grouse in Scotland if he had an army of beaters to flush the bird out.”

  “But the others,” she declared, gesturing around her. “Those big, ugly men. The counterfeit servants.”

  “Keep your voice down, please.”

  “All right.” She took a deep breath and then another. “If you really want to steal the necklace, then let’s do it rather than stand here arguing.”

  “Good show,” he said. “I’ll go searching for her ladyship’s safe. You stay here and make sure no one wanders off in the direction of upstairs.”

  “Fine. And when we’ve done with this business, we’ll discuss the Wonder.”

  “Certainly,” he said. But, of course, he had no intention of doing that at all.

  Eve stood at a spot where she could easily watch the staircase that led to the floor above—the floor where Lord Wesley had gone in search of a very expensive diamond necklace. No one had even remotely approached the stairs. Even the servants were too occupied with their business in the ballroom and running up and down from below stairs. The imitation servants—Chumley’s men—hadn’t moved from their stations.

  All seemed well enough, but she couldn’t quite get rid of a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Wesley really ought to have finished and returned by now. Couldn’t the man get anything right if she wasn’t along to watch his every move?

  A throat cleared right behind her, and she jumped and turned. Dr. Kleckhorn stood almost on top of her. Dressed as a medieval monk, he only needed
a scythe to make him look like the Grim Reaper. From under his cowl, he gave her an unctuous Teutonic smile. When she didn’t respond, he said something to her in a language she didn’t even recognize, let alone understand, and then stood, waiting for her reply.

  “Pardonnez moi,” she said.

  “I said ‘good evening’ in Russian. You do speak Russian, don’t you, Your Highness?” He put just enough emphasis on the title to add a touch of irony, as if he didn’t believe she was any kind of Highness at all.

  “Lovely tongue,” she said. “I do not speak it.”

  “But you are from a Slavic country, are you not?”

  “I am from Valdastok. Love Russian but do not speak it.”

  “Some other Eastern European language, then,” Kleckhorn said.

  Not exactly Eastern, but his own native German. Thank heaven he didn’t seem to realize that. With no idea how to respond, Eve just looked at him and smiled.

  “Not Russian,” he said. “Hungarian, perhaps.”

  “No.”

  “Polish?”

  “No.”

  “Romanian?”

  “Thank you so very much, but no,” she said.

  “Hmm.” The doctor-cum-monk scrutinized her face in a way that would be frankly rude if he truly believed her to be royalty. “Albanian, Serbo-Croatian, Old Church Slavonic?”

  “No, no, and no.”

  “Then, what do you speak?” he demanded. “You must speak some language.”

  “English. We speak English.”

  His eyes narrowed, and he leaned closer as he studied her from underneath his cowl. “You speak English?”

  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 h
ands 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?”