Always a Princess

by Alice Gaines

  “And it seems that when the princess appears at parties, jewelry disappears.” Cathcart grinned again, apparently pleased with his attempt at humor. “It so happens a valuable cameo disappeared from my mother’s jewels while she worked for my father.”

  “You know I didn’t take that cameo,” she said.

  “I know you have it now,” Cathcart said. “You confessed as much.”

  “You’re a lying, thieving, son of a mongrel…”

  “Easy, Eve,” Philip said. “I’ll handle this.”

  “And then, there’s you, Lord Wesley.” Cathcart gave him an unctuous smile. “When you and the princess appear together, very valuable jewels go poof.”

  “Poof?” The man truly was an idiot.

  “Poof,” Cathcart repeated, spreading his fingers the way a magician did to show he had nothing in his hand. “That fellow Chumley suspects you, but he can’t prove anything.”

  “How do you know what Chumley suspects?” Philip asked.

  “Let’s just say I know some parts of town you don’t, your lordship,” Cathcart said. “Word gets ’round in those places.”

  Eve turned pale. “What places?”

  Cathcart’s grin turned evil. “In good time, Evie.”

  Something hung between the two of them. Some kind of communication that shut Philip out. Again. That would come to an end the moment he finished with Cathcart and showed him the door.

  “If Chumley were to find out the princess was really…”

  “Don’t say it, Arthur,” Eve nearly spat at him.

  “…an imposter, a commoner,” Cathcart went on, “he wouldn’t hesitate to throw her into Newgate until she confessed to everything.”

  They all stood in silence for a moment. Cathcart had them, a fact even he couldn’t fail to appreciate. He’d have to bargain with this devil, but simple blackmail wouldn’t work. If he paid the man off once, he’d come back for more again and again. Philip would have to turn the whole thing back on Cathcart somehow. Implicate him somehow.

  “So, I imagine it’d be worth something to the two of you to keep me from revealing the princess’s true identity,” Cathcart said after a bit.

  “You want money,” Philip said.

  “Oh, yes, and lots of it,” Cathcart said. “You noble chappies are steeped in it up to the gills.”

  “A bit of a sticky wicket there, I’m afraid,” Philip said. “I haven’t any.”

  “I say.” Cathcart recoiled, actually reeling back on his heels. “I don’t believe that.”

  “I sold the jewels to cover my own debts.” He sent Eve a warning glance. “Gaming, don’t you know, and buying baubles for the princess.”

  “But your father…the earl…” Cathcart sputtered.

  “I can’t ask him for money, at least, not enough to satisfy your needs.”

  “You can get enough,” Cathcart said. “I know you can.”

  “There is one way.” One desperate way, but he’d take it. “Having settled all my accounts, I’d planned to end my stealing ways, but we might take one more gem and turn the proceeds over to you.”

  “What?” Eve said. “Are you mad? We can’t do that.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, my dear, but with Mr. Cathcart’s help, I think we might prevail.”

  “Him?” She pointed at the man, her voice rising. “You are insane.”

  “Now, now.”

  “See here. I don’t know anything about stealing,” Cathcart said.

  “That isn’t exactly true, is it?” Philip said. “The cameo?”

  “That’s different.” The man huffed a few times. “I mean…I say…”

  “Nothing to it,” Philip said. “You go to a soiree, slip into a study or a bedroom, pinch the jewel and be on your way.”

  “It can’t be that easy.”

  “Eve and I have been doing it, and we’re amateurs.”

  Cathcart hesitated, looking from Philip to Eve and back. He didn’t like the idea. Who could blame him? But, if he believed Philip’s story about not having any money, he’d have to consider the offer.

  Philip gave him a bit more time to stew about it and then smiled. “That’s my offer. You can take it or not.”

  “I’d get all the spoils,” Cathcart said.

  “Every penny.” And every bit of the blame if Philip could work things right.

  “We’d take something very expensive?” Cathcart asked.

  “Something glorious.” And on a lower floor than the last time so it wouldn’t require climbing over a roof.

  “All right,” Cathcart concluded. “What’s the plan?”

  “I’ll take care of that part. When I have an invitation to a ball sent to you, be prepared to go into action.”

  “Right.” The man actually cheered up, as if looking forward to the adventure. If he weren’t such a loathsome toad, Philip might have felt some sympathy for him.

  “One thing before I leave, old man,” Cathcart said. “I think you ought to know who you’ve welcomed under your roof.”

  Eve wavered, holding onto the chair for support. “Don’t, Arthur. You don’t have to. There’s no point.”

  “Now that we’re all partners, we should be honest with each other.”

  “Please.” She was begging now. Philip had never heard her beg for anything.

  “Evie here’s known in Whitechapel.”

  “What are you talking about?” Philip demanded. The place was a blighted area of London famous for all kinds of filthy goings-on.

  “Remembered, rather,” Cathcart said. “Her mother was rather notorious.”

  Every bit of color drained out of Eve’s skin. “Oh, God.”

  “Society calls women like that ‘unfortunates’ these days,” Cathcart said.

  The truth hit Philip like a punch to his stomach. Unfortunates. Eve’s mother. Unbelievable.

  “Our little darling here is the daughter of a whore,” Cathcart said finally.

  Eve crumbled. Positively fell in on herself, sinking onto the chair with a moan. She’d always been a tiny thing. Now, she looked as if she could disappear into a seam in the upholstery.

  “So you see…” Cathcart said.

  “Get out,” Philip ordered.

  “I’ll find my way, eh, what?”

  “Do it.”

  Somehow, the bastard left them. The door closed behind him, the sound barely registering in Philip’s brain. He could only stand and stare at the woman he’d come to care for, perhaps love. She’d had a secret this big and hadn’t trusted him with it.

  “Are you terribly angry?” she asked him in a small voice.

  “I have every right to be.” Although cold and dead might better describe how he felt. All this time, after everything they’d been through together, she’d made sure he had no idea who she really was.

  She stared down at her hands. “I couldn’t tell you.”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  She finally looked up at him, her green eyes huge in her face. “Because of the reaction you’re having right now.”

  “I? You fault me for my reaction?”

  “It’s what I’d expect,” she said, a bit of color returning to her cheeks. “You’re a viscount, the heir to an earldom. I’m the daughter of a whore. I might have been a whore myself, for all you knew.”

  “Don’t be idiotic. I took your virginity.” Oh, dear God. The room tilted around him. He’d done the worst thing a man could do to a woman—steal her innocence when he had no right to it. Somehow, he’d reconciled that in his mind by creating a fantasy that he’d marry her someday. Somehow. Hard enough with a disgraced governess with no identity to speak of. This…bloody hell…this was too much. It really was.

  “You see I’m right,” she said.

  He glowered at her.

  “Not about actually me becoming a whore. I’d rather starve,” she said. “But the other—that neither you nor my family could tolerate a connection with someone like me.”

  “You should h
ave told me.”

  “And miss all this?” Her voice broke as she gestured around her. “The dresses, the parties, the pleasures of…”

  The words didn’t leave her mouth, but they both knew what she meant. The pleasures of his body, of his bed. So intense, transcendent. So dishonest.

  She rose. “I’ll leave this house immediately, of course.”

  “Like hell, you will. We have one more theft to commit.”

  “You can’t have meant that seriously.” She gaped at him. “Take Arthur along while we steal someone’s jewels?”

  “I’m deadly serious.”

  “He’ll ruin everything,” she shouted. “He’ll get us all caught.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “You’re planning something,” she said. “Tell me.”

  “From now on, I’ll tell you what I please, Miss Stanhope. No more.”

  She brought her hand up to her throat. “Miss?”

  “I’ll have as little trust in you as you did in me.”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” she whispered. The same, old excuse. “I couldn’t.”

  “So you say.” Before he said something he couldn’t take back, he turned on his heel and left the room, looking for something to smash.

  Eve studied Philip’s profile as the carriage rolled along, taking them to their doom. Actually, they were headed to a party. Their doom would come later.

  For a week, he’d hardly spoken to her. In reality, she’d scarcely seen him except for meals, which were even more awkward than his absences as his mother often commented on his silence and tried without much success to draw him into pleasant conversation. Though he remained as devilishly handsome as ever, his behavior was anything but pleasant.

  The carriage tipped briefly, tossing her in his direction. Their shoulders touched until the coach righted itself. He did nothing to keep her next to him, although he did finally glance at her. The expression in his eyes sent her shooing back to her end of the seat.

  She deserved this treatment, of course. She shouldn’t have kept secrets from him. She hadn’t given much thought to how it would feel to lose the laughter in his eyes or his easy intimacy. She knew now—a leaden weight around her heart.

  “I know you’re angry with me,” she said. “But at least, you can tell me what I’m supposed to do tonight.”

  He sighed. “We’re going to steal a sapphire tiara. I have good reason to believe that Lord Linwood keeps it in his safe because his wife is prone to losing things.”

  “And, do you have a plan for how we get out without getting caught?”

  “Perhaps. Do you trust me?”

  Trust. She could easily learn to hate that word, given the way he used it like a cudgel. Still, she had kept secrets from him. Who would have guessed it meant that much to him?

  “Yes, I trust you,” she said because anything else would earn her more anger.

  The ice around his jaw thawed a bit, and for a moment, she got a glimpse of the rogue who’d first confronted her in Lady Bainbridge’s bedroom. A mask settled over his features as they pulled up in front of the house.

  He helped her out of the carriage with all the practiced courtesy of his set. An onlooker would never guess that he was furious with her. Or that he’d bedded her twice.

  Inside, the party had already started some time before they arrived. All the better for them to blend into the crowd without calling too much attention to themselves. Chumley had his men scattered about as they were at the costume ball. The same fluttering started up in her stomach as on that evening.

  “I say, jolly good party,” came the nasal twang from behind her. She jumped and turned, but she didn’t have to in order to realize Arthur Cathcart had arrived.

  “Just a pipping good time, eh, what?”

  “For heaven’s sake, lower your voice,” she whispered.

  “Just making pleasant noises,” Arthur said. “Fitting in, don’t you know?”

  “You’re trying too hard, Arthur, old lad,” Philip said.

  “Right you are.” Arthur leaned toward him. “What should we do now?”

  “Nothing for a few moments. Blend into the crowd.”

  “Right,” Arthur said, adopting a bland expression. He managed that nicely, at least.

  “You have a watch, I take it,” Philip said.

  Arthur reached toward his waistcoat, but Philip stopped his hand. “You don’t have to show it to me.”

  “Right,” Arthur said yet again.

  “In an hour’s time, present yourself at Lord Linwood’s study, down that hallway, third door on the left,” Philip said. “Chumley will have stationed one of his men there. Draw him off.”

  Arthur leaned toward him again. “How?”

  “Anything. Tell him the constable wants him in another part of the house.”

  “Right.” For heaven’s sake, didn’t the man know another word?

  “Eve and I will find you there. We’ll lift Lady Linwood’s tiara. You’ll take it with you, and the three of us will part ways, never to steal again.”

  If Eve’s heart had fluttered before, it sank now. Part ways. Of course. She’d offered to leave on her own, but Philip had ordered her to stay on to commit one more robbery. That would be over in an hour, and everything else would end with it. He’d likely pay her off for the jewels they’d stolen together. He wasn’t a beast. She and Hubert could live on that for a good, long time. They could disappear together, and she’d never set eyes on Philip Rosemont again.

  “An hour,” he said to Arthur. “You can manage that?”

  “I can,” Arthur said. At least, he hadn’t said “right” again. Then, he had the decency to disappear.

  “You have everything planned,” she said to Philip.

  He took a deep breath. “I hope so.”

  “How are you going to get into the safe?”

  “I’ll snag the butler’s keys.”

  “How will you find them?”

  “There’s a bit of a story to that,” he said.

  When he didn’t go on, she stood there, looking up into his face. “We have an hour.”

  “Well, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Lord and Lady Linwood’s older daughter. Agatha. She’d just married Horatio Ives of the Shropshire Iveses. I don’t suppose you know the family.”

  “How would I?”

  “Well…quite…pasty-faced and not very bright, all of them, Horatio being one of the worst. Filthy rich, but not ideal for…well, you can imagine.”

  “Not what a young woman wants in a bed partner,” she said.

  “Agatha took a liking to me. I had some lovely times here, during which I became great friends with Lord Linwood’s butler, and I happened to discover where he kept his keys.”

  “How resourceful of you.”

  “So, in an hour, Arthur will make sure the doorway to Lord Linwood’s study is clear, and I’ll appear with the keys,” he said.

  “What will I be doing?”

  “You’ll make sure none of Chumley’s men are under the window.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “If you find one there, distract him. Act pretty and small and helpless. It worked on me well enough.”

  The words cut. She hadn’t meant to manipulate him. She hadn’t meant to meet him. She hadn’t meant to move into his house. And she most surely hadn’t meant to feel his hands on her body, not taste his kisses, not any of the other delights he’d taught her. Delights he’d shared with Agatha Ives. Curse him.

  “Now, let’s find some fortification,” he said as he took her elbow the way he always did. Perhaps for the last time.

  An hour later, Eve stood below the side of the house where Philip had told Arthur he’d find Lord Linwood’s study. Without knowing exactly how many windows each room had, she could only estimate she had taken up the right position, but this would have to do.

  The air had taken on a definite chill as the fog closed in around everything, bl
urring the corners of the house. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. Please, God, let them finish this business quickly without something dreadful happening. How on earth that outcome could possibly come to pass was anyone’s guess. Philip Rosemont was anything but stupid, but this plan of his made no sense whatsoever. He must have some kind of plan for dealing with Arthur, but as angry as he was with her, he’d refused to give her any clue. Given that, she had no firm idea what she really ought to be doing but had to rely on him completely. The whole thing had her stomach in knots.

  Just when she felt as if she’d have to scream out of frustration, a window opened above her, and Philip’s head peered out.

  “All clear down there?” he asked in a loud whisper.

  “Clear. I sent Chumley’s man to find me my wrap,” she whispered back.

  “You didn’t wear a wrap.”

  “That’ll make it all the harder for him to find it.”

  The light from the study revealed a bit of his old grin. “Good girl.”

  “Hurry up, will you?”

  “Any time now. Cathcart should be on his way back,” he said.

  “I still don’t understand…”

  “Shhh.” He pressed his finger to his lips and then disappeared inside the house again.

  The sound carried well enough from the inside that she could make out Arthur’s voice. “I say. Let’s have at it, shall we? Hmm?”

  “By all means,” Philip said. “Here’s the key. The safe’s behind that picture there.”

  “Right-o.”

  For long seconds, nothing happened, at least not that she could make out. None of Chumley’s men appeared from the front of the house with someone else’s wrap in his hand. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, and she could scarcely get any breath into her lungs.

  This escapade had disaster written all over it. Why in hell had she come? Foolish question. She’d fallen in love with the idiotic man up there, and she couldn’t desert him when she’d already inflicted Arthur Cathcart on him.

  Something crashed in the study. A vase or some other crockery.

  “Bloody bad luck, that,” Arthur said.

  “Stout fellow,” Philip replied. “Keep going.”

  Eve groaned and leaned against the house, resting her cheek against the damp masonry.

  “I have the tiara now,” Arthur cooed. “And a beauty it is.”