Always a Princess (20 page)

“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, blurring 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.”

This time, a noise issued from there that sounded like a heavy piece of furniture falling. Good God in heaven, no one could miss
that
in the ballroom.

“Philip,” she called. Damn it all to hell, what was going on up there?

Feet appeared over the windowsill, and then legs. A man dropped to the ground beside her. Philip grabbed her hand and pulled her away, pressing her between his body and the house some few windows down. “I’m getting rather good at climbing out of windows.”

Inside, feet scuffled as what sounded like a crowd rushed toward the study and then into it.

“Don’t move,” Constable Chumley ordered. “You’re under arrest.”

“I?” Arthur bleated. “I’m not the thief.”

“You have her ladyship’s tiara in your hand, sir,” Chumley bellowed back.

“What in heaven’s name?” Eve whispered. Philip only shushed her quiet.

“You don’t understand,” Arthur shouted. “You want those other two.”

“Take him to Scotland Yard,” Chumley said. “We’ve caught the Orchid Thief.”

“I don’t believe you,” Eve said. “You planned it this way.”

“Your friend, Cathcart’s got himself in a spot of trouble,” he said, clutching her hand again. “I suggest we get away from here as quickly as possible.”

By rights, Philip should have told Eve to leave his family’s house. By rights, she ought to have gone on her own. And yet, she appeared at dinner the next night wearing one of the dresses Sadie had made for her.

He couldn’t let her leave without knowing she’d be safe and well, of course. He had the funds to make that possible. More and more, he became convinced he couldn’t let her leave at all.

She seemed subdued as she sat across the table from him. She ate her soup with grim measurements of her spoon and then stabbed at the fish course, all the fire inside her extinguished.

“Are you quite well, Your Highness?” his mother asked.

“Very,” she said, hardly attempting her fake accent.

His mother frowned at him briefly, as if he were to blame for the princess’s unhappiness. Perhaps, he was.

“At least, they caught that thief,” his father declared. “We won’t be bothered by that nonsense any further.”

Eve set her fork onto her plate with a clatter and clutched her hands together in her lap.

His father glanced up from his fish. “Have I said something amiss?”

“Not at all, Lord Farnham,” Eve answered.

“Maybe, we should discuss something else,” Philip said quietly.

“You mustn’t worry, my dear,” his father went on. “The thief has earned himself some good, English justice. We know how to take care of his sort, you may be sure.”

“Farnham’s right,” his mother added. “He won’t see the light of day again.”

“I’m sorry.” Eve rose so quickly, her chair nearly toppled behind her. “I must…excuse me.”

Before Philip could act, she’d left the room at a near-run, and his mother’s hand came down on his.

“What’s going on between the two of you?” she demanded.

“Going on?” he repeated, for lack of anything better to say. He certainly wouldn’t share the details of their relationship with his mother.

“The princess is upset, and it has something to do with you.”

“Nothing,” he said. “A bit of a misunderstanding.”

“Then, fix it,” she said.

“I will.” He tossed his napkin onto the tablecloth and rose. He’d fix things once and for all. He only needed to figure out how before he made it to the top of the stairs and into “the princess’s” bedchamber to confront her.

At the top of the stairs, he hesitated. He really had behaved wretchedly toward Eve lately, ever since Cathcart’s announcement about her mother’s…well…occupation. He’d never thought himself a snob, but this news
would
matter if it got out. She should have told him herself, given him the opportunity to make up his mind before he came to care for her. Now, here he stood, paralyzed halfway between misery and hope. If his most outrageous plan to date succeeded, by tomorrow, everything could be settled and they could have their happily-ever-after.

No choice now, in any case. He’d set everything in motion.

When he got to her doorway, he lifted his hand to knock and then lowered it again. She might very well send him away if he asked permission to enter. Instead, he let himself inside and pulled the door closed behind him.

A soft sound came from her bedroom. She was crying. The knowledge sliced through him. His brave, little partner-in-crime, a woman more likely to spit in your eye than apologize for even the most outrageous behavior, and he’d reduced her to this. He went to the threshold and found her slumped on the bed, a rumpled pile of petticoats and satin.

“Don’t cry, Eve, please,” he said. “I can’t bear it.”

She jerked to a sitting position and swiped at her eyes. “I’m not.”

No point arguing the fact. He went to the bed, sat beside her and pulled her into his arms.

“I’d best leave immediately,” she said. “You’ll let Hubert stay here, won’t you?”

“Both of you are welcome here for as long as you want.”

“That’s impossible.” Her chin wobbled, and she bit her lip until it steadied again. “I must insist that you pay me for my share of the Wonder and the diamond necklace. That was our arrangement.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want, of course.”

“Good. That way I can disappear.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” He took her chin in his hand and raised her face toward his. Even puffy-eyed, she was so bleeding perfect, so desirable. When he pressed his mouth to hers, she sighed and melted against him. Her fingertips dug into the wool of his coat as he kissed her, slowly losing himself in the honey of her lips. No matter how many times he caressed her, the fire of need she built inside him came as a surprise. No other woman would ever feel quite right after knowing this one. His plan had better work, or he’d have to disappear with her. He’d never let her go.

He was already breathing hard by the time he pulled back and tucked her head under his chin. “Oh, Eve…”

“Why did you do it?” She pounded a fist against his chest. “I told you Arthur would ruin everything.”

“You did.”

“Even I didn’t think he’d make that much of a racket.”

“He didn’t,” Philip said. “I did.”

“You what?” She pushed away from him and stared up at him with a bit of her old spirit. “Why would you do an idiotic thing like that?”

“To get him arrested, of course,” he said. “To shut him up.”

“You bloody, great fool. You’ve accomplished exactly the opposite.”

She looked so outraged, her eyes shooting emerald fire, he couldn’t help but smile. “That’s my girl.”

“Don’t you ‘my girl’ me, you oaf.” She swatted at his chest again, rather harder this time. “Arthur’s probably telling Chumley everything right now. About our thefts, my mother, everything.”

“But, he isn’t. I went down and got him out this afternoon.”

Her jaw dropped, and she stared at him much as his mother had when he’d told her about Charlemagne and the Greek Orthodox Church.

“Luckily, even Cathcart had the good sense not to say anything before his barrister arrived,” he said. “I got him to sign a full confession in exchange for my help. If he ever utters a word against you, his father will learn everything.”

“And disown him,” she said.

“Exactly.”

“But, how did you get Chumley to let him go?”

“By giving him the real Orchid Thief,” he said. “I confessed to everything.”

She stared at him for several seconds without blinking. “You didn’t.”

“I did. They’re coming ’round tomorrow to collect me.”

“No,” she said.

“I’ve arranged for Kleckhorn to attend to give you an insanity defense.”

“No!” This time, she wailed the word. “Philip, you can’t. Not on my behalf. I won’t let you. I’ll tell them the truth.”

“That is the truth, my darling. I am the Orchid Thief.”

“I can’t lose you this way.” She began crying in earnest, moisture pooling in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. “Not to prison.”

“Oh, sweet. Don’t.” He kissed one tear away and then another. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose and then, her mouth. Yes, her mouth.