|
Lord Philip Wesley, son of the Earl of Farnham, masquerades as London's notorious Orchid Thief--a rogue who steals jewelry and leaves behind a cattleya orchid. But someone's been impersonating him, and badly at that. And who is the lovely and daring young woman pretending to be the Princess Eugenia D'Armand of Valdastock? Eve Stanhope has a grudge to settle with the aristocracy of Victorian London. She'll do it by impersonating a princess and an orchid thief, or she'll do it by breaking hearts. But will she lose her own heart first?
"This book is a must read for hot steamy love scenes on the one hand and hilarity
on the other. I vacillated between being titillated to having tears running down my
face from laughter." "A delightful, witty, sexy romp through the drawing rooms and boudoirs of
Victorian London. If you love books that make you laugh out loud, then you really won't
want to miss this one!"
Eve looked around her at all the opulence. At least the Earl of Farnham's house was merely regal and not ostentatious as so many were on this end of the park. The furniture shone with polish -- no doubt applied by an army of diligent maids -- and the thick Oriental carpet nearly swallowed up the toes of her slippers. She ran a gloved finger over a table top and inspected it for dust. Not a speck, of course. 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 Philip 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 door, and studied her with a cat-like glint to his eye. "Well, well, it is you." She raised her chin and met his gaze. "Your butler was less that cordial." "He's not used to ladies visiting me all alone," he said, putting an ironic emphasis on the word "ladies." Eve had grown accustomed to that sort of scorn ever since she entered service year ago. It no longer frightened her, but it still irked her. "True gentility doesn't countenance snobbery." "What would you know of gentility?" he said. "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 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 am sorry about Mobley," he said. "He's a bit stuffy. Now then, why are you here? For a few more of those kisses?" "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 both 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 answered. "How?" "I need money." Damn it. 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, damn him. 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 achieving her dream. And this rich bastard considered it a hobby. "I suppose that sums it up," she said. "Blackmail," he replied. "Such an ugly word." "For an ugly 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. Damn, but she hated feeling 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 answered. "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 as a dullard. Most of London thinks I have too little sense to get out of the way of a lorry. No one who knows me would ever believe that I'm the Orchid Thief." "But I saw you. 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 liberate society's jewelry for her own needs. None of the ideas were pleasant. "As a commoner, you'd might face transportation to some God-forsaken 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. If I stayed here, the whole affair might lend me a romantic air -- as you yourself said last night." She gripped her reticule until her fingers hurt. "All right. You've made your point." He leaned toward her again. "I'd be the darling of London society 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."
|
||
|
| Home | My Books | About Me | Links | Email | This site maintained by
NovelTalk.
|
|||
