Pleasuring the Prince (18 page)

“Let me touch a rose petal,” she said.

Alexander put on gloves and lifted a petal. He dropped it into the palm of her hand.

Raven closed her eyes. “Evil has two faces.”

“We know a man and a woman are working together,” Alexander said.

“Which is the man?” Raven dropped the rose petal. “And which is the woman? Their confusion is confusing me.”

“Do you mean they don’t know their own genders?” Constable Black asked.

“The monsters know what they are,” Raven answered, “but their faces merge, blurring the differences between them.” She sighed in defeat. “I’m not much help, am I?”

Alexander touched her shoulder. “No one commits a perfect crime. We will find them.”

Raven glanced at the corpse. “Is she wearing any jewelry I could touch?”

Constable Black inspected the victim and then unfastened a bracelet. He placed the delicate gold chain in the palm of her hand.

Raven closed her fingers around it and felt something. Opening her hand, she spread the gold bracelet out and traced a finger from top to bottom on both sides.

“What is it?” Constable Black asked.

“I feel several strands of hair caught in the links.” Raven looked at the constable and then at Alexander. “The hairs do not come from any human.”

Four weeks on Sark Island passed faster than a sunny day in London.

Fancy stared out the cabin’s porthole at the rain while waiting the Kazanov ship’s turn to dock. Making love, tending the garden, and singing for the prince’s mother felt like another lifetime. A gloomy mood settled over her like the fog hugging the top of the Thames.

These had always been her favorite days. The rain had brought her father’s visits and her mother’s smiles. The rain did not cheer her today, though.

Fancy wished she and the prince could have lingered on the island. She had felt like a princess every day for four weeks.

On the other hand, Fancy yearned to step onstage again and bask in the audience’s love. There was no feeling in the world like a standing ovation following a well-sung opera.

Having felt under the eaves for a few days, Fancy hoped her stomach ailment had passed, and her nausea on the return journey had merely been seasickness. Though she had to admit, sailing from Sark Island to London wasn’t exactly adventuring on the wide expanse of ocean. When she became so famous that the Continent’s capitals begged for her voice, she would only cross the Channel from Dover to Calais, and travel everywhere else by coach.

Fancy turned around when the door opened. Carrying a tray, the prince walked into the cabin and shut the door with his foot. His smile sent the butterflies in her belly fluttering with excitement.

“How do you feel?” Stepan set the tray on the table.

Fancy crossed the cabin to meet him there. “The seasickness stole my energy.”

“I have cooked you tea and toast,” Stepan said. “Docking will take another hour or two.”

Fancy sat across from him. “
You
cooked tea and toast?”

“I am a man of many talents.”

“I know.” Fancy gave him a flirtatious smile. “I appreciate every one of them.”

Stepan laughed and reached for a piece of toast. He watched her nibble on her toast and sip the tea. “You can nap before we dock if you want.”

“Perhaps.”

“Are you happy to return to London?”

“I wish we were back on Sark Island,” she answered, “but I’m eager to return to work.”

Stepan nodded but said nothing for a long moment. He refused to argue about the opera before their marriage had taken place. She could not back out of it now; she was carrying his child but too inexperienced to realize it yet. He wondered why the thought did not occur to her that her singing career would end with the words
I do
.

“My mother enjoyed our visit,” Stepan said. “We must visit her again soon.”

“Princess Elizabeth is a most appreciative audience.” Fancy dropped the half-eaten piece of toast on the plate and then pushed the plate away. “Too bad crowds frighten her. She would enjoy attending one of my performances.”

“Have I over- or undercooked the toast?” Stepan asked, staring at her plate. “Spread too much butter?”

“The boat ride made my stomach weak.”

“This is a ship, not a boat.”

“The
vessel
has turned my stomach.” Fancy sipped her tea.

“You may as well wait until next week before returning to the opera,” Stepan said. “Today is Friday, and Genevieve Stover can finish the week playing Cherubino.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Fancy yawned and then smiled. “Your tea relaxed me.”

“Come here.”

Fancy walked around the table and sat on his lap. Stepan wrapped his arms around her, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I hate rainy days.”

“Why?”

“Nothing good ever happened in the rain.”

“My father visited on rainy days,” she murmured, her eyes closing in sleep, “and my mother always smiled…”

Wrapped in a cloak, Fancy stepped on deck two hours later. The river’s salty stench hit her hard. Which surprised her since the Thames’s stink had never bothered her before.

Fancy clamped a hand over her mouth to keep from vomiting and turned distressed eyes on the prince. Stepan led her a few feet away and held her while she gagged.

“There go the tea and toast.” He sounded almost cheerful.

Was His Highness happy with her illness? His mood was less than sympathetic.

“How embarrassing,” she moaned.

“You should not feel embarrassed.” Stepan wrapped the cloak tightly around her and then scooped her into his arms. With a nod to the captain, he carried her off the ship.

Stepan helped Fancy into the coach and then climbed inside. “Park Lane,” he instructed the driver.

Fancy turned to him as the coach moved into traffic. “I want to go home to Soho Square.”

“Your sisters will want to see you.”

“I’ll see them tomorrow.”

“Do you want to know how Mikhail and Belle fared?”

“Very well, we’ll stop at Park Lane.” Fancy rested her head against the prince’s shoulder and promptly fell asleep.

Nothing good ever happened on rainy days, Stepan thought. And the worst was still to come with Fancy. Their coming confrontation loomed like a storm cloud over his head. She was his but resisted depending on anyone except herself.

How would Fancy react when she learned the truth about her position? She was cantankerous on her good days, and pregnancy was making her even more cranky. Perhaps truth—like vodka—should be swallowed in small doses.

Thirty minutes later, the coach halted in front of the Duke of Inverary’s mansion. Stepan nudged Fancy awake, climbed down, and then lifted her out of the coach.

Fancy yawned, making him smile. “I can’t imagine why I am so tired.”

“You have been ill this week.” Stepan put his hand on the back of her waist and guided her toward the stairs.

Tinker, the duke’s majordomo, opened the door. They stepped into the foyer and removed their cloaks.

Puddles materialized from nowhere and ran down the stairs. The mastiff leaped at the prince, knocking him back against the door.

Stepan laughed. “Sit, Puddles.” The dog sat and wagged its tail.

“Master Puddles knows it’s time for his garden constitutional,” Tinker said. “Their Graces are taking tea in the family parlor.”

“I know the way.” Stepan put his arm around Fancy and ushered her up the stairs to the second floor. “We will share the news of our forthcoming marriage.”

“How forthcoming will it be?”

“Soon.”

“We will need to plan the ceremony around my opera schedule.”

“Bishop will be flexible.”

“But I—”

Stepan stepped into the family parlor, precluding further discussion. The Duke and Duchess of Inverary sat in chairs near the hearth. With them were two of the prince’s brothers, Rudolf and Mikhail.

The parlor was as Fancy remembered from her previous visit, warm and inviting and furnished in jewel colors. There was her mother’s image hanging on the wall, her eyes still lit with coy invitation. Clustered in vases, summer roses scented the air in place of spring’s lilacs.

“Oh, my darling,” the duchess gushed, “you cannot imagine how excited I am.”

“Roxie, calm yourself,” the duke said.

Fancy gave the prince a questioning look. He raised his brows and shrugged.

Stepan sat on the sofa and drew Fancy down beside him. “Mother is well,” he told his brothers. “Fancy’s singing entertained her.”

“She must have enjoyed the performance,” Mikhail said.

Feeling awkward, Fancy stared at her hands folded in her lap. She avoided looking at her father, and his wife confused her. Why was the duchess excited?

“I enjoyed my visit to your lovely estate,” Fancy said to Rudolf.

Stepan grinned and put an arm around her. “She loved the treehouse.”

Blushing scarlet with guilt, Fancy gave him a quelling look and tried to change the subject. She turned to the other prince. “Where is Belle?”

Prince Mikhail did not look especially happy. “Upstairs, I suppose.”

“You said you wanted to marry her,” she accused him.

“I proposed and she refused,” Mikhail said. “Your sister believes a scarred wife will ruin my life.”

“I will speak to her.”

“I was just telling him that we will solve Belle’s problem after Monday,” the duchess said. “I have the prettiest bedchamber prepared for you.” She looked at the duke. “Think, Magnus, all your daughters will be sleeping beneath your roof tonight.”

Fancy shook her head. “I am returning to Soho.”

“You can’t do that,” the duchess cried. “You must stay here until the wedding. What will society think?”

Her knowledge surprised Fancy. “How do you know Stepan proposed?”

Tinker arrived at that moment, saving the duchess from answering. The majordomo set a pot of tea and two cups on the table in front of the sofa. Cucumber sandwiches and boiled oysters on toast accompanied the tea.

Fancy saw the boiled oysters, her stomach lurching like the pitch and roll of a ship at sea. She clamped her hand over her mouth.

“You have nothing in your stomach.” Stepan put his arm around her. “Take deep breaths.”

Fancy pointed at the offending oysters. Then she averted her gaze.

Stepan grabbed the plate of oysters and slid it under the sofa. “Is that better?”

“I know it’s there.”

“You cannot see the”—she shook her head at him—“the food you dislike.”

“Are you ill?” The duchess sounded alarmed. “Magnus, send for the physician.”

“Fancy does not require a physician.” Stepan held her close against the side of his body. “She has been feeling under the eaves for a few days.” He smiled at the duke, who wore a suspicious expression. “Nothing serious.”

“How does Her Grace know you proposed?”

Stepan groaned inwardly. This was not happening as he had envisioned. His brothers’ presence and the duchess’s enthusiasm were making the situation difficult.

“You did not tell her?” Rudolf shook his head with theatrical disapproval.

“Tell me what?” Fancy demanded.

Stepan looked from Rudolf to Mikhail to the duke. All three were struggling against smiles.

“When we left London,” he told her, “your father announced our betrothal.”

“I don’t understand.” Fancy glanced at her father, her expression mirroring her confusion. “How could he—?”

“Our wedding is scheduled for Monday,” Stepan interrupted. “You will remain here until then.”

Fancy bolted off the sofa and stared at him. “I can’t marry you Monday and return to the opera Tuesday.”

Stepan patted the sofa. “Sit with me.”

“I will
not
sit with you.”

“Baby brother, did we not teach you to tell the truth?” Rudolf laughed, and Mikhail joined him.

Fancy rounded on them. “You be quiet.” She faced Stepan. “There will be no wedding on Monday.”

“The wedding is planned, the invitations sent, the gown commissioned,” the duchess cried. “We need only fit the gown to you.”

Ignoring the duchess, Fancy addressed her father directly for the first time. “You cannot force me to stay here or marry that sneak.”

“I am a man in love, not a sneak.” Stepan stood, his size intimidating, and pointed at the sofa. “Now sit.”

“How romantic,” the duchess murmured, eliciting chuckles from the three watching men.

“I said sit.”

Fancy plopped down on the sofa. She leveled a disgruntled look on him and lifted her nose into the air.

“You have no choice but to marry me,” Stepan told her.

“I
do
have a choice.” Fancy moved to rise from the sofa.

“Sit.”

Fancy sat.

“Look at me.” When she did, Stepan said, “You are carrying my child.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” the duchess gushed.

“I did not approve her seduction,” the duke growled, making the two older princes laugh.

Fancy had never been more humiliated in her life. This was even worse than vomiting on the ship’s deck. “I am not
that
.”

Stepan took her hands in his. “We have been living like a married couple for a month, and you have suffered nausea for a week.”

“What does that prove?” Fancy could not believe they were discussing this in front of an audience.

Stepan ran a hand through his hair. “Listen—”

“I will not listen to this nonsense.”

The Duchess of Inverary took charge of the situation. “Rudolf and Mikhail, please leave us for now.”

“Do we really need to leave?” Rudolf asked.

“We are coming to the most interesting part,” Mikhail complained.

When the two disappeared out the door, the duchess asked. “Darling, when did you last have your menses?”

Fancy gasped at the question, her complexion reddening. This interview was unendurable.

And then she paled, realizing its implications. She had not had her menses since before going to Sark Island.

Fancy hid her face in her hands and began to weep. Stepan said nothing, merely gathered her into his arms, and let her cry.

“Roxie, those are not tears of joy,” the duke growled. “If she doesn’t want to marry him, she and the baby can live in the country.”

Fancy wailed louder at that. She had indeed become her mother.

“My child will be born in wedlock.” Stepan lifted her chin and gazed into violet eyes brimming with tears. “You do not love me?”

“I do love you.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“I feel trapped.”

“Forgive me.”

Fancy sighed and leaned heavily against him. “Some blame belongs to me.”

“I wanted to marry you so much,” Stepan said, “I thought you would not change your mind if I got you with child.”

“I will take more time off from the opera.”

Stepan stroked her back and sent the duke and duchess a warning look. Fancy did not understand the reality of her situation, and he did not have the heart to tell her that her opera career was over.

Nausea would prevent her from singing, and when that passed, she would be too big with child. Once she had their baby, Fancy would decide to retire from the opera permanently.

At least, he hoped so.

Fancy was too tired to argue about where she would sleep. “Very well, I will stay until Monday.”

“You look exhausted.” The duchess rose from her chair. “Come with me, darling, and take a nap.”