Pleasuring the Prince (22 page)

And then what? Perhaps she could teach herself to cook and stitch as well as Raven. Too bad, she hated cooking and sewing. She might plant a garden to rival Belle’s, but she hated getting her hands dirty. She would not even consider wallowing in paint like Sophia. Well, whatever she did, she would not be singing again.

She had begun the opera season with so much promise, only to be led astray faster than her father had seduced her mother. What did she have to show for her trouble? No opera, no husband, no love.

Fancy had not become her mother. Gabrielle Flambeau had fared better than she.

Walking into the parlor, Fancy set the tray on the table. She poured steaming tea into her cup and raised it to her lips, blowing gently on the tea before sipping.

Fancy placed her cup and saucer on the table and lay back on the sofa. She closed her eyes and willed herself to relax, breathing in and out.

For the first time in her entire twenty years, Fancy was completely alone. The feeling was quite pleasant and peaceful. That is, if one liked grating silence.

Fancy fell into a light doze, the scent of cinnamon growing stronger until she awakened. Opening her eyes, she glanced around the parlor. She saw nothing, but still the scent grew stronger.

“I know you’re here,” Fancy called to the empty room, sitting up. “I followed my heart, Nanny Smudge, and look where I am.
Go away
.”

The cinnamon scent dissipated slowly, almost reluctantly. And then someone banged on her front door.

Fancy yawned and then stood to walk to the foyer. When she opened the door, Rudolf Kazanov stood there.

“Will you invite me inside?” he asked.

She noted his bruised cheek and blackened eye. “Did Stepan send you to speak to me?”

“I came to speak about my brother, not for him.”

Fancy stepped aside to allow him entrance. Then she gestured in the parlor’s direction.

Rudolf dropped his gaze to her bag. “I will follow you, dear sister.”

Fancy led the way into the parlor and sat on the sofa. Rudolf took the chair opposite her.

“Would you like anything?”

“Answers.”

Her expression became mulish. “My marriage is no business of yours.”

“When my brother does me bodily harm,” Rudolf said, leaning forward, “his marriage becomes my business. Now tell me why my brother is sitting at Grosvenor Square, and you are sitting at Soho Square.”

“Stepan deceived me,” Fancy told him. “He abducted me from London, seduced me into his bed, and purposely made me pregnant. Unfortunately, he failed to inform me that marriage meant no opera career. He stole all my choices.”

Rudolf nodded, as if understanding and sympathizing with her grievances. “What would you have chosen if he had not stolen your choices?”

“What?” Fancy had no idea what he meant.

“Would you have chosen a different life?” Rudolf fixed his dark gaze on hers. “Or are you rebelling against the fact that my brother knew what you wanted in life?”

Fancy narrowed her violet gaze on him. Sounding oh so reasonable, this sneaky prince was even smoother than his brother.

“We will never know the answer to that,” Fancy hedged, pleased with his suddenly disgruntled expression.

“Will you sing and care for my brother’s child?”

“I quit the opera this morning.”

The prince relaxed. “Stepan does not know this.”

“I quit him, too.”

“If you separate,” Rudolf told her, “English law states the child belongs to the father.”

Fancy felt a twinge of alarm. She had not known what the law on child custody stipulated. Why should she? Nobody she knew had ever been divorced.

“My influential father will not let that happen.”

“He is a duke, not a magician,” Rudolf countered. “His Grace wants you settled and married and will never try to use his influence to dissolve your marriage.”

“My father owes me.”

Rudolf shook his head. “Nobody owes anybody anything in this life, little girl. Learn that truth, or suffer the consequences.”

“My husband never came home last night,” Fancy snapped. “I cannot countenance an adulterer.”

That certainly surprised him. “I will investigate his whereabouts but doubt he committed adultery.”

Fancy said nothing. Her husband had deserted her at the opera and slept somewhere else. She loved him, but if he wanted her, Stepan would need to crawl back and beg her forgiveness. And she could not imagine her husband in a subservient position.

“I want to explain my brother,” Rudolf said, “and then I will leave you to enjoy your solitude.”

Fancy sighed. “Tell me what you came to say.”

“Viktor, Mikhail, and I had enjoyed our mother’s love for years before she was taken to that asylum,” Rudolf began. “My father’s heir, Vladimir, basked in my father’s love.

“Being the baby, Stepan needed at least one loving parent, and my mother adored her youngest. Stepan was only four years old when my father took her away. He clung to her skirts for dear life, and Fedor dragged him, kicking and screaming, away from her. My father actually pried my brother’s fingers, one by one, off my mother’s skirt.”

Fancy felt her heart wrench at the thought of any child torn from his mother. Imagining her husband as that little boy made it worse.

“Stepan cried day and night,” Rudolf was saying. “Finally, Fedor lost patience and beat him whenever he cried.”

Fancy gasped. Fedor Kazanov sounded like Satan himself. Oh, what she would do if only she could get her hands around the monster’s neck.

“Stepan declared war on Fedor.” Rudolf smiled at the memory. “My father suffered snakes in his socks drawer and ants in his bed.”

Fancy smiled at that, too.

“Since Fedor hated me already,” Rudolf said, his tone dry, “I shouldered the blame.”

“Thank you for that.” Her voice sounded hoarse, and tears blurred her eyes. Her own father’s neglect paled beside Fedor Kazanov’s cruelty.

“Stepan grew to adulthood with brothers for parents,” Rudolf continued. “Though he is no angel, he has never been seriously involved with another woman.” He stood then. “Will you think about what I have told you?”

“Yes.”

Fancy walked with him to the foyer and touched his arm before he could disappear out the door. “What was the weather on the day your mother was taken away?”

Rudolf looked confused by her question. “I-I…it rained that day.”

Nothing good ever happened in the rain.

Her husband’s words hit her with the impact of an avalanche.

Fancy returned to the parlor and lay on the sofa. She wept for her husband, for the little boy he’d been, and for herself. Her weeping wearied her into sleep.

The house was dark when she awakened. Rousing herself, she lit a night candle and went to the kitchen. There was nothing to eat in the house, and her baby needed nourishment.

Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Fancy whirled around. In a panic, she grabbed a knife and waited.

Alexander Blake appeared in the doorway. He seemed surprised to see her. “I came to investigate the light. What are you doing here?”

“I own the house,” Fancy reminded him. “Do you have any food at your house? I’m hungry, but there’s nothing here.”

Alexander turned around, his footsteps sounding on the wood floor as he retraced his steps. Ten minutes later, he returned with a pot of soup and bread and cheese.

“Sit down,” Alexander said, slicing the bread and the cheese. He set a plate in front of her, ordering, “Eat this while I warm the soup.”

Fancy did as she was told. Nothing had ever tasted as delicious as the plain bread and cheese. She hadn’t eaten all day. Her stomach rumbled, and she wondered if her baby was enjoying the meal, too.

Alexander set a bowl of soup and pot of tea on the table. Fancy started spooning the soup into her mouth.

“Good soup, Alex.”

He sat down. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“The soup?”

Alexander smiled. “Do you want to talk about whatever is bothering you?”

Fancy shoveled another spoonful of soup into her mouth and then gave him a sidelong glance. “I quit the opera today.”

“Your husband will be happy.”

“I quit him, too.”

Alexander touched her hand. “Listen, Fancy—”

“I do not want to discuss it,” she said. “Rudolf stopped by today, and I am talked out.”

“You know where to find me if you need a friend.” Alexander checked the time on his pocket watch. “Damn, I am late to fetch Genevieve. Come, lock the door behind me.”

Fancy walked him to the foyer and then locked the door. After cleaning the dishes, she sat on the sofa and closed her eyes.

The minutes passed slowly, peacefully. And then the house’s atmosphere felt different. She shivered, though the night was warm. Someone was in the house with her.

Fancy opened her eyes. Genevieve stood in the doorway.

“Where’s Alex?”

Genevieve gave her a sad smile. She raised her hands and covered her ears, her eyes, her mouth. Then she placed an invisible crown on her head, touched her heart, and pointed toward the door.

Fancy was confused. “What are you—?”

Genevieve dissolved into nothing.

“Mon Dieu, Genevieve—”

Fancy leaped to her feet. She needed her father. He could send men to find Alex.

After extinguishing the night candle, Fancy staggered in the dark to the foyer and grabbed her still-packed bag. She stepped outside, locked the door, and hurried down the street. She did not think about the distance to Park Lane or the dangers in the night.

A strong hand grabbed her upper arm. Fancy whirled around and opened her mouth to scream.

“Boris? What are you doing?”

The big Russian grinned. “Prince say Boris guard little songbird.”

“I need my father,” Fancy told him. “I need to go to Park Lane.”

Boris pointed to the coach a few houses down. “Come, songbird. I take you.”

When they reached Park Lane, Fancy climbed out of the coach. “Go home, and tell the prince I am with my father.”

Fancy banged on the door and rushed inside when it opened. “Where is my father?”

“Good evening, Your Highness,” Tinker greeted her. “Their Graces are in the parlor.”

Dropping her bag, Fancy raced across the foyer and, lifting her skirt, ran up the stairs. Her stomach rolled with queasiness, baby and fright and emotional upheaval taking their toll.

“Fancy?” The Duke of Inverary stood in surprise when she flew into the parlor.

She burst into tears. “Papa, send footmen to find Alexander Blake. Something bad has happened. And send a man to Amadeus Black, too.”

The duke sent his wife a puzzled look and told his daughter, “I will gladly send my footmen out if only you tell me why.”

Fancy raised her violet gaze to his, misery etched across her expression. “I made Alex late, and now she’s dead.”

The Duchess of Inverary gasped. “Who is dead?”

“Genevieve Stover is dead…
murdered
.”

Raven rose early that Sunday morning. She’d had another dream the previous night and knew the constable would send for her.

After grabbing a shawl, Raven peered out the window. Gray clouds drooped in a low overcast. A brisk wind slapped the trees in the garden, sending green leaves fluttering to the ground, but the day was dry.

Raven walked down three flights to the foyer. She sat on the bottom stair and waited.

The majordomo appeared. “Good morning, Miss Raven.”

“Good morning, Tinker.”

“Shall I bring coffee while you wait?”

She shook her head. “There isn’t time for coffee.”

The knocker banged on the door, surprising the majordomo.

“It’s for me.” Raven crossed the foyer and opened the door. Barney stood there instead of Alexander. “There’s been another victim.”

The little man dropped his mouth open in surprise. “You know?”

Stepping outside, Raven walked down the front stairs. She wondered what had kept Alexander away and realized he’d most likely passed the night with Genevieve.

“Where is Alex?” Raven asked, getting into the coach.

Barney climbed in after her. “Ah, Alex went directly to the crime scene from home.”

Raven heard the hesitation in the man’s voice. She stared at him, making him fidget, but he told her nothing more.

The coach halted at Riverside Gardens along Mill Bank near the Vauxhall Bridge. Raven climbed down, draped her shawl around her shoulders, and looked in the direction of the men.

Constable Black stood alone near the blanket-covered lump. Oddly, Alexander stood a short distance away and stared at the Thames.

“Thank you for coming this morning,” Amadeus greeted her. “Prepare yourself.”

Raven looked at him in alarm, his warning frightening her. Why was this victim different from the others?

Amadeus Black drew her closer to the lump. Leaning down, he pulled the blanket off the victim.

“Oh, God,” Raven gasped.

Genevieve Stover lay at her feet, her expression peaceful as if asleep. Rose petals covered the blonde from head to toe.

Constable Black darted a glance at Alexander. “She was carrying his child.”

Raven closed her eyes against the horror. Poor Alex had lost his lover and his child. How shocked he must have been to arrive at the crime scene to find this.

Placing her shawl on the ground, Raven knelt beside the body on the dew-moist grass. Genevieve looked the same as the others. Eyelids and lips sewn shut. Bloodless slash on one cheek. Rose petals covering her body.

And then Raven noticed one difference. A note had been attached to the gown. She leaned close and read:

Raven did what she had never done before. She touched the dead woman’s arm. Closing her eyes, she told the constable what she sensed.

“Two indistinct faces merging into one. No pain. Heavy eyelids closing and peaceful sleep. She never guessed what was happening until her soul left her body. Genevieve knew her killer.”

Raven opened her eyes. “That is all.”

“Thank you.” Amadeus Black helped her to her feet. “We will begin by questioning family, friends, colleagues.”

Raven glanced at Alexander, her indecision apparent. She felt the constable touch her shoulder, and when she looked at him, he nodded.

Raven approached Alexander. She longed to reach out, to touch, to comfort. “Alex?”

His back stiffened.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

Alexander did not look at her. “Genevieve would be living if I hadn’t gone late to the opera. She was—” He broke off, unable to continue.

Raven felt his pain. “If there is anything I can—”

Alexander whirled around, his expression grim. “Can you tell me who did this?”

Raven shook her head slowly. “She knew her killer, though.”

That surprised him. “Did the others know the man?”

“I speak for Genevieve only.”

This was the end.

Stepan sat in his rarely used office at his Grosvenor Square mansion. He rested his booted feet on top of his desk and studied the wedding band he’d found on his pillow.

His marriage was probably the shortest in history. Would circumstances have been different if they had discussed her opera career before the wedding?

A knock sounded on the door, and Bones entered before he could send the majordomo away. “This arrived by courier, Your Highness.”

“Thank you.” Stepan opened the missive. It read:

His wife wanted to settle their differences. Was this a good or bad omen? Why would Fancy consider Patrice Tanner’s neutral ground? Unless she and the prima donna had made peace…which meant his wife had quit the opera.

Stepan checked his pocket watch. He stood then, a relieved smile on his lips, and left the study to bring his wife home.

“So Stepan did not return home that night.” Fancy sat in the dining room with two sisters that Sunday afternoon.

“His staying out does not mean he slept with another woman,” Raven said.

“I agree,” Blaze spoke up. “The prince went to a lot of trouble to marry you. I doubt he would behave badly.”

“I plan to return to Grosvenor Square later.” Fancy gave her sisters an impish smile. “Worrying about my whereabouts will do my husband a world of good.”

Puddles placed an enormous paw on Fancy’s lap, drawing her attention. She scratched behind the mastiff’s ears and fed him a slice of ham from her plate.

“That dog travels from lap to lap trying to catch a crumb,” Raven said.

“Puddles knows not to beg when Grace and Gracie are eating,” Blaze added. “Fancy, did we tell you what Puddles did the day Lady Althorpe visited?”

She shook her head. She could use a funny story to lift her spirits.

Blaze burst into laughter at the memory and couldn’t continue. She gestured to her sister.

“Lady Althorpe and the duchess were sharing tea and gossip in the drawing room.” Raven’s lips twitched in an effort to hold her laughter back. “They did not know Puddles was sleeping behind the sofa.” Now Raven dissolved into giggles, too, and gestured for her sister to continue.

“Puddles expelled silent and stinky gases,” Blaze said, making Fancy giggle. “Lady Althorpe eyed the duchess with suspicion.”

Fancy’s giggles grew into laughter.

“The duchess eyed Lady Althorpe in the same manner,” Raven said.

Fancy laughed so hard tears streamed down her cheeks. Her sisters were also laughing uproariously.

The majordomo walked into the dining room. “My, this is a happy group.”

“Tinker, remember the day Puddles behaved badly during Lady Althorpe’s visit?” Blaze asked.

A squawk of laughter escaped the majordomo. “Indeed, I do remember,” Tinker drawled. “The staff savored that story.” He passed Fancy a box. “A courier delivered this for you.”

Wearing a puzzled smile, Fancy opened the box and found lilac blue flowers lying inside. “There’s no card.”

Raven peered into the box, her expression becoming grim. “Those are sweet scabious. In the language of flowers, sweet scabious means widowhood.”

Fancy stared at her sister in surprise. Who would send her that message?

“Do you have anything of Stepan’s with you?” Raven asked.

“Upstairs, in my bag.”

“I’ll fetch it.” Blaze disappeared out the door and returned a few minutes later.

Fancy opened the bag and dug deep. She produced her husband’s peacock blue silk drawers.

Raven stared at her. “What is that?”

“My husband’s underwear. Don’t worry. It’s clean.”

Raven lifted the blue drawers out of her sister’s hands and closed her eyes. “Stepan is in danger.”

“Where is he?” Fancy bolted out of the chair. “We need to warn him.”

“Sit down,” Raven ordered.

Fancy sat, surprising her sisters by obeying an order for the first time in her life.

“Tell me again what Genevieve Stover did when she appeared,” Raven said.

“You think the rose-petal murderer is threatening Stepan?” Blaze asked.

“Yes.” Raven looked at Fancy. “Well?”

“Genevieve covered her ears, eyes, and mouth,” Fancy answered. “Then she placed an invisible crown or hat on her head, touched her heart, and pointed to the door.”

“The crown, heart, and door refer to Stepan,” Raven said. “She was advising you to return to your husband.” She shook her head. “I cannot say what the other part means.”

“Oh, my God!”
Blaze cried. “I know the murderer’s identity. Miss Giggles covers her ears, eyes, and mouth.”

Fancy rolled her eyes. “Miss Giggles could not possibly poison anyone.”

“Patrice and Sebastian Tanner
could
poison those women,” Blaze countered. “Miss Giggles has been communicating their secret.”

“That won’t fit,” Raven disagreed. “The man is tall and the woman is short.”

“I beg to differ, dear sister,” Blaze said. “The Tanners could disguise themselves as the opposite sex.”

Fancy and Raven bolted out of their chairs. Proud of her deductive powers, Blaze rose more slowly and assumed a decidedly satisfied smile.

“Have you been practicing your slingshot?” Raven asked.

Fancy nodded. Her hand shook as she searched her bag for the slingshot and ammunition and then pocketed both.

The three sisters hurried down the corridor to the foyer. The majordomo stood there to accept calling cards from visitors.

“Where are the duke and duchess?” Raven asked.

“Their Graces have gone out for the afternoon.”

“Send footmen to find Alexander Blake, Constable Black, and the Kazanov princes,” Fancy said, taking charge of her husband’s rescue. “Tell them to meet us at Patrice Tanner’s in Portman Square if they want to catch the rose-petal murderer.”

“And tell them to bring weapons,” Blaze added for good measure.

Tinker looked alarmed. “Perhaps you should wait—”

The sisters dashed out the door. They hurried down Park Lane and crossed Oxford Street. Portman Square was one block away.

Fancy paused at the corner of Baker and Seymour Streets. “Hers is the last house on the right.”

“We cannot ring the doorbell,” Raven said.

“We’ll cut down the alley,” Fancy decided. “We can sneak into the house through the back door.”

“What if the door is locked?” Blaze asked.

“We’ll cross that threshold when we come to it,” Fancy said. “Besides, Patrice has nothing to fear from the rose-petal murderer.”

Circling the block, the sisters walked down the alley behind the town houses. They halted at the last one.

“We will maintain silence,” Fancy said.

“What if the Tanners employ servants?” Blaze asked.

Raven shook her head. “The Tanners could not murder anyone with servants in the house.”

“What if they murder their victims somewhere else?” Blaze persisted.

“Do you believe the Tanners would disguise themselves if they employed servants?” Raven asked.

Blaze shrugged. “I suppose not.”

Fancy led her sisters into the garden. They skirted the perimeter and, finally, reached the rear door.

Fancy touched the knob and turned it slowly. She pulled the door and, realizing it was unlocked, opened it inch by excruciating inch.

Then Fancy removed her shoes and gestured to her sisters. Blaze and Raven removed their shoes, too.

The sisters slipped into the house and, on silent feet, tiptoed up the stairs until they reached the first floor. Hugging the wall, they started down the corridor.

Fancy looked down and stopped short. Rose petals covered the hallway floor.

Voices drifted into the hallway from the dining room.

Recognizing her husband’s voice, Fancy peeked into the dining room and then drew back out of sight. Patrice Tanner, dressed in a gentleman’s formal attire, sat at the head of the table and pointed a pistol at Stepan. He sat on the prima donna’s right, his hands tied behind his back. Dressed in a woman’s gown, Sebastian Tanner sat on his wife’s left and cut slices of apple with a paring knife. Miss Giggles sat on the chair beside Stepan’s and stared at him.

“I prefer a gunshot to poison,” Stepan was saying.

“Why do you prefer gunshot?” Sebastian asked.

“Poison is a woman’s death,” Stepan drawled. “I can see that you would prefer poison, though.”

“Dying is dying, Your Highness,” Patrice said.

Ignoring that, Stepan said to the husband, “Of course, poison is preferable to wearing a dress.”

“Now see here,” Sebastian began to protest.

“Stifle it, Sibby.”

Silence.

Fancy drew the slingshot and pellet from her pocket. She had no hope of shooting the pistol out of the prima donna’s hand, but if she hit her eye, Patrice would drop the pistol.

Fancy placed the pellet on the flexible tubing and waited for the right moment. Her hands shook, but she willed the mild tremors to stop. Her husband needed her, and if she failed, he would die.

“I will save the poisoned wine for your lovely bride,” Patrice said. “If she isn’t too dense to understand my message, she should arrive shortly.”

Fancy stepped into the doorway. “Here I am.”

When the prima donna looked at her, Fancy let the pellet fly. Swoosh! The pellet hit Patrice’s right eye, and the pistol fell to the floor.

“Get the pistol,” Patrice ordered her husband.

Miss Giggles was faster, though. The capuchin monkey scooped the pistol up.

“Here, Giggles.” Blaze knelt in the doorway and opened her arms in welcoming invitation. “Bring it to me.”

Miss Giggles ran across the room. Blaze passed Fancy the pistol and lifted the monkey into her arms.

“Good girl, Giggles,” Blaze was crooning. “I’m taking you home to meet Mister Puddles. You’ll like him.”

Fancy pointed the pistol at Sebastian. “Slowly and gently, place the paring knife on the table and slide it to this end.”

“You little bitch,” Patrice shrieked, one hand covering her injured eye. “I knew you would cause me trouble.”