Pleasuring the Prince (7 page)

His remark surprised Fancy. In fact, the prince had been a constant source of surprise over the past few days. He did not sound like a notorious rake. Unless that was his ploy.

“I am in a good mood,” Serena said, “and this weather is perfection.”

“Fancy tells me you enjoy singing, flute playing, and the wind.”

“I love nature, especially trees, who love us unconditionally.”

“Trees love us?”

“Come with me.” Serena led him beneath one of the willow’s branches and positioned him with his back against its trunk. “Close your eyes and feel the willow’s love and power.” When a breeze swished a sweeping branch across his hand, she added, “The willow said hello.”

“Be careful the willow doesn’t wrap its branches around your neck,” Fancy teased him.

Stepan walked toward the opera singer. “I would prefer your branches wrapped around me.”

Fancy blushed, her sisters giggling in the background. Ah, that sounded more like the notorious rake.

Stepan caught Bliss’s attention and gestured to Fancy. “Touch her and tell me what she is feeling.”

Fancy rolled her eyes at their foolishness, but held her arm out to her sister, who told the prince, “She is annoyed by your ridiculing her.”

“I beg your pardon, mademoiselle.” Stepan grabbed the singer’s hand and gently pulled her to her feet. “Dance with me.”

“Your Highness—”

“Sometimes my nieces’ tea parties are magically transformed into gala balls. Put your feet on top of mine, and I will demonstrate the way we waltz.”

When she did as told, Stepan whirled her around and around in a silent waltz. Her sisters giggling in the background cracked the wall of her irritated reserve.

Fancy laughed, too. “This reminds me of when Papa—” She stopped speaking abruptly, catching herself before she revealed anything too painful.

Stepan lifted her chin and waited until her gaze met his. “What would your papa do?”

Fancy shrugged, unable to mask the anguish clouding her eyes. “What’s done is past.”

“Belle needs us,” Raven said, her voice sounding loud in the silence. “We need to go home.”

Fancy heard the beginning panic in her sister’s voice. “Damn Baron Wingate.”

Slightly less than an hour later, the Kazanov coaches reached Soho Square and halted in front of the Flambeau residence. Without waiting for the prince, Fancy leaped out and ran up the three front stairs. Stepan and Raven were two steps behind, followed by the remaining four sisters.

Fancy stopped short.

Bleeding a river, Belle lay on the foyer floor. Her face had been slashed from beneath her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth.

Stepan looked at Fancy and knew she would be useless. He gestured the others back and knelt beside her sister.

The prince dropped his voice to a soothing tone. “Relax, Belle, we will take care of you and make everything right again.”

Stepan began issuing orders like a general to his troops. “Sophia, fetch blankets from the coach. Serena, bring linens. Bliss, boil the thinnest thread and needle you can find. Raven, we need whiskey. Blaze, run next door to the constable’s apprentice and tell him what happened.” He shifted his gaze to Fancy, staring as if she’d never seen him before, and hoped he would not be hampered by a second patient.

“How did you know?” Belle asked.

Fancy knelt beside her sister and held her hand. “Raven felt you needed us.”

“Cover the sofa with the blanket.” Stepan leaned close to Belle, saying, “I will carry you to the sofa, and someone will stitch your face.”

Gingerly, Stepan lifted her into his arms and set her down on the sofa. Taking a linen from Serena, he covered the slashed cheek. “Fancy, keep this pressed to her cheek until we are ready.”

Raven returned with a bottle of whiskey.

“When I lift your shoulders and head,” Stepan instructed Belle, “take a big gulp of whiskey.”

Belle gulped the whiskey and coughed.

“Good job. Take another. And another.”

Fancy watched the prince in action. She could hardly believe that he was an aristocratic rake. He appeared more physician than rogue.

Belle managed ten healthy swigs of whisky, complete with coughing and wheezing. The whiskey seemed to relax her for what would come next.

“Your beautiful face,” Fancy moaned, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You will carry a scar.”

“Fancy.”
She heard the prince’s warning tone and clamped her lips together.

Stepan leaned close to the injured girl’s ear to whisper, “Shall Fancy stitch you?”

“
No!
Fancy is the worst seamstress in London,” Belle said, making him smile. “Raven makes the smallest stitches.”

Fancy turned to Raven. Her youngest sister had paled to a deathly white.

“Raven, wash your hands,” Stepan ordered. “Belle, will you trust me to get you through this?”

She looked at him through violet eyes that resembled her sister’s. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Stepan nodded. “Fancy, stand behind the armrest and—”

“Why?”

“Do not argue. Do it.”

When the singer positioned herself behind her sister’s head, the prince instructed her, “Place the palms of your hands on either side of her head to keep her steady.”

“You’re much stronger, wouldn’t—”

“Do as I say.”

Seething but obedient, Fancy did as she had been told. “How is this, Your Highness?” Her voice oozed sarcasm.

Stepan flicked her a cool glance. “This is about Belle, not you.”

Fancy reddened at his rebuke, knowing he was right. “Sister, I am sorry.”

“Hearing you take orders is almost worth the injury,” Belle whispered.

Stepan smiled at that. Apparently, his little opera singer considered herself the boss of her family. She would need to get over that fast.

“Raven, thread the needle and kneel here,” Stepan said. “I will nod when she is ready.”

His voice low and soothing, Stepan began whispering in Belle’s ear. “Close your eyes, and let your muscles loosen. Take a deep breath and exhale. Inhale and exhale. Inhale and exhale.

“Inside your mind, picture a staircase with ten steps leading to a closed door. Do you see it?”

“Yes.”

“Climb onto the bottom step, Belle, and feel your muscles relaxing. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Your legs feel heavy but you can move to the second step.”

Stepan guided Belle up the imaginary staircase. “Open the door and walk inside. Tell me what lies beyond the door.”

“I see a lush, green woodland,” Belle whispered. “I hear the distant sound of gurgling water and smell the perfume of many flowers. Sunshine peeks through the holes between the trees.”

“Walk toward the water sounds, and tell me what you see.”

“Water is falling into a clear pool,” Belle whispered. “Lily pads float on top of the water, a carpet of grass tickles my feet, sunshine warms my face.”

“Lie on the grass bed and listen to the rhythmic water noises.” Stepan looked at Raven and nodded.

Paler than the walking dead, Raven lifted the blood-soaked linen and, using a fresh cloth, cleaned the wound. Then she raised the threaded needle toward her sister’s face.

Fancy snapped her eyes shut against the sight of flesh being sewn. She felt a tiny jerk of her sister’s head and knew the sewing had begun.

Holding the injured girl’s hand, Stepan kept his lips pressed against her ear. His tone and his words soothed her, inviting relaxation.

Fancy sensed when the stitching had ended and opened her eyes. With droplets of sweat streaming from the crown of her head down her face and neck, Raven looked worse than Belle, whose expression was surprisingly placid.

“There you are,” Bliss was greeting someone. “And who is this?”

Fancy saw Alexander and Genevieve standing in the doorway. His gaze had fixed on Raven. She didn’t need to see her sister’s expression to know how hurt Raven would be.

“Genevieve is a special friend,” Alexander introduced her. “She sings in the opera, too.”

“Get me a mirror,” Belle said.

Fancy vetoed that. “No peeking in mirrors for a few weeks.”

“Time will ease its raw appearance,” Raven assured her.

“Is she well enough to answer questions?” Alexander asked.

Fancy glanced at Stepan, who nodded. He stood to let the budding constable take his place.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I unlocked the door and bid good-bye to Charles,” Belle said. “Someone inside the house grabbed me from behind and cut my cheek. His hand covering my mouth prevented me from screaming.”

“Was the hand a man’s or woman’s?”

“A man, I think.”

“Did he…did he touch you anywhere private?”

“No.”

Alexander looked around at the Flambeaus. “Is anything of value missing?”

All the sisters shook their heads.

Which meant someone had targeted her sister, Fancy decided. “How did Baron Wingate’s mother receive you?”

“The baroness was gracious and kind. So was his brother.”

“You never mentioned him before.”

“George doesn’t get around easily,” Belle explained. “He walks with a cane.”

Fancy could not credit the baroness with being gracious and kind to a duke’s illegitimate offspring. That did not mesh with what the prince had told them.

“Tomorrow, write down everything you remember,” Alexander told Belle. “No detail is too small.”

“I would retire now.”

Stepan stepped forward. “I will carry you upstairs.”

“No, thank you, Your Highness. I prefer to walk upstairs on my own.”

Stepan gestured to the twins. “Your sisters will help you.”

Belle sat up slowly and, with the prince’s assistance, rose from the sofa. She left the parlor, a set of twins on each side of her.

Raven turned to follow them out. “If you will excuse me.”

“You will remain here.” Alexander looked at Genevieve. “Return to my house, and I’ll join you shortly.”

“What are you thinking?” Fancy asked.

“If the rose-petal murderer attacked Belle, she would be dead,” Alexander answered. “The monster follows a ritual with each victim and would not change his habits now.”

“Belle was not raped, robbed, or killed,” Stepan said. “Someone wanted to scar her.”

Alexander nodded, and then looked at Raven. “Tell me about your vision.”

That surprised Fancy, who looked from one to the other. “What vision?”

“Raven visited me last night,” Alexander answered. “She’d had a vision about the rose-petal murders.”

Raven’s voice was colder than the Thames in winter. “Do you believe such things are possible?”

“I will believe anything that helps solve this case.”

Raven closed her eyes. “I saw a disembodied red dress and—”

“You saw a red dress?”

She opened her eyes. “That is what I said.”

“What does that mean?” Fancy asked.

“Last night’s victim wore a red dress.” Alexander turned to Raven. “Describe the sewing person.”

“I saw hands.”

“Man or woman?”

Raven closed her eyes again. “Long fingers.”

“Man or woman?” Irritation tinged his voice.

“I heard you the first time,” Raven snapped.

“Then answer the question.”

Fancy looked from one to the other and then at the prince, who shrugged. Something had passed between her friend and her baby sister.

“I saw long fingers, nothing to distinguish male or female.”

“Try again,” Alexander ordered.

Raven closed her eyes. “A long finger, an unvarnished nail, a gold ring.”

Alexander appeared shaken. “I want to know if you have another vision, the moment you have it.”

“Why are you angry with Raven?” Fancy demanded. “She didn’t murder anyone.”

“What does the gold ring signify?” Stepan asked.

Alexander paused a moment, as if debating something in his mind, and then looked at each in turn. “We found a gold ring at the murder scene this morning. And the sewing…the monster sews their eyelids and lips shut. Then he places whole roses in their ears, finally slashing a cheek and covering them with rose petals.”

“Mon Dieu.”
Fancy leaned against the prince, who didn’t mind in the least.

Stepan put his arm around her shoulders and drew her against the side of his body. Her reaching for him seemed as natural as breathing, and this pleased him.

Alexander knew what he saw would render most people unconscious. “We believe he does the sewing after the victim has expired.”

“That makes me feel so much better,” Fancy muttered.

Alexander shifted his gaze to Raven. “Have I sickened you, too?”

“My constitution is stronger than my sister’s.” Raven opened the door to leave the parlor but paused to look at her sister. “Practice your slingshot.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why.”

After the door closed behind her sister, Fancy rounded on her friend. “What have you done to Raven?”

“Nothing.” At that, Alexander quit the parlor.

Fancy looked at Stepan. “Will you contact Baron Wingate in the morning and tell him about the attack?”

“Shall I bring him to visit Belle?”

“Only if he suggests it.”

“A wise decision.”

“Where did you learn to take the pain away?” Fancy asked.

“I did not take her pain away, merely redirected it,” Stepan explained. “I broke my arm once. While the physician examined and set it, Rudolf did for me what I did for Belle. He had learned it at university.” He raised her hand to his lips. “Today has been long and tiring. Au revoir, mademoiselle.”

Fancy smiled at him. “Bon voyage, monsieur.”

He turned toward the door. Her hand on his arm made him pause.

Fancy threw herself into his arms. “Thank you for being so wonderful with Belle. I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

“A compliment for me?” Stepan cocked a dark brow at her. “You should seek employment for your free days from the opera.”

“I would speak with Baron Wingate.”

The Wingate majordomo raised his brows at the man’s attitude and tone. “The family is eating breakfast, the hour entirely too early for calls. If you give me your card—”

“I will not give you my calling card, sir. I demand to speak with the baron.”

“Very well, wait here while—”

“I do not wait in foyers.”

The majordomo gave him an exasperated look. “Follow me, Mister—?”

“His Highness, Prince Stepan Kazanov.”

The blood drained from the majordomo’s face. “Your Highness, please accept my—”

“Spare me,” Stepan said, his tone purposely haughty. “You have already wasted too much of my time.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Stepan walked down the corridor toward the dining room. One could usually judge the aristocrat by his servants’ attitudes. Apparently, the old Russian axiom was true; the worst snobs were always the lowest on the aristocratic scale. The only way to deal with snobbery was to outsnob the snobs, an enjoyable game consisting of a prince and a sniveling, servile sycophant.

“Your Highness, what a surprise,” the baroness gushed, her eyes lighting with delight at such an exalted visitor.

Stepan gestured for the two men to remain sitting and smiled at the baroness. “A pleasant surprise, I hope. Tell me how you manage to look so beautiful this early in the morning.”

The baroness giggled like a young woman. “I never realized what a flatterer you are.”

“Madam, I swear I speak only the truth.”

Stepan gave the dining room a sweeping glance. He noted the expensive Worcester Royal Porcelain coffee and tea service on the sideboard and a chipped cup on the dining table. The cushion on the chair beside him looked positively threadbare. The Wingates would probably eat beef stew from Wedgwood china while a true aristocrat would choose filet mignon and caviar served on stoneware.

“Nigel, bring His Highness coffee and a plate of eggs and sausage,” the baroness instructed the majordomo.

“Yes, Madam.”

“Coffee only, please.”

“I don’t believe you have met my son George,” the baroness said.

Stepan inclined his head to George and then looked at Charles. “I assumed the baron was the eldest son.”

“George is my half-brother,” Charles explained. “I am the baron’s only son.”

“I see.” Stepan thought that fact did not sit well with George, who appeared unhappy with the circumstances. His younger brother wore the piddling title and controlled the purse strings. What else could a cripple do, though?

“I had no idea you knew where I lived.” Charles Wingate smiled at him. “To what do we owe this honor?”

Stepan let the faintest of smiles flirt with his lips while he decided if the baron’s words held a note of sarcasm. If so, he would pauperize the fool before summer’s end.

“As you may know, I have been courting Miss Fancy Flambeau,” Stepan began.

“Courting the opera singer for matrimony?” the baroness exclaimed. “You can’t be serious?”

“I have never been more serious in my life.” Stepan fixed his dark gaze on the baroness and let her see his displeasure. “The Flambeau sisters are
highly connected
.”

“I have heard wild rumors,” the baroness said. “Who
is
her father?”

“Your curiosity will soon be satisfied,” Stepan lied, and turned to Charles. “Belle was attacked after you brought her home yesterday.”

“What?” Charles Wingate rose from his chair in surprise. “I delivered Belle to her door.”

“Sit down,” the baroness ordered.

He did as ordered. Which told Stepan a great deal about the baron. If Fancy had been attacked, he would not be sitting here now.

“What happened to the sweet child?” the baroness asked.

“Someone waiting inside the house slashed her face.”

“Oh, the poor dear.”

“Her beautiful face,” Charles lamented, clearly upset.

Stepan glanced at George, who had remained silent. He was ignoring their conversation, unaffected and uninterested in the misfortune of a lower-class woman.

Charles looked toward his mother for guidance. “Shall I go to her?”

“I doubt the child will feel well enough for visitors, my boy.”

“I disagree.” Stepan rose from his chair. “A visit from Charles will lift her spirits.”

The baron stood when he did. “Right, Your Highness, I’ll come along then.”

“Did you receive Inverary’s invitation for his ball this week?” Stepan watched the baroness redden with embarrassed anger. Apparently, she had not received an invitation. “Yours must have been in the pile dropped in a puddle of water. I will tell His Grace to send another along when I meet with him this afternoon.” He glanced at the baron. “Shall we leave, Charles?”

Baron Wingate followed him out of the dining room. Together, the two men walked down the corridor to the foyer.

“Riding in my coach will save time,” Stepan said.

Baron Wingate touched his arm to stop him. “Your Highness, was Belle violated?”

“Thankfully, no.” Stepan decided that, although the baron lived beneath his mother’s thumb, the man genuinely cared for Fancy’s sister.

“That relieves me,” Charles said. “I could never forgive Belle if she had been raped.”

Stepan almost tripped down the front stairs at the other man’s words. He knew three things for sure. Charles Wingate was an obnoxious arse who deserved to be pauperized and beaten, bringing him to visit Belle was one of the worst ideas he’d ever had, and the baroness’s receiving an invitation to Inverary’s ball was in doubt.

Alexander Blake and Constable Amadeus Black waited to speak with Lord and Lady Parkhurst. “The Parkhursts are a strange couple,” Amadeus said. “The lady is several years older than her husband.”

“Is she the one with the money?”

Amadeus cast him an amused glance. “Your thoughts match mine.”

“Where is Lowing?” Alexander asked.

“Unfortunately, Lowing was required to appear in court this morning.”

“What auspicious timing.”

“I thought so.”

“Constable Black.” Lady Parkhurst hurried into the drawing room. “My husband will be down directly.”

In her forties, Lady Parkhurst was short and decidedly plump. She had plain features but a pleasant expression.

“I present my associate, Alexander Blake.”

The lady smiled at him, saying, “Oh, your grandfather—”

“Lady Parkhurst, we are returning your husband’s ring,” Alexander interrupted. He had no intention of discussing his grandfather with anyone.

Amadeus Black drew the heavy gold ring from his pocket and offered it to her.

Lady Parkhurst stared at the ring for a long moment. “That ring does not belong to my husband.”

“Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

Lord Parkhurst walked into the drawing room. He was a tall, passably handsome man in his midthirties. “Gentlemen, how may I help you?”

“We would like to ask you a few questions,” the constable said.

“Is my wife’s presence needed?”

“No, my lord.”

Lord Parkhurst looked at his wife. “Run along, dear, and close the door behind you.”

The lady hesitated. “Will you need me later?”

“Hardly,” Parkhurst drawled.

Amadeus held his hand out. “My lord, do you recognize this?”

“No.”

“The ring does not belong to you?”

Parkhurst smiled. “I have better taste than that.”

Not in wives,
Alexander thought.

“Did the ring belong to Phoebe?”

Lord Parkhurst raised his brows at the constable. “I know no one named Phoebe.”

Alexander felt like shaking the truth out of the supercilious lout. “Didn’t you conduct an affair with a ballet dancer named Phoebe?”

Parkhurst managed to look suitably shocked. “Sir, I am a married man.”

Amadeus inclined his head. “Forgive us for intruding on your day, my lord. Come, Alexander.”

“Blake, give your grandfather my regards,” Parkhurst said.

Alexander turned to the constable as soon as the door closed behind them. “Parkhurst is lying.”

“Calm down, Alex.” Amadeus touched his shoulder. “Did you expect him to confess to murder?”

Barney waited in front of the Parkhurst mansion. “Did you learn anything?”

“We learned that Parkhurst is not above lying,” Amadeus answered. “Starting today, Barney, you will shadow His Lordship’s movements from dusk to dawn, and report to me each morning. And for Gawd’s sake, don’t let him see you watching.”

Standing in her foyer, Fancy looked from Stepan to Charles Wingate. She could not decide if the baron’s presence was a good or bad idea. Her sister was a gentle soul in an emotionally fragile condition and could not protect herself if necessary. If the baron should hurt her—

“I’ll ask if she wants to see you.” Fancy opened the parlor door and stepped inside. “Charles is waiting in the foyer.”

Surprise registered on her sister’s face. At the same moment, Belle raised her hand to her stitched cheek.

“You don’t need to see him,” Fancy told her.

Belle met her gaze, the misery of the world clouding her eyes. She shook her head in acceptance of whatever fate decreed. “Send him in.”

Fancy opened the door and gestured to the baron. Once he brushed past her, she stepped into the corridor but left the door open a tiny crack.

“Are you eavesdropping?” Stepan whispered.

“I am protecting my sister.” Her mulish expression dared him to argue the point.

The prince put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. “I will protect her, too.”

“Oh, my poor darling,” Charles exclaimed. “I feel so guilty.”

“You should not blame yourself,” Belle said.

“Let me see your lovely face.”

“I am no longer lovely and will carry a scar.”

“Nonsense, dear heart. Let me see.”

Silence.

Fancy looked at the prince and wondered if the baron had grimaced at the raw stitching. Stepan appeared uncomfortably guilty, the silence inside the drawing room emphasizing the enormity of his blunder.

“You will recover, dearest.”

The baron’s hesitant tone did not inspire confidence in Fancy. She looked at the prince again. He looked uninspired, too.

“I should have escorted you inside,” the baron was saying.

“My sisters were on an outing,” Belle reminded him. “Our being alone would have been too much of a temptation. I want nothing to prevent me from coming to you a virgin on our wedding night.”

Silence again. A prolonged silence.

Alarm shot through Fancy. The baron could not be so cruel as to discard her sister only one day after the attack.

“Do you think the baron is kissing her?” The prince sounded hopeful.

“
No.” All the hatred for aristocrats she’d harbored for fifteen years shone in her eyes.

“Well, dearest, the fact is—” Baron Wingate hesitated. “My mother believes we are unsuited for each other.”

“The baroness was so kind and gracious yesterday.”

“She would never behave otherwise,” Wingate said. “My mother’s true nobility shines, no matter her opinion.”

“True nobility?” Belle said. “Wasn’t her father a vicar and her first husband a squire?”

Fancy heard the sarcastic edge in her sister’s voice. The assailant could not steal her spirit and pride.

“That is neither here nor there.”

“My mother was a countess,” Belle said, “and my father is a duke, which makes me more noble than your mother.”

“Your parents never married,” the baron said, a hostile note entering his voice. “Your bastardy makes you unacceptable.”

“That sniveling swine.” Stepan reached for the door, but Fancy blocked his path. “Step aside so I can kill him.”

“Revenge should never be served hot, Your Highness.”

“You should leave now.”

Her sister’s voice ached with emotion.

“What I meant to say—I need time to persuade my mother that a union between us would be beneficial.”

“Take all the time you need, Charles. I will, of course, examine my own feelings about you.”

By unspoken agreement, Fancy and Stepan hurried to the foyer. Standing near the door, they tried to appear as if they hadn’t been eavesdropping.

Baron Wingate walked into the foyer, his complexion flushed. “I would like to leave now.”

Stepan opened the door and gestured to the baron. Wingate stepped outside, but the prince hadn’t moved.

“Your Highness, I am rather upset and want to go home,” Wingate said.

“I do not chauffeur social inferiors.” Stepan slammed the door in the baron’s face.

Fancy wrapped her arms around him. “You were wonderful.”

“Merci,
mademoiselle.”

And then the heartwrenching sounds of her sister’s weeping reached them.

Fancy whirled away, intending to go to her sister’s aid. Stepan moved faster, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her against his body.

Fancy struggled against him. “Release me.”

“Let her grieve in peace,” Stepan said. “Nothing will make her feel better. When her tears are spent, she will listen to your counsel.”

Fancy opened her mouth to argue.

“How about practicing your slingshot?”

She shook her head. “I have no heart for that today.”

“I will let you shoot the apple off my head.”

“You will?” Well, that certainly perked her interest.

“No.” Stepan smiled at her disappointed expression. “My brothers are expecting me.” He gave her a quick kiss and walked out the door.

Fancy appreciated the prince’s support during a troubled time, but wished he would refrain from kissing her. At least, without invitation.

She heard her sister in the parlor but decided the prince was right. Belle deserved the privacy to grieve in peace.

A short time later, Stepan climbed the stairs to the Duke of Inverary’s second-floor office. He knocked on the door and entered without waiting for permission. When the four men sitting inside dropped their mouths open in surprise, he grinned at each in turn…the Duke of Inverary and his three older brothers.