Pleasuring the Prince (8 page)

“What are you doing here?” Prince Rudolf asked, the first to find his voice through his surprise.

Stepan made himself comfortable in a roomy leather chair. “I am attending this business meeting.”

“Why?” Prince Viktor sounded suspicious.

“Are you in trouble?” Prince Mikhail asked.

“No trouble.” Stepan poured himself a whiskey. “A man without a vocation is a man without direction.”

Three princes and one duke roared with laughter. Would his brothers ever consider him a responsible adult? Or would they always see him as the small, motherless boy who needed their protection?

“Miss Flambeau believes I need gainful employment.”

That brought the men another round of chuckles.

“If you are willing to work,” the Duke of Inverary said, “your liaison with Miss Flambeau must be serious.”

“Fancy and I do not have an intimate relationship,” Stepan admitted, “but I find myself involved in the Flambeau family problems.”

Prince Mikhail smiled. “What problems are the Flambeaus experiencing? Indecision concerning gowns?”

“Furs?” Viktor added, falling in with his brother’s teasing.

“Could the problem be jewels?” Prince Rudolf asked.

Stepan sipped his whiskey before answering. “Belle Flambeau, the second oldest, was attacked in their home yesterday. The assailant slashed her with a blade.”

That killed the good humor and teasing.

“How badly is she injured?” Inverary asked.

“One side of her face required stitches from beneath her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth.”

Inverary slammed his fist on the desk. “I suppose the poor girl will carry a scar?”

Stepan gave him a grim nod.

“Perhaps I should send my own physician to examine her.”

“That is unnecessary, Your Grace.” Stepan sipped the whiskey but wished for vodka. “We treated her as well as any physician.”

“You were there?” Rudolf asked.

“I had taken six sisters and their dog on a picnic,” Stepan explained, eliciting chuckles from his brothers.

“I suppose a man who loves tea parties would also enjoy picnics.”

Stepan ignored his oldest brother’s gibe. “We found Belle on the foyer floor, and the youngest sister stitched her face.”

“Why didn’t she join your picnic?” Inverary asked.

“Belle had had previous plans to meet Baron Wingate’s mother.” Stepan grimaced, still disturbed by the sister’s pain. “The bastard looked at her stitched face this morning and told her he couldn’t marry her.”

Silence reigned, each man pausing to think about the injured girl.

Stepan broke the silence with a disgusted snort. “Wingate did not name the scar as his reason, of course. He said her illegitimacy made her unacceptable to his mother. Thankfully, she never gave him her virginity.”

Rudolf looked astounded. “How do you know this?”

“Fancy and I eavesdropped on their conversation.” A smile played on his lips. “When the baron asked for a ride home, I told him I did not chauffeur social inferiors and slammed the door in his face.”

All four men laughed, and then their talk turned to business.

“That thoroughbred we bought won its first race,” Mikhail said. “I wish we had bet more on the outcome.”

“Someone placed a hefty bet on our horse and won a bundle,” Rudolf added.

Viktor nodded. “Our longshot proved profitable for at least one gambler.”

A tap on the door drew their attention, and the majordomo stepped inside. “Mr. Wopsle has arrived, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Tinker. Send him in.”

Bespectacled Mr. Wopsle stepped into the office. The man appeared nervous when he saw the duke was not alone.

“Sit here, Wopsle.” The Duke of Inverary gestured to the chair in front of the desk.

Wopsle crossed the office slowly and sat in the assigned chair. Then he pushed his slipping spectacles up with his index finger.

Stepan hid a smile. The poor man sat in the chair as if he were facing the Spanish Inquisition.

The duke smiled at the man. “Would you care for a whiskey?”

“No, thank you, Your Grace.”

“I will get straight to the point.” The duke lost his smile. “You act as business agent for the Seven Doves Company, which is undercutting our prices.”

“Undercutting prices is not against the law, Your Grace.”

“We want the owner’s identity,” Rudolf said.

Wopsle gulped visibly, his complexion reddening. “I am sorry, Your Highness, but—”

“We demand his identity,” Viktor said.

“I-I cannot tell you that.”

“Cannot or will not?” Mikhail challenged him.

“B-Both, Your Highness.”

“Explain yourself,” Inverary snapped.

Stepan stretched his long legs out and sipped his whiskey. Intimidation would not get answers from this man. Fright would paralyze his tongue.

“I-I would not break my client’s confidentiality,” Wopsle said, “even if I knew his identity.”

“You don’t know his identity?” The duke sounded incredulous, and rightfully so. “How do you conduct your business?”

“We communicate through another business agent.”

“I wonder the reason this owner wants to preserve his identity,” Stepan said. “On the other hand, who are we to demand his identity?”

Rudolf sent him a silencing look. “Wopsle, what is this other agent’s name?”

“I call him Mister
P
,” the man hedged.

Stepan laughed. “Is that
P
with an
ea
or double
e
?”

Viktor and Mikhail chuckled at his joke. Rudolf sent him another quelling look.

Stepan decided it was time to take his rightful place in the Kazanov businesses and so ignored his eldest brother’s unspoken warning. “Describe the man’s appearance.”

“He is as tall as yourself with brown hair and well dressed, but not as expensively as you.”

“You call him Mister
P
, but you do know his surname.”

Wopsle paused a long moment. “Puddles.”

An idea was forming in Stepan’s mind, albeit a ridiculous idea, and it was no more than a shot in the dark. “Is Alexander his first name?”

“Do you know the man?”

Stepan said nothing, his mind unable to believe what he knew was true. The facts did not lie, however. A company named Seven Doves, an agent named Puddles, and a slip of a girl who loved numbers. His brothers would never believe him.

“Where can we find Puddles?” Inverary was asking.

Stepan could not control his laughter, earning himself a censorious look.

“I don’t find Puddles,” Wopsle said. “Puddles finds me.”

“When you meet this Puddles again, tell him the Duke of Inverary wants a word or two with him.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You may leave now.”

Wopsle wasted no time in escaping.

Rudolf looked at Stepan. “If you want to work, track Puddles and discover the owner of the Seven Doves.”

“I know Puddles and the owner
s
of the company.”

“Owner
s
?” Rudolf echoed.

“How many?” the duke asked.

“Seven, I believe.” Stepan stood, intending to leave. “Conduct your business as usual, and I will take care of this matter.” He smiled at his brothers’ astonished expressions. “Good day, Your Grace and brothers.”

“Miss Giggles.” Fancy scooped the capuchin monkey onto her lap. “How is Miss Giggles this evening?”

The monkey stared at her and then performed the now-familiar trick. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.

“Excuse me.” Sebastian Tanner pointed at the monkey.

Fancy passed him the prima donna’s pet. She started to close the dressing room door when three people appeared.

“How is Belle feeling?” Genevieve asked.

“She will recover.”

Fancy’s mind and energy had been fixed on her sister all day. Her only moments of relief had come when she stepped onstage and lost herself in the music. She would probably die if barred from the opera.

Director Bishop cleared his throat. “Genevieve will sing the part of Cherubino tomorrow evening.” The blonde gasped, drawing the director’s attention. “You may leave, Genevieve.”

Fancy flicked a worried glance at the prince, who was lounging against the doorjamb, and then asked the director, “Are you firing me?”

Director Bishop shook his head. “Genevieve will assume your role because you will be singing at the Duke of Inverary’s ball.”

Fancy looked the director straight in the eye. “I don’t work private parties.”

“You do if you want employment at this opera.”

Fancy closed her eyes against the unfairness of it all. She had expected independence when she won a position in the opera. The reverse was true. She had less freedom than before.

“Very well, I will make this one exception.”

“We will debate that another time.” Director Bishop left the dressing room.

Looking elegant in his formal evening attire, Stepan cocked his head to one side as if considering her sour expression. “I hope this does not color our evening.”

“I dislike being forced into anything.” Fancy sighed, and then lifted her violet gaze to his. “I don’t feel comfortable attending this exalted duke’s society affair.”

“Poor, poor Fancy.” Stepan cupped her cheek and ran his thumb across her lips. “I will escort you to the party, remain by your side, and escort you home.”

“The Inverarys are your brother’s in-laws,” Fancy said. “Did you put them up to this?”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it. The duchess loves trends, and you are London’s most recent trend.”

“Success has its drawbacks, I see.”

Stepan shrugged. “Many women would gladly change places with you.”

“Do you mean millions of women would change places in order to be standing here with you?”

Stepan inclined his head. “There is that, too.”

“I am not ungrateful.”

“I know that.”

Fancy gave him a pleading look. “Will you take me directly home tonight? I am worried about Belle.”

“Only if you promise to wear the violet gown tomorrow night.”

“I promise.”

Stepan saw the budding love shining in her eyes but doubted she realized how much she had softened toward him in only a few days. He would like to strangle that father of hers, who had made winning her love and trust more difficult.

“Will you do me a favor?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Stepan planted a chaste kiss on her lips. “Tell Bliss to stop undercutting the Kazanov prices.”

“Kazanov prices?” Fancy echoed.

“Do not play the innocent with me,” Stepan said. “Your Seven Doves Company is undercutting Campbell Enterprises and Kazanov Brothers.”

“I am sorry, but Kazanov Brothers is ancillary damage.”

“What do you mean?”

Fancy gave him an ambiguous smile.

Stepan laughed. “Keep your secrets, little songbird.”

Fancy inspected herself in the cheval mirror. She wore the violet silk gown the prince had given her. Its neckline was square, the bodice fitted, and the sleeves off-the-shoulder straps. Matching the gown were a cashmere shawl and satin slippers. Long white kid gloves completed the outfit.

“You-know-who will be there.” Fancy rounded on her youngest sister. “What should I do if he speaks to me?”

“Father may not recognize you.” Raven looked her up and down and smiled. “You look very different from the girl he saw last.”

“You are correct about that. Will you tell the prince I’ll be there in a minute?”

“You look like a fairy-tale princess.” Raven scooted out the door.

Fancy took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm herself. She had no doubt her father would be attending the Inverary ball. If he spoke to her, she would pretend she didn’t know their true connection.

And then the scent of cinnamon filled the room. Nanny Smudge was sending advice from beyond the grave.

Listen to your head but follow your heart.

Stepan stood in the foyer and wondered if his songbird would fly the coop as she had that other night. If she felt trapped or panicked, he had no doubt she would escape out a second-floor window.

“Worrying will give you gray hair,” Raven warned him.

“Worry or not, I will get gray hair,” Stepan said. “That is the way of the world.”

Stepan turned at the sound of Fancy descending the stairs and gave her an appreciative smile before lifting her hand to his lips. “You are lovely, too perfect to be real.”

Fancy rolled her eyes. “You have not found employment.”

Looping her hand in the crook of his arm, Stepan led her to the door. “I cannot decide which I most admire, your infinite beauty or your sharp wit.”

Stepan sat beside her in his coach and held her hand in his. “I love your scent, the softness of rose petals with a touch of sensual vanilla or amber.”

Fancy gave him a sidelong look. “Your Highness, you are an incorrigible flatterer.”

Park Lane lay a few miles and a world away from Soho Square. Fancy was too nervous for conversation; her hand trembled and her stomach fluttered, her agitation growing when she spied the glamorous society ladies and their escorts entering Inverary’s mansion.

“Relax,
ma petite
.”

Fancy gave him a tremulous smile. She appreciated the prince’s kindness. She could never have come here without him, even if it meant losing her position at the opera.

“Think of this as stage fright.” Stepan placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her into the mansion. She looked like a woman meeting the executioner.

“I puke before each performance.”

Stepan laughed, drawing curious glances from other guests. Nearing the ballroom, he said, “Lift your chin and look people in the eye. Remember, your mother was a countess and your father is a duke. The lack of a marriage certificate does not diminish your nobility.”

Fancy turned an anguished gaze on him. “I do not want to speak to you-know-who.”

“I will remain by your side.” Stepan patted her hands. “Besides, your father may not be an invited guest.” Then he leaned close to whisper to the duke’s majordomo.

“Brace yourself,” he warned her.

“Prince Stepan Kazanov,” Tinker announced, “and Miss Fancy Flambeau.”

Fancy hesitated as guests in the vicinity turned in unison to watch the prince and the opera singer. Like a drowning woman, she clutched his hand. And then Fancy saw her father, his gaze following her progress.

Drawing her attention, Stepan placed his hand on her back and guided her in the direction of a group of ladies and gentlemen. “I want you to meet my family.”

“What if they don’t approve?”

“Why would they disapprove?”

His question had been spoken in sincerity. That heartened Fancy, who drew strength from the prince’s confidence.

The ballroom was enormous and lit by glittering crystal chandeliers. Musicians stood at one end of the chamber and played their instruments. Elegant gentlemen spoke in muted voices and waltzed with ladies gowned in rainbow colors. Priceless gems sparkled on necks, arms, fingers, and ears. Perfume wafted through the ballroom, scenting the air like a lush garden.

“Everyone, I present Miss Fancy Flambeau,” Stepan announced when they reached his family. With pride in his voice, he gestured to each relative and friend. “Fancy, I present my oldest brother Rudolf and his wife, Samantha. Meet Viktor, his wife Regina, and Mikhail. Robert Campbell is Inverary’s son, and his wife, Angelica. And this is Cousin Amber and her husband, Miles Montgomery.”

Fancy greeted each with an ambiguous smile and a regal inclination of her head. She refused to curtsey, regardless of etiquette.

“Oh, my darling Stepan,” the Duchess of Inverary gushed, rushing to their side. “I see you have managed to persuade Miss Flambeau to honor us with her presence.”

“His Highness did not persuade me,” Fancy told the duchess. “Director Bishop threatened my continued employment.” The brightness of her smile lessened the bite of her words. She heard husky chuckles from three princes, a marquess, an earl, and the duke, who had joined them in time to hear her comment.

“They are not laughing at you,” Stepan assured her. “I believe hearing the truth for a change amuses them.”

“You are the veriest sweet child,” the duchess added. “No one would dare to insult you, nor would anyone wish that.”

“You are too kind, Your Grace.”

“I am a superb strategist in dealings with the adorable other gender.” The duchess flicked a glance at the prince and returned her attention to Fancy. “Whenever you are ready, I will plot your course.”

“I will never be ready,” Fancy said, “because I plan never to marry.”

“Fancy.” The prince’s voice held a warning note.

“You would deprive future generations of your beauty?”

Had the duchess been taking lessons in flattery from the prince? “I will consider marriage when the Almighty creates an alternative to men.”

“Fancy.” The prince sounded distinctly unhappy.

The Duchess of Inverary gave the prince a dimpled smile. “Perhaps I should offer you my strategic expertise.”

“I will call upon you at first opportunity.”

Fancy smiled at their wordplay and flicked a sidelong glance at the Duke of Inverary. He was watching her. She gave him a polite smile and turned away. She felt conspicuous enough without anyone staring.

“God blessed you with a rare gift,” Princess Amber said, standing beside her.

“I appreciate your praise, Your Highness.”

“Would you consider singing at my home?”

“I am sorry, but I do not usually perform at private parties.”

Princess Amber leaned close to prevent her words from being overheard. “I am not hosting a party. My rosebush is ailing, and the gift of your voice will revive its spirit.”

Fancy laughed, thinking the princess sounded like Belle. “In that case, I accept your invitation. Your Highness, you are not what I expected in a princess.”

“What did you expect?”

“An aristocratic snob.”

Princess Amber returned the compliment. “You are not what I expected in an opera singer.”

“What did
you
expect?”

“A fat lady.”

Both women laughed at that, drawing the others’ attention. For the first time, Fancy felt she could cope with tonight’s society ball. The prince and his cousin were not what she had imagined aristocrats were.

“My lady, may I have this dance?”

Fancy hesitated for a fraction of a moment. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Taking her hand in his, Stepan led her onto the dance floor. With one hand at her waist, the prince maintained a proper distance between their bodies and swirled her around and around the ballroom. He moved with the grace of a man who had waltzed hundreds of times, and Fancy forgot her insecurity, losing herself in the man and the music.

“You dance well,” Stepan said. “Did your anonymous father hire a dancemaster?”

“No, my sisters and I practiced together each evening,” Fancy answered. “We wanted to be ready for Prince Charming when he arrived.”

Stepan smiled at her sweet admission. “And here I am.”

Prince Rudolf requested her second dance and waltzed as well as his brother. Princes Viktor and Mikhail waltzed with her after that. Mikhail returned her to Stepan’s side, murmuring, “I hope you save another dance for me later.”

“I need something to drink before I sing,” Fancy whispered to the prince.

Stepan put his arm around her waist and escorted her into the next room. “Champagne?”

“I prefer water,” she insisted.

“Will you survive if I fetch lemon water from that table?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Your presence surprises me.” No sooner had Stepan stepped away when Fancy heard a voice beside her. “How is Belle?”

Fancy stared in silence at the baron and then turned her back on him, giving him the cut direct. Stepan and Rudolf stood there. Both men were smiling.

“Miss Flambeau, you are an Original,” Prince Rudolf told her.

“Thank you for the praise, Your Highness.” Fancy looked from Stepan to his brother, asking, “Do you know what businesses Baron Wingate is invested in?”

Stepan smiled at that.

“Are you planning to pauperize the man?” Rudolf asked.

“The thought had crossed my mind,” Fancy answered.

Rudolf narrowed his gaze on her. “One needs capital in order to pauperize other people.”

“Yes, Your Highness, I know.” Her smile was ambiguous, and she looked at Stepan. “May we step into a more private room while I prepare for my performance?”

Hell
, Stepan thought, leading her out of the refreshment room,
I should marry her. My songbird already acts like a princess.

Stepan brought her into the informal family parlor and passed her the glass of lemon water. Fancy looked around to insure no one else was in the room. She took a swig of water, swished it around her mouth, and then spit it into a nearby vase.

Stepan chuckled at what he had witnessed. “What are you doing?”

“I wet my mouth before I sing,” Fancy explained, “but if I swallow, I’ll regurgitate.”

Prince Mikhail appeared in the doorway. “The duchess is calling for you.”

Returning to the ballroom, Stepan escorted Fancy to the top of the room where the duchess waited. The prince kissed her hand, causing a flurry of murmurs, before he left her side.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Duchess of Inverary said, “I present my special guest, Miss Fancy Flambeau.”

“I apologize for my lack of Cherubino’s breeches and jerkin,” Fancy told her audience, making them smile.

And then she sang
a cappella
, choosing an aria about unrequited love. Her powerful voice captured her audience, wrapping them in emotion, breaking their hearts. When she finished, someone called for her signature song, “Beyond the Horizon,” and she obliged them. Enthusiastic applause rewarded her at song’s end.

She had done it. She had survived her foray into high society. Now she could retreat to the refuge of Soho Square.

“Take me home,” Fancy whispered to the prince.

“Supper will be served shortly,” he told her. “Wouldn’t you like something to eat?”

“I prefer to leave.”

“Then you shall leave.”

Stepan and Fancy wended their way to the door slowly. Some guests wanted to speak personally to London’s latest rage; some guests greeted the prince; some guests of the female variety slayed her with venomous glares. Especially the blonde standing with Charles Wingate, the brunette speaking with an older gentleman, and the redhead dressed in the most scandalously scant black gown.

Prince Rudolf caught them at the stairs. “The Duke and Duchess of Inverary would speak with you in His Grace’s office.”

Fancy touched her prince’s arm. “Will you take me home first?”

Stepan looked at his brother. “Tell His—”

“
Now.”
Rudolf stood beside Fancy, trapping her between him and his brother. “I promise you may leave shortly.”

Three people were inside Inverary’s office. The duke sat behind an enormous mahogany desk with a glass of whiskey in front of him, and the duchess perched in a chair beside her husband’s desk. The marquess leaned against a bookcase and sipped whiskey.

The ducal office was richly appointed, as befitting an exalted aristocrat. A Persian carpet hugged the floor, the hearth was black marble, and the woman in the portrait above the hearth was attractive but not the present duchess. A chair had been set in front of the desk.

“Your voice is too amazing for words,” the duchess gushed when Fancy walked into the room.

“Roxie.” The duke’s voice held a gentle warning.

“I cannot contain my excitement.” She gave him a dimpled smile. “My nieces’ smashing marriages and now—”

“Roxie.”

Another dimpled smile. “Sorry, darling.”

The Duke of Inverary beckoned Fancy forward. She hesitated, wishing to be anywhere but there. Would this night never end?

“I do not bite, child.”

“I
do
bite, Your Grace.”

Stepan looked puzzled and, with his hand on the small of her back, nudged her forward until they stood in front of the desk.

No one spoke. A strained silence filled the chamber.

“How about a whiskey?” Rudolf asked his brother, alleviating the tension.

“Any vodka?”

“No.”

“Give me the whiskey.”

“Miss Flambeau?”

Fancy ignored him, her violet gaze fixed on the duke. “Say what you will, Your Grace, I want to go home.”

“Do you know who I am?”

Fancy gave him her sweetest, most insincere smile. “You are the Duke of Inverary, Your Grace.”

“I am your father.”

Fancy placed the palms of her hands on his desk and leaned forward to look him straight in the eye. She spoke slowly, enunciating every syllable.

“I have no father.”

“What is this?” Stepan snapped his head around to look at his brother.

Rudolf chuckled, enjoying the incredible sight of the petite opera singer facing down the powerful duke. “Apparently, Miss Flambeau and her sisters are His Grace’s daughters.”