Michael? But I tell Michael everything,'" she said, with that limpid innocence that occasionally fooled even Dryden.
But not today. He responded just as innocently. "You do? I'm glad. I was sure you wouldn't tell him about the Lieven brooch."
"It wasn't the Lieven brooch!" Mere words couldn't express her outrage; she had to stalk up to him and glare, so effectively that he fell back a step laughing. "The Denisov brooch. Peter the Great gave it to my great-grandmother. That Lieven witch took it from our rooms when my parents were exiled. I remember her rummaging around, pretending that she was there to help me, and all the while she was stealing my mother's jewels!"
"Appalling. And then when you saw it on the countess's bosom, you could hardly be blamed for expecting her to return it."
"And she offered me only insult in recompense! If I were a man, I would have gutted her like a fish!" Her hand sliced the air in a tight curve, and John, who had seen many fish gutted—though no countesses, as yet—could not help but appreciate her artistry.
The princess's violent Romanov ancestry would out, though fortunately usually only in rhetoric. At the time, however, he hadn't been so sure she wouldn't carry out her threats. He had been working for the Foreign Office then, positioning spies and laundering funds, and was steeped in the philosophy that the end justified the means. It was no great jump to decide that preventing the gutting of the Russian ambassador's wife justified a discreet little jewel theft. "I'm pleased that Michael understood. He's not usually so flexible."
"Understood?" She glanced at him exasperated. "Of course he didn't understand. I never told him."
"So I thought," John murmured. "Then we've established, haven't we, that there is at least one thing you haven't told your husband." He let the spot of blackmail work its way in, then added, "What's one more?"
"You're a rogue, John Dryden."
"Takes one to know one, your highness." And with a bow, he left her in the empty ballroom, sure that she would do as he bid.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
"Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?'
As You Like It, III, v
Jessica pulled Ada behind an elaborate Oriental screen that served to hide the entrance to the kitchens. Though they had to keep moving aside for footmen carrying trays of food, from here they could see the whole ballroom and talk without being overheard or being drowned out by the orchestra. "Tell me who is here tonight."
Ada was taller, and could see easily over the top of the screen. She swivelled her head to survey the ballroom from one end to the other, and then waved her hand in dismissal. "Oh just the usual Dorset crowd, this early. No one very interesting yet—or eligible." She cast a sidelong glance at Jessica. "Still on the hunt, are you?"
"Don't call it that. You make me sound like a bird of prey. I'm just curious, and I thought that since you know everyone, you would tell me if anyone intriguing is here. I haven't even met the princess yet."
"Well, there she is." Ada gestured to the right with her fan. "She doesn't look like a princess, does she?"
Jessica stood on her tiptoes to peek over the top of the screen. Ada's fan was pointing at a small, slender woman with dark red hair, directing the footmen from the ballroom stairs. Her apricot silk gown was defying gravity, the little lacy sleeves hardly clinging to her shoulders. "Well, I don't know what a princess is supposed to look like—not like our own royal ladies, I expect. At least, she is marvellously pretty. And she has a dazzling dressmaker. I love that dress. I wonder how she keeps it up."
"Glue, do you think? It's just that when I think of a princess, I always expect a crown. She might have got one, had she married one of the royal dukes instead of Devlyn. I can't blame her," Ada said thoughtfully. "He's over there." The fan jammed towards the cardrooms, at a tall man in formal
But not today. He responded just as innocently. "You do? I'm glad. I was sure you wouldn't tell him about the Lieven brooch."
"It wasn't the Lieven brooch!" Mere words couldn't express her outrage; she had to stalk up to him and glare, so effectively that he fell back a step laughing. "The Denisov brooch. Peter the Great gave it to my great-grandmother. That Lieven witch took it from our rooms when my parents were exiled. I remember her rummaging around, pretending that she was there to help me, and all the while she was stealing my mother's jewels!"
"Appalling. And then when you saw it on the countess's bosom, you could hardly be blamed for expecting her to return it."
"And she offered me only insult in recompense! If I were a man, I would have gutted her like a fish!" Her hand sliced the air in a tight curve, and John, who had seen many fish gutted—though no countesses, as yet—could not help but appreciate her artistry.
The princess's violent Romanov ancestry would out, though fortunately usually only in rhetoric. At the time, however, he hadn't been so sure she wouldn't carry out her threats. He had been working for the Foreign Office then, positioning spies and laundering funds, and was steeped in the philosophy that the end justified the means. It was no great jump to decide that preventing the gutting of the Russian ambassador's wife justified a discreet little jewel theft. "I'm pleased that Michael understood. He's not usually so flexible."
"Understood?" She glanced at him exasperated. "Of course he didn't understand. I never told him."
"So I thought," John murmured. "Then we've established, haven't we, that there is at least one thing you haven't told your husband." He let the spot of blackmail work its way in, then added, "What's one more?"
"You're a rogue, John Dryden."
"Takes one to know one, your highness." And with a bow, he left her in the empty ballroom, sure that she would do as he bid.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
"Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?'
As You Like It, III, v
Jessica pulled Ada behind an elaborate Oriental screen that served to hide the entrance to the kitchens. Though they had to keep moving aside for footmen carrying trays of food, from here they could see the whole ballroom and talk without being overheard or being drowned out by the orchestra. "Tell me who is here tonight."
Ada was taller, and could see easily over the top of the screen. She swivelled her head to survey the ballroom from one end to the other, and then waved her hand in dismissal. "Oh just the usual Dorset crowd, this early. No one very interesting yet—or eligible." She cast a sidelong glance at Jessica. "Still on the hunt, are you?"
"Don't call it that. You make me sound like a bird of prey. I'm just curious, and I thought that since you know everyone, you would tell me if anyone intriguing is here. I haven't even met the princess yet."
"Well, there she is." Ada gestured to the right with her fan. "She doesn't look like a princess, does she?"
Jessica stood on her tiptoes to peek over the top of the screen. Ada's fan was pointing at a small, slender woman with dark red hair, directing the footmen from the ballroom stairs. Her apricot silk gown was defying gravity, the little lacy sleeves hardly clinging to her shoulders. "Well, I don't know what a princess is supposed to look like—not like our own royal ladies, I expect. At least, she is marvellously pretty. And she has a dazzling dressmaker. I love that dress. I wonder how she keeps it up."
"Glue, do you think? It's just that when I think of a princess, I always expect a crown. She might have got one, had she married one of the royal dukes instead of Devlyn. I can't blame her," Ada said thoughtfully. "He's over there." The fan jammed towards the cardrooms, at a tall man in formal
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