Page 19 of Temptation and the Artist

Her gaze flew to his, and held, and then, almost to her surprise, she opened her hand and let him take the crumpled note from her.

“Someone slipped it under the door,” she said. “Just a few minutes ago. I thought it was you, saying you could not come after all.”

He spread the note out. The words were few and printed in easy-to-read letters.

GO HOME. THINK OF THE LITTLE PRINCE.

Something went click in Stephen’s memory, and stretched rapidly, wretchedly into understanding.

“They are threatening Basil,” she said in a low, shaking voice. “This changes everything…”

Flowers had appeared beside them and Stephen, still going over the evidence in his mind, wordlessly passed him the note.

“We’re all thinking of the little prince,” Flowers said savagely.

“No, we’re not,” Stephen said. Both the princess and the tutor turned stares of outrage upon him. “Basil is not a prince, is he? He is the son of your first marriage.”

Panic, clearly, had stopped her thinking, but she thought now. “Some people would not know that.”

“Some people clearly do not,” Stephen agreed. “But Basil’s family do. Enemies you might have made during the war would surely know. All your London acquaintances know. If anyone had troubled to follow you here, they would surely be aware that Basil is not a prince.”

The princess searched his eyes. “You think you know,” she accused.

“I do,” he said ruefully, “though part of me wishes I did not.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, drawing her attention to his slightly rumpled appearance, the tear in his cravat, an irritation on his face thanks to the disgusting sack.

“Stephen Dornan, have you been fighting? Was that the noise I heard? I thought the staff had dropped something in the corridor…”

“Sort of.” He drew a deep breath. “First, I believe you and Basil are both safe. This note, and what happened last night, I believe to be the work of my family.”

“Your family?” she exclaimed while Flowers scowled, completely baffled.

Stephen sighed. “This was all aimed at me. My father and my brothers want me to go home and sort out the mess they’ve made of the estate. They clearly thought I wouldn’t be able to tear myself away from you, and so they’ve been trying to persuade you to leave me.”

“By frightening me,” she said slowly. “And then by belittling you, and finally, by threatening Basil.”

“Clive called him a little prince this afternoon,” Stephen reminded her, “and they have no idea that he isn’t. They don’t move in your circles. When they come up to London, it’s for sport, gaming, drinking, and wenching. And they don’t like that I won’t do as they want.”

“Then you were wrong. They will hurt you! They did.”

Stephen smiled. “I think all my panicked thrashing around hurt them considerably more. Don’t worry. If they’re still here tomorrow, I’ll put them right on a few points, including the breadth of your influence and your protection.”

The princess appeared to be speechless.

Flowers said, “You had better be right about this.”

“I know.”

Aline rose to her feet and walked to the decanter on the side table. “I think we all need a glass of sherry.” Her hand shook very slightly as she poured it out, but her voice was steady.

Stephen’s admiration grew. He wanted to put his arm around her and hold her in comfort. He wanted to throw his father and brothers out the window. Any window, as long as it was high up.

“I’m sorry,” he offered as he accepted a glass from her.

“I believe I am relieved.” She gave the other glass to Mr. Flowers. “Although I’m sure we would both like to know how you came off best against two much larger brothers.”

Stephen thought about it, though not for long, for he was very aware of her seated beside him, even at a distance. “I’ve grown bigger and fitter, and they have got fatter and slower. Although as I said, the panic helped.” He raised his glass, “To you, Princess, and Basil.”

Flowers raised his glass in return, and they all drank rather thoughtfully. When her footmen came in with trays of food, the princess’s mood seemed to change to one of gaiety. It was, probably, a social trick, but it lifted the mood and set the conversation flowing until the good cheer was genuine.

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