Free Always a Princess by Alice Gaines Page B

box into it. “Now, take these back.”
    “Why? They’re perfectly serviceable emeralds.”
    “Because, my dear Lord Wesley, you’re not supposed to be buying jewels for me. We’re supposed to be stealing them. Together. As partners.”
    He put the box back into her palm and curled her fingers around it. “But I must insist.”
    She pulled open the pocket of his jacket and slipped the box inside. “And I must refuse.”
    “Miss Stanhope—” he began.
    “Lord Wesley, if you make me take those earrings I shall sell them at the earliest possible opportunity and keep the money.”
    He grunted in that pigheaded way men had when they didn’t get what they wanted. “Very well. But I’ll see you at that church in one week’s time. Be there.”
    “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing you.”
    He gave her one last sly glance and then left the fitting room. Oh yes, he’d see her in a week, and maybe by then he’d have learned that she was not a woman to be ordered about.

Chapter Five
    St. Giles was even worse than Philip remembered it from the very few visits he’d ever made there in the past. Oxford Street looked deserted enough at first glance, but who knew what sort of ruffians and footpads might be hiding in the litter-strewn doorways? He opened the carriage door before Tom, the footman, felt obliged to climb down from his perch. Bad enough Philip should risk his own safety in this godforsaken place. His mother would never forgive him if one of the staff came to harm because her son’s sense of adventure—or folly—had brought the man here.
    By all that was holy, why did Eve Stanhope have to live in such a place? A wet wind slapped him in the face as he descended to the street and climbed the short flight of steps to the church. He opened the door and slipped inside, finding the anteroom dark except for the light of one candle. Miss Stanhope sat in its weak glow, a male figure behind her. She rose when she saw him.
    “There you are.” She turned and placed her hand on the arm of the man at her back. “You can go home now, Hubert.”
    “I’ll wait for you here, my dear,” the man said. A lover? She had a lover, and the man allowed her to languish in places like St. Giles? He allowed her to risk herself stealing jewelry? Such a man was no man at all. Philip ought to take the fellow outside and thrash him, and perhaps he would when they returned. Right now he wouldn’t soil himself by touching the bastard.
    “No need to wait for her. I’ll bring her home safely enough,” he said.
    “You’ll bring me back here and nowhere else,” she replied. “Go home, Hubert.”
    Hubert stepped into the light finally, revealing himself to be an old man—over three score and ten. Philip should have realized that from the man’s voice, and he would have if the sight of Miss Stanhope’s hand resting so easily on another man’s arm hadn’t distracted him.
    Hubert looked down at Miss Stanhope with a fatherly concern. “If you won’t let his lordship bring you home, I’ll wait for you here.”
    “But we’ll be gone for hours,” she said. “And you’re no safer here than I’d be.”
    “I’ll wait for you here,” Hubert reiterated.
    “If we don’t leave soon, there won’t be any need for anyone to wait anywhere,” Philip said.
    Miss Stanhope straightened her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
    Philip took her elbow and escorted her from the church, Hubert right behind. When they got to the carriage he helped her inside, then turned to the older man. “Miss Stanhope is right, you know. You shouldn’t stay here.”
    Hubert’s blue gaze darted up the street and back. A visible tremor ran through his slender frame. “Yes, please do bring her home.”
    “The address?”
    “Around the corner there,” Hubert said, indicating a very dark, very unappealing alley with a gesture of his hand. “Number twelve, upstairs.”
    Philip placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of her.”
    “See