The Ordinary Princess. Liz FieldingЧитать онлайн книгу.
bell and kept it there until it was opened by a footman.
A footman!
‘Yes, miss?’ he enquired, looking down his nose in a manner he must have learned from the Prince.
‘May I speak to Karl?’ she asked politely. And prayed that he wouldn’t ask, Karl who? She should have asked the Princess that. It would help if she knew who, exactly, Karl was. Trevor was right. She would never make a journalist.
‘Who shall I say is calling?’ he replied.
‘It doesn’t matter who I am. Just get him, will you? It’s really urgent,’ she pressed, when the man’s appraising look—the kind that took in her general appearance and suggested she was kidding herself if she thought she was ever going to step foot over any threshold for which he was responsible—had gone on for a great deal longer than was polite. Then, crossing her fingers, she added, ‘Tell him Katie sent me.’ That did the trick. His expression did not change, but he instantly opened the door and stood back to let her inside.
‘Come in,’ he said, not so much an invitation as an order. Since she wanted nothing more than to step inside the Prince’s palatial London residence, she did as she was told. It was just as well she hadn’t been congratulating herself on her good fortune. She got no further than the porter’s room beside the front door. ‘Wait here.’
Not that she could concentrate on her surroundings. She was too worried about the Princess to absorb the finely carved mouldings, the squared black and white marble flooring, the elegant staircase that she glimpsed through the doors to the vast inner reception hall.
Okay, so she’d got that much.
But she was definitely too worried to congratulate herself that it had taken her less than twelve hours to breach the defences of this most private of royals. With a potential ally on the inside.
She’d been waiting less than thirty seconds when the door behind her opened, and she spun round prepared to spill out the disaster to some venerable old family retainer.
Instead she found herself confronted by the devil himself. The owner of the face that had been haunting her for the last twenty-four hours. The reason for her presence on the footpath opposite.
Even without the white tie and tails, the blue silk of an Order ribbon, there could be no doubt that she was in the presence of a man who knew he was born to rule. Even in what, for him, were undoubtedly casual clothes—linen chinos, an open-necked shirt, cashmere sweater—he still had an air of authority that made her wish she hadn’t listened to his niece but had gone with her first thought and called an ambulance.
‘Where is Princess Katerina?’
Well, she thought, that was royalty for you. Anyone else would have said, ‘Where is my niece?’ or ‘Where is Katie?’ But they never forgot that they were different. Never let the mask slip.
Prince Alexander hadn’t raised his voice. He didn’t need to. He spoke with the natural authority of his rank, leaving her in no doubt that he expected her to answer him swiftly and truthfully or suffer the consequences, and at this point Laura’s sympathies were all with the Princess. She could certainly see why she’d hoped to keep her escapade from her uncle. But there was no hope of secrecy now. The footman had done what he’d seen as his duty. And the Princess needed warmth and medical attention.
‘She’s outside. I’m afraid she’s broken her ankle.’
‘I see.’ That was it. The man was ice. She’d just told him that his niece was lying hurt on the pavement and he responded with a calm that sent a chill whiffling down her spine. ‘Show me.’
The footman held the door for them and he indicated, wordlessly, that she should lead the way. It was all she could do to stop herself from backing out as, equally wordlessly, she did as she was bid with a silent apology to Katie. So much for her friend on the inside.
‘She’s down there, on the left, in the mews,’ she said as he followed her into the street.
Except, of course, she wasn’t. The cobbled lane was empty. The Princess—and her favourite jacket—had disappeared.
CHAPTER TWO
LAURA came to an abrupt halt. ‘She was here,’ she said, looking around her in confusion.
The Princess might have realised that she could move after all—tried to make herself more comfortable while she waited—but she wasn’t anywhere within a hundred yards. If she could have moved that far, surely she’d have gone home? Even if home meant trouble.
‘I left her just here,’ she insisted, pointing to the spot where they’d both crashed to the cobbles.
‘With a broken ankle?’ Prince Alexander did not sound convinced. He glanced up at the nearby drainpipe. ‘How far did she fall?’ he asked, without waiting for explanations. He evidently knew his niece very well indeed.
‘She didn’t fall,’ she began, then stopped.
She had no wish to dwell on what—or who—had caused the injury. Besides, there were more important things to worry about. Like, what had happened to the Princess? Two minutes ago she’d been lying where they were standing. Injured, unable even to attempt to hobble to the front door. Now she’d vanished into thin air.
‘I left her just here,’ she said. ‘I put my jacket under her head and—’
‘It’s not here now,’ he said, cutting short her explanation.
‘I was just going to say that!’ Then, ‘Oh!’ She turned and stared up at the Prince in total horror as the reality of what must have happened sank in. ‘She’s been kidnapped, hasn’t she? And it’s all my fault!’
‘I doubt that.’ Prince Alexander appeared totally unmoved by her dramatic declaration. Or the fate of his niece. Clearly he didn’t understand what she was telling him.
‘Yes, really!’ she insisted. It was no good. She’d have to own up. ‘Look, I saw her climbing down the drainpipe and I thought she was a burglar, so I tackled her to the ground.’ His dark brows rose imperceptibly. Actually, putting it baldly like that it did seem pretty unlikely, she realised, but after the briefest pause she pressed on with her confession. ‘That’s when she broke her ankle. As I said, my fault. I didn’t want to leave her—’
‘But she insisted?’ Then, without giving her an opportunity to reply, ‘I wasn’t actually referring to your culpability, merely to your reasoning.’
What?
‘Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Princess Katerina told me that she wasn’t supposed to be out. I get the picture, okay? You’re mad at her and she’s in trouble. But that scarcely matters under the circumstances. She’s disappeared and you have to do something. Now!’
‘I’m sorry, Miss—’ He paused, offering her an opportunity to introduce herself.
‘Varndell,’ she completed quickly. She was beginning to suspect that this was a man who wouldn’t do anything until the social niceties had been satisfied. No matter what the emergency. ‘Laura Varndell. But I really don’t think—’
‘Alexander Orsino,’ he replied, offering his hand. ‘How d’you do?’
That was it. Enough.
‘This isn’t a cocktail party!’ she declared furiously, ignoring his hand. ‘And I know who you are. All I want to know is what you’re going to do about finding your niece!’
‘Nothing while I’m standing in this alleyway,’ he informed her, his voice cool enough to freeze a whole pitcher of cocktails. ‘If you’ll come back into the house—?’
Ice? Had she thought the man was made of something as warm as ice?
‘I don’t want to go back into the house!’
What