If the Slipper Fits. Elizabeth HarbisonЧитать онлайн книгу.
gave her very best customer-service smile. “Is there anything else we can do to make your stay more comfortable, Your Highness?”
Prince Conrad leveled his blue gaze back on her and she felt a tremor course through her. “Give me privacy,” he said.
She felt taken aback by his tone and the implication that she intended to sit around and chat with him. “Of course.”
He gave a short nod. “And I expect that when I have guests, you will be…discreet.”
He was referring to women, obviously. Guests. Plural.
Lily had to ignore a lot with this job. This was just more of the same. Yet something about Prince Conrad’s demeanor made it a little less palatable than usual. “Of course,” she said again, reminding herself that any media attention he brought to the hotel would only do Gerard’s business good. And she was all for anything that helped Gerard.
“Good.” He turned his gaze to Stephan, who was standing at the front desk with Karen, and asked him something in his native tongue.
Stephan nodded and held up the key Karen had just handed him.
Prince Conrad gave a single nod, and both Stephan and the other man jumped to attention, picking up the suitcases and carrying them toward the elevator.
Princess Drucille watched him with a sneer, then said to Lily, “I’ll be waiting for my dinner in my suite. I assume it has a dining area.”
“Yes, it does, of course,” Lily said, still watching Prince Conrad walk away, his trim shape and well-cut suit slicing through the atmosphere like an arrow, as Princess Drucille followed
“Lily…Le Capitan,” Gerard reminded her in urgent tones, drawing her attention back. “Her Highness does not look like a woman who likes to be disappointed.”
“No, she certainly doesn’t. I’m tempted to go to the nearest chain restaurant and bring her a quickie salad and steak.”
Karen chuckled until Gerard gave her a silencing look.
“Oh, don’t worry, Gerard, I’m not going to do it. I just said I’d like to.” Lily reached into a drawer and took out the hotel credit card. It was worn almost smooth from use. “I’ll be back soon.”
She stepped outside. The familiar scent of exhaust, tomato sauce and roasted chestnuts hung in the crisp November air. There was no breeze tonight, unusual in the city. It felt downright balmy. Once she started walking she found she didn’t particularly want to stop. She could have just walked straight on home. It was the nature of this job, she realized, to have to occasionally work longer hours and do more legwork than she wanted to do.
Her first stop was the hospital gift shop, which had a large and costly floral arrangement that included Birds of Paradise.
Score.
Luckily, she was able to get a cab right out front and the driver waited for her while she got both the dinner and the bottles of Dom Pérignon from her friend behind the bar at Le Capitan in exchange for money and the promise of theater tickets he’d been unsuccessful in getting himself.
The deal in place, Lily returned to the hotel. To her surprise, Karen was busy at the front desk with another last-minute guest checking in—the infamous Baroness Kiki Von Elsbon.
The baroness had been to the hotel more than once, and she often appeared when there was a rumor of some eligible bachelor checked in. Last time it had been media mogul Breck Monohan. Before that, A-list movie star Hans Poirrou. Now it was Prince Conrad. It seemed no high-profile bachelor was safe from the spoiled ex-wife of the late Baron Hurst Von Elsbon.
On top of being a singularly hungry manhunter, the baroness was also one of the more unpleasant guests Lily had had to deal with in her tenure as concierge. So when she saw Kiki at the desk, she hurried down the hall to the elevator bank. She pushed the button and waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive. She took it to the second-floor kitchen to find someone to deliver the princesses’ food.
“Where’s Lyle?” she asked the chef. “I need him to deliver room service.”
Chef Henri shrugged broadly. “He has gone home with flu. Elissa and Sean as well. And Miguel is still in Puerto Vallarta on vacation.” He took his coat off the rack. “For that I have been here an extra hour myself. I’m going home.”
Henri was temperamental and the recent staff shortages had made him even more so. Lily had learned a long time ago not to argue with him. In truth, she preferred it when the other chef, Miguel, was on duty.
She sighed. “Okay. Do you know where I can find a cart setup so I can take it myself?”
He gestured vaguely toward the pantry. “Elissa made some up before she left.”
“Thanks,” Lily said, carrying the bags of increasingly chilly food over to the cart. She stopped and looked back at Henri. “Look, I know it isn’t the best method, but I have three steaks here that are getting cold. Can I stick them in the microwave to heat them up?”
Henri looked horrified. “You jest, surely!”
She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m not kidding. So, can I do it?”
He gave a dramatic sigh, then nodded. “The meat only. No more than thirty seconds.” He rolled his eyes. “But I am not taking responsibility for the end result.”
Lily smiled. “Merci, Henri. I appreciate it.”
“De rien.” He waved his hand and headed for the exit before she could ask any more potentially offensive questions. “Good luck.”
She needed it. When she got up to Princess Drucille’s room, she was ushered in by a small, mouse-faced girl with worried eyes.
Princess Drucille was leaning back on the chaise lounge, talking to her daughter and another woman. “I don’t care what he wants, he needs a wife, or else the entire monarchy will dissolve. And that would not suit me at all.”
Lady Ann nodded urgently.
“So, wait,” the other woman said, and Lily recognized her accent as south Jersey. “Is he or is he not engaged to this Lady Penelope?”
“Not yet,” the princess said crisply. “So if you know of any eligible debutantes, I would be open to meeting them. Your paper might be very interested in having you cover this in your column.”
“Search for a new princess.” The woman nodded with a gleam in her eye. “I like it.”
“And, at the end, he’ll almost certainly propose to Lady Penelope, and I promise you will be the first to know. It will be a Caroline Horton exclusive.”
Ah, Caroline Horton. The Page Seven gossip columnist for the New York Tattler.
Caroline stood and put her hand out. “You have yourself a deal, princess.”
It was obvious that Princess Drucille preferred more deference, but she accepted the woman’s hand anyway. “Remember to keep our conversation confidential.”
The girl who had let Lily in flashed her a nervous look, and Lily gave a silent nod and took a step back. When Caroline Horton started for the door, Lily moved back into the room as if she’d just arrived.
“Your dinner is here, Your Highness, along with the champagne and—” she gestured at the flower arrangement “—your flowers.”
Princess Drucille moved to the cart, and said crisply, “One of the salads and steaks is for Prince Conrad.”
Lily was confused. “It was my impression that he didn’t want to be interrupted.”
“Nonsense, he’s expecting you. Take it to him now before it’s cold.” The princess made a shooing motion with her hand. “Run along.”
Lily picked up the platter with the extra plate and headed for the door. It had been her distinct impression that Prince Conrad