Pip swung on her. “No!” Taking a breath, she smiled. “Thank you, Your Highness, but this is a dance I have long since walked away from. I have better things to do than try to convince a grown man he has the taste of a street sweep.”
Smiling, the princess gave Pip another condescending pat, which looked fairly ludicrous coming from a seventeen-year-old girl, no matter how royal, considering the fact that Pip had passed her twentieth birthday. “Of course, you have. Although I am certain I cannot imagine why. I will have my Leopold, no matter what anyone says.”
Pip wasn't certain how to react. This was the first she had heard of this. “I am certain you will, ma'am.”
She didn’t even mention the fact that it would do her no good if Leopold didn’t agree with her.
Compelled, Pip turned back to Beau, only to realize that he was gone. The pouting Pamela was still there, now scanning the ballroom with avid eyes, but Beau had somehow slipped away while Pip wasn't watching.
Pip couldn't quell a burst of panic. She needed to warn him before he found himself in serious trouble. She had to tell him about the men she'd overheard earlier.
She had been tucked into the shadows on the patio hiding from the unappreciated ardor of a junior Guards officer when she’d caught a gleam of silver hair in the shadows.
“I tell you someone has been sent to look for the plans,” another man murmured. “We shall watch for him.”
Well, if that didn’t bring a girl to a stop, Pip didn’t know what would.
“We shallstophim,” the silver-haired man answered, his voice a distinctive rasp Pip didn't recognize. “I have let it be known that the plans are hidden in the library. If we catch him, we can dispatch him.”
“And the real plans?”
“Safe in her bedroom.” There was a low chuckle. “I placed them there myself.”
Pip had actually stopped breathing. They were speaking of spies. Government spies. And Pip knew perfectly well who the government spy at the party was.
And now he had disappeared before she could warn him.
“Excuse me,” she murmured now, giving the princess a last curtsy. “But I must….”
Charlotte chuckled, having seen just what Pip had. “Good hunting.”
She had no idea, Pip thought.
“Pip….” Lizzie warned.
Pip dropped a quick kiss on her friend's cheek. “Don't worry.”
“That’s what you always say.” Lizzie's face looked positively lugubrious. “Right before disaster strikes.”
* * *
A sensible manwould have given up long ago. But Beau Drummond couldn't afford to be sensible. He had been sent to this house party to uncover vital information in a plot against the throne, and he couldn't quit until he found it. In the meantime, he was forced to endure yet another pointless house party with a group of perfectly useless people. It was enough to give a man a headache.
Or was that from the stench of patchouli that lingered on his coat sleeve? Good God, what did Pamela think she was doing, marking him like a civet cat?
He scowled, because of course that was exactly what she was trying to do. The only upside to her possessive display was that he knew Pip had been watching. Pip always watched, and he could no longer allow her to. No matter how much it hurt her, he had to warn her away.
It would be so much easier if Pamela could simply intimidate her. After all, how could a tatterdemalion like Pip with her dandelion-puff hair and tiny stature and ever-present spectacles compare with the most sensual woman in the ton? Pip was a gamine. Pamela was a witch. And even Pip should know that men far preferred the dark magic of a witch to the uncomplicated enthusiasm of an elf. And yet, Pip refused to be shaken loose.
He took one final look around the room, where couples spun by in a whir of color and form, their teeth bared, gems glittering, and chatter deafening. Violins scraped, crystal glasses tinged like bells and the butler gravely intoned a latecomer's name. Normal, familiar, and a crashing bore.
Beau had more important things to do, and little time in which to do them. Standing in the shadowed corridor just long enough to see Pamela slip her arm through Billy Fielder's, he turned to go. He saw Pip, of course, tucked in behind the potted palms, that silly little gold lorgnette raised to her eyes as if that would make her need for spectacles more romantic. Her hair was a pale nimbus around her head, untamable and unarrangeable, and her dress was a burnt orange, simple, unadorned, and just a bit short at the ankle so that he could see her tiny feet tapping to the music.
Irrepressible, was Pip. A creature of impulse and emotion. The very worst kind of person to have in one's life. He was finished with that nonsense, and the sooner he could convince her of it the better.
He waited until he saw her turn to answer….bloody hell, was that Princess Charlotte she was talking to? He almost groaned out loud. The last thing he needed, the very last, was to have Pip walking into his investigation, and if she took up with the princess, that lady would surely put herself in a position to completely muck up his work.
Ah well, he thought, turning back to his purpose. She could be dealt with later. She wasn't going anywhere, and he had business that needed doing right now. Before anyone took notice of his departure. Before anyone asked questions.
