The Secret of Flirting

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Or one’s mistress.

  He grimaced. She’s not your mistress, you fool, and not likely to be, either—especially if you don’t keep your head in the game. Pay attention.

  Lady Ursula leaned close. “They say that the duke is looking for a wife. It would be an eligible match, you know, a way of pacifying him when the French prince he’s championing loses his bid for ruler of Belgium.”

  She was correct. As a high-ranking French noble, the Duc de Pontalba was one of the delegates in charge of choosing the ruler. But the Dutch would protest any French candidate. They wanted a buffer between their country and France, not a puppet ruler who would always side with their enemy.

  “What makes you think his fellow will lose his bid?” Gregory asked the young lady. He judged her to be older than Monique by a few years, but she still had a fresh countenance and a wealth of flaxen hair. Any other man would find her quite beautiful.

  He did not. She was slender, with the body of a gazelle, not his sort at all. She didn’t smell of lilies and apples, or have a prominent chin and sparkling emerald-green eyes. Nor did she have full breasts that would make a grown man weep.

  Lady Ursula blinked up at him. “I assumed that Princess Aurore is considered first choice. Is that not true?”

  “Nothing is certain yet, so the duke’s prince has as good a chance as anyone.” That was laying it on a bit thick, but he wanted to gauge her reaction. Would she champion the impostor? Or try to undermine her?

  She sniffed. “A Frenchman cannot rule Belgium. The people would revolt. They don’t like the French.”

  “True.”

  They entered the dining room, and he looked for Monique. She was near King William, of course, with the duke on her other side and already watching her like a man waiting to pluck the best rose on the bush.

  The hell he would.

  “She is not for you,” Lady Ursula said in an undertone.

  Had he been that transparent? Devil take it. “Of course not. I wouldn’t presume. I’m merely trying to determine how a possible alliance between them could alter the negotiations.”

  Liar.

  Her face cleared. “Oh, of course. I never think of such things. I’m not very political.” She ventured a smile. “I am more concerned that Aurore not be taken advantage of.”

  “Surely her years of preparation as a princess would make her able to head that off on her own.” He watched Lady Ursula’s face, but she betrayed nothing.

  “Perhaps.” She grew pensive. “Still, young women can be blind where an attractive man is concerned, especially those who have not been out in the world much.”

  Clearly the lady was part of the subterfuge, trying to smooth Monique’s way in her role as the princess. Yet Lady Ursula didn’t seem the sort to support such a masquerade. What the devil was going on?

  He would have probed her for more information, but they were being seated now. And the next time he had a chance to speak to her, she was engrossed in a conversation with the man seated to her left.

  Gregory leaned forward to see who it was. Ah, James Danworth, private secretary to the prime minister. No doubt he’d been invited because the prime minister was in the north at present. And now the fellow was either picking Lady Ursula’s brain about the princess in order to report back to his employer, or he’d noticed the woman’s attractions and was trying to court her himself.

  Danworth was an ambitious sort. But somehow Gregory couldn’t see him marrying an obscure German lady to further his ambitions. He’d be better off marrying an English heiress.

  Gregory couldn’t make out what they were saying over the din of the banqueting room, but fortunately, Danworth was also a member of St. George’s. So questioning him about the princess some other time should be easy enough.

  Whatever the two were discussing was so engrossing that Lady Ursula never turned Gregory’s way again, leaving him to spend the entire meal attempting conversation with the elderly countess on his right, who was famous for her reticence. By the time the main course arrived, he’d given up on trying to engage her and had turned to observing the princess’s behavior.

  Odd how she never made a slip, never used the wrong fork, never seemed ill at ease in such a setting. Some of it he could attribute to her ability as an actress. But the rest? Someone would have had to train her for months for this. He itched to know why they would go to so much trouble.

  There was one point in the evening when the syllabub was served and she regarded it with a slight frown, her fingers toying with a dessert spoon as she looked over at Lady Ursula. How intriguing.

  Lady Ursula picked up her syllabub and sipped from the glass. With a hint of relief on her face, Monique did the same. It was the only time he caught her trying to get direction from someone else on how to behave.

  Though she still didn’t succeed in drinking it without getting a charming line of the thick cream along her top lip. When she licked it off, she caught him staring at her, and a soft pink spread over her cheeks. It fired his blood, sent him right back to that moment in the garden when she’d kissed him with all the impudence of a courtesan. He held her gaze in a duel of wills that only ended when Pontalba leaned over to whisper something to her that made her stiffen.

  Gregory had to fight the urge to leap over the table and throttle the man. Which was ludicrous. She was an impostor!

  Yet something about her roused every protective instinct in his soul.

  That shook him. God, it was going to be a very long night.

  Five

  St. George’s was too crowded for Gregory’s taste this evening. It probably didn’t help that he was in a foul mood, having endured hours of watching Monique captivate everyone with whom she came in contact. Apparently, he was the only person in England who rubbed her wrong.

  But he was also the only person in England who knew what it felt like to kiss her. That did soothe his damaged pride a bit.

  He found Hart in the card room, finishing up a game of vingt-un with Niall, Warren, and Jeremy.

  “I see I’m not the only one who abandoned the palace festivities early in the evening,” Gregory said as he took a seat.

  Despite his attempts to get near Monique after dinner, he’d been blocked by one person after another. Her dance card had been full of dignitaries, and she’d danced until the count had whisked her away.

  After that, Gregory had seen no point in staying, especially since Danworth had left already. What a pity. Gregory was still trying to figure out what the man’s interest in the princess might be. He intended to find out tonight, assuming that Danworth showed up here, which was a good bet.

  Warren rose from the table. “We’re not staying. My brother has the devil’s own luck tonight.”

  “You play him at your peril, Fulkham,” Niall added as he shoved his money toward Hart.

  “Bunch of cowards,” Hart complained. “They always run when the going gets tough.”

  “It has nothing to do with that,” Jeremy said with a sly wink. “And everything to do with the fact that our wives are waiting for us. Eh, lads?”

  Warren grinned. “Mine certainly is.”

  “I doubt that,” Hart retorted. “They probably don’t even realize you’re gone. When I left your house, Warren, they were already in the midst of a hen party fit to make a bachelor’s ears bleed. No doubt they’re still at it. Why do you think I fled in search of more entertaining company?”

  Niall snorted. “Scared of a bunch of women. Who’s the coward now?”

  Hart cast him a black look. “I can’t even flirt with them. You lot are liable to shoot me if I do.”

  The three men laughed.

  “Flirt all you like,” Warren said lightly. “Delia can take care of herself—she knows just how to skewer you with her sharp tongue, and she rather enjoys doing so. Not to mention that I enjoy watching it. And I promise none of the rest would look twice at you, except to tease you.”

  “Or marry him off,” Jeremy said. “That’s the real
reason he avoids them. They’ve got a list of prospective wives for him that would make his ballocks curl up and die.”

  Hart rolled his eyes heavenward. “You see what I’m up against, Fulkham? Watch out—the hens have got a list for you, too. I’ve heard them discussing it.”

  “So have I,” Gregory said dryly. “Fortunately, I’ve been fending off matchmakers for years now, so I’ve got the knack of it. You merely tell the lady doing the matchmaking that no one could ever live up to her charms, and while she’s preening over the compliment, you beat a hasty retreat.”

  Warren, Niall, and Jeremy laughed. Hart did not. He was still nursing a grudge at the others for quitting the game so early in the evening.

  “And on that note, gentlemen,” Warren said, “we’re off to fetch our matchmaking wives home. Hart, don’t beat Fulkham too badly. Leave him with his dignity at least.”

  Then the gentlemen were gone. Now it was just Gregory and Hart. Perfect.

  Gregory took a seat opposite Hart. “Deal me in.”

  “Excellent,” Hart said, brightening as he shuffled. “Another victim.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that. Vingt-un is my game.”

  “We’ll see.” Hart handed the cards over to Gregory. “Stake of five pounds per hand?”

  “I take it you need money,” Gregory said. When Hart looked grim and cut the cards, Gregory added, “I have a better way for you to make it than vingt-un.”

  Hart lifted his head. “I’m listening.”

  “I need you to do something for me. It’s important, which means—”

  “Excellent compensation,” Hart drawled. “I’m in.”

  “Don’t you want to know what it is first?”

  “No. I still owe Warren a bit of blunt for helping me pay off my debt to Brilliana for— It doesn’t matter. Suffice it to say, I don’t want that hanging over my head, even if he is my brother and unlikely to call in the bet.”

  “It’s a matter of honor.”

  Hart nodded as he turned one card up.

  “Very well.” Gregory turned his up, too, then shrugged when he lost the chance to deal. “Do you remember that actress we met in Dieppe? Monique Servais?”

  Hart gathered up the cards. “I should say so. How could I forget the only woman to have put the great Lord Fulkham in his place?”

  “As I recall, she rebuffed you, too, old chap.”

  “She did not,” Hart said. “I rebuffed her by running after you instead.”

  “If you say so.” Gregory paused to watch Hart deal. “To be honest, most of that night is a blur.”

  It took a minute for those words to register with Hart, but when they did, he turned instantly contrite. “Oh, God, I forgot. That’s when you found out about—”

  “John. Yes.”

  Some weeks after that horrible night, Gregory had learned the full extent of what had happened to his brother. John had ignored the advice of his superior. Instead of waiting a week until the officer they’d been watching was away on maneuvers, he’d searched the officer’s tent for a certain treasonous letter while the man was supposedly in the mess.

  Except that their suspect hadn’t been in the mess. John had been caught. Or so his superior surmised, after the fool’s body turned up in a ditch with his throat slashed.

  It had been little consolation to Gregory that the officer had eventually been charged with murder, and later with treason once his tent was successfully searched and the letter found. John was still dead. Gregory had still failed him.

  He thrust that thought to the back of his mind.

  “So what’s this about Mademoiselle Servais?” Hart asked.

  “I think she’s in town.”

  Hart eyed him askance. “What do you mean, you think?”

  “I believe she’s masquerading as the Princess de Chanay.”

  With a low whistle, Hart dealt himself a card that brought him to fifteen. “That would be quite a feat, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Gregory made a motion to indicate he meant to stand at nineteen. “It seems that the two women resemble each other.”

  Hart dealt himself another card and passed twenty-one. Shoving a five-pound note across the table, he listened as Gregory gathered up the cards and began to relate everything he’d noticed at the royal dinner, every suspicion he’d had about Princess Aurore. Of course, he refrained from speaking of their kisses. No need to mention those.

  When Hart began to pepper him with questions, their card game was forgotten. And the man’s skeptical remarks made him doubt his own theories.

  Until Gregory remembered her reaction to him. “See here, Hart, if you don’t think I’m right about this, check her out for yourself. I understand that she’ll be touring Westminster Abbey tomorrow. See if you can get close enough to observe her, and then tell me your own impressions. I gather that you saw her in theater productions more times than I. You ought to be able to judge if it’s her.”

  Hart settled back to fold his hands over his belly. “And if I think it is? What then?”

  “See what you can learn from the servants at the town house we rented for them. We provided their staff, who will undoubtedly be more inclined to side with a countryman than with the strangers from Chanay. Anything you find out is better than what I know now, which is virtually nothing. All I have is my conviction that Mademoiselle Servais is impersonating Princess Aurore. I just can’t figure out why. If you can do so, I will pay you well.”

  “All right. I’ll see what I can learn.” Hart shuffled the cards, then handed them to Gregory to deal. “Another game?”

  “It depends. Have you seen Danworth here this evening?”

  “I believe so. He was in the reading room having a spirited discussion about politics with some gentleman. But that was a while ago.”

  “I need to speak to him, so I’ll have to leave you at present. But if you want to hang about until later . . .”

  “Sorry, old chap, I’d rather saunter down to that new tavern in Covent Garden. The taproom maids are supposed to be particularly free with their favors, if you’d like to join me once you’re done.”

  “Afraid not.” He’d spent enough time in such places in his youth to know that they held more danger than pleasure, especially for a man with ambition. If he wanted a woman at the ready, he’d take a discreet mistress, as he’d done in the past.

  But even those days were behind him. His political career required that he have a wife, so in future he’d be limiting his encounters with the fairer sex to eligible females. He drew the line at a marriage where he had to sneak around behind his wife’s back. He wouldn’t give his enemies any opportunity to turn his prospective wife against him, which meant no infidelities.

  Not that he was looking for love or anything mad like that. But he wanted a comfortable, amiable match. A pity that he hadn’t yet found a single eligible woman who struck his fancy.

  Monique’s mocking gaze came into his mind, and he scowled. She might strike his fancy, but she was not eligible. He could no more marry an actress than he could a laundrywoman. Which was a damned shame.

  God, what was he thinking? He’d never want to marry a woman so devious anyway, even if she did have a luscious mouth.

  “Enjoy yourself,” he told Hart. “I’m sure you can find someone else here who’d join you at the tavern to dandle a taproom maid on his knee.”

  “Warren used to go with me, but now—”

  “Delia would have his ballocks if he did.”

  “She’s got his ballocks already,” Hart grumbled. “Probably keeps them in a jar on her dressing table.”

  Gregory laughed. “Watch it, man. You’re starting to sound peevish. Are you perhaps a little jealous of your brother’s wedded bliss?”

  “Jealous! Never.” A flush rose over his cheeks. “I mean, Delia is pretty and all, but I have no intention of getting myself tangled in any one woman’s apron strings. I prefer a more varied diet.”

  “Then you’d best
steer clear of her for a while. The most determined matchmakers are always sisters-in-law.” Although thankfully, now that his own was absorbed in planning her own marriage, he’d gained a reprieve. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you about Mademoiselle Servais.”

  After walking through the club, Gregory found Danworth sitting alone in the reading room. Apparently the man’s companion had left. “Danworth! Just the fellow I was looking for.”

  Danworth eyed him warily. “If this is about that bill you were hoping the prime minister would champion—”

  “No, no, nothing like that.” Gregory took a seat. “I’m just curious about your impressions of the Chanay party.”

  “Ah. I see.” Danworth furrowed his brow, obviously gathering his thoughts before he spoke.

  He was cautious that way. The third son of a squire, Danworth was one of those men who’d managed to insinuate himself into the highest echelons of society by being circumspect. He knew how to say the right things, dress the right way, and court the right connections, but without being a toady.

  Aware of how much work that required, Gregory admired the man for doing it so effortlessly. He’d always suspected that Danworth’s intelligence ran deeper than anyone realized. How else could the fellow have gained the prime minister’s loyalty for so long?

  Gregory drummed his fingers on his knee. “I saw that you had quite a long and involved conversation with Lady Ursula. Had you met her before?”

  “No. But she was most gracious in answering my questions about Chanay and the princess.”

  “What kind of questions? Is the prime minister taking a personal interest in the Belgium affair? Because the last time I spoke with him, he seemed to be willing to leave things up to the foreign secretary. Which, in this case, means leaving it up to me to negotiate.”

  Danworth blinked, then appeared to be considering the question. How odd. Gregory hadn’t thought it a question that required lengthy reflection.

  “It’s not so much that he has an interest in Belgium, as it is that he wanted me to clarify a rumor concerning the princess and . . . er . . . Prince Leopold. Since Lady Ursula, like the princess, is from Hanover, I thought she could confirm or disprove the rumor.”