Gregory fought to steady his pounding heart. “It’s about bloody time,” he growled as he strode for the door and swung it open, making the footman jump. “Put him in my study, and tell him I shall be there directly.”
He doubted that Hart had anything substantial to add to his information, but at least the man could confirm how much of what Monique had told him was the truth.
Not that Gregory didn’t believe her. He clearly had gone far beyond insanity, because he believed every word out of her mouth.
Though he still wasn’t entirely sure he could trust the rest of the group from Chanay. Turning on the women, who stood together as if preparing to fight him, he ordered, “Stay here. We’re not done with this discussion. Do you understand me?”
Eyes widening, they nodded.
And with his temper thoroughly roused, he marched out.
As soon as Gregory was gone, Monique sank onto the settee. “What shall we do? He’ll ruin everything.”
Lady Ursula sat down and took her hand. “I don’t think so. It’s clear he cares about you too much to do that.”
Monique wished she could believe the woman. But Gregory’s threats had struck a chill to her soul. “He wants me in his bed, that’s all. Once he gains that, he’ll pack me off to Dieppe without a thought, the way he has packed his mother off here to run his estate without him.” A thickness clogged Monique’s throat. “His lordship . . . doesn’t like to let people too close.”
“Really?” Lady Ursula squeezed her hand. “He kept your secret all this time when he didn’t have to.”
“Only because he wasn’t sure it was me.”
She snorted. “Perhaps. But he could have confronted the three of us privately, and he didn’t.”
I risk my ambition more with every hour I let this masquerade go on. Even if I did agree to your terms and keep silent, I can’t prevent someone else’s unmasking you. And if it comes out that I knew the truth and didn’t speak, I’ll be ruined.
Monique shook off the tantalizing thought that he’d kept silent out of concern for her. “He behaved cautiously, as he always does, probably to avoid the risk of being wrong. His future in politics is at stake, apparently.”
“Still, I saw real terror on his face when he spoke of not letting you be murdered. I think he cares more than you know. Perhaps even more than he will admit.”
Monique stared down at their joined hands. “Even if he does, it makes no difference. Gregory—” She caught herself. “Lord Fulkham could never marry me. I am one of those actresses beyond the pale whom he spoke of at dinner last night.”
“I don’t know; I think you’re wrong. But if you’re not . . .” Lady Ursula sighed. “We must find a way to convince him not to expose you.”
“I can’t imagine how. I already offered to share his bed in exchange for his silence.”
“My dear!” Lady Ursula cried, clearly shocked. “I should hope there’s no need to do that. Unless you really want to join with him, of course.”
She avoided Lady Ursula’s penetrating gaze. “I—I wouldn’t mind so much, actually.” Oh, who was she fooling? She would eagerly share his bed, if only to experience the thrill of having been his, even for a short while. “But he refused my offer. He said that bedding me as some sort of . . . payment for his acquiescence in the masquerade would be akin to rape.”
“Did he? Interesting.” Lady Ursula looked pensive. “It appears that our ruthless Lord Fulkham is actually a gentleman when it comes to women. I suppose I should believe it, given what they say about him.”
“What do they say?”
“That he has no mistress, which is odd for a bachelor. But apparently his position in the foreign office takes precedence over anything else.” She leaned close. “And Mr. Danworth says he’s been looking for a wife to cement his future.”
“Of course he has.” A quick flash of pain hit her heart. If anyone knew about Gregory’s ambition, it was she.
“But that’s mostly idle gossip. You know how rumors start in society.”
Monique knew how they started in the theater, and she doubted that society was much different. But she also knew that a man like Gregory had to have a wife . . . one who was respectable.
Then something else Lady Ursula had said struck her. She stared at the lady-in-waiting. “Why do you call him ‘ruthless’?”
Lady Ursula shrugged. “The count says he has a reputation for doing whatever it takes to achieve his political goals.” She leaned close to whisper, “I’ve also heard it said that he is unofficially a spymaster.”
Monique gaped at her. “Really?”
“Supposedly he has any number of fellows who do his bidding, seeking out secrets and such.”
Her stomach sank. Gregory had practically said as much the last time he’d confronted her about her identity. And Lord Hartley was one of his spies. Still, he could scarcely have learned anything new about her in Dieppe. She’d already told Gregory everything.
She swallowed. That didn’t mean Lord Hartley couldn’t have uncovered some nasty gossip. There were plenty of untruths about her circulating in Dieppe—about her supposed lovers, about her supposed weakness for drink . . . all the vile things people said concerning actresses. What if Lord Hartley had encountered that sort of information and Gregory believed it?
A servant entered the room and bowed low. “His lordship would like to speak to you in his study, Princess.”
With her heart in her throat, Monique rose. “Of course.”
Lady Ursula stood as well. “I am not letting you face him alone.”
“Thank you.” The more she knew of Lady Ursula, the more she liked her. And she could use the moral support.
They followed the footman to Gregory’s study, but before they could be ushered inside, the door opened and a man came out. She instantly recognized the burly fellow with dark brown hair and a flirtatious smile.
“Mademoiselle Servais,” he said, bowing. “How good to see you again.”
She nodded stiffly. “Captain Lord Hartley. I hope your trip went well?”
Shuttering his features, he glanced from her to Lady Ursula. “Well enough.”
Monique swallowed. No telling what horrible things he’d dug up in Dieppe.
Gregory appeared in the doorway. “Come in,” he said, his expression tense.
That made her even more nervous.
As soon as she and Lady Ursula entered, he closed the door and turned to her, his eyes as icy as the frozen reaches of the far north. “When the hell were you going to tell me that you’re third in line for the throne of Chanay?”
Eighteen
Gregory watched Monique to see her reaction, unsure what to expect. He was taken by surprise when she gaped at him.
“What are you talking about? I’m not . . . I can’t be . . .”
He pressed his advantage. “According to the fellow left in charge of your grandmother, she is second in line for the throne. Which makes you third.”
At least the part about the grandmother had proved to be true. Hart had found out from friends of Monique’s that Princess Solange had grown increasingly ill over the past year. That Monique had been desperate to find help for her.
But the other part . . .
He went on in a harder tone. “First in line is your grandmother’s older sister, who is doddering on the edge of the grave, as is, apparently, your grandmother. Once they both pass on, you are the successor. After Princess Aurore, of course.”
There was no mistaking Monique’s shock. “That’s impossible.”
Lady Ursula gave a heavy sigh. “She didn’t know. Trust me, she had no idea.”
Gregory crossed his arms over his chest. “And why the devil should I trust you when you’ve been keeping secrets all along?”
“Because I have nothing to gain by telling you this,” the young woman said stoutly. “The count told me we were not to tell her how far up she was in the succession. He was”—she cast an apologetic glance at Monique—“afr
aid she might take advantage of the knowledge.”
“I can well imagine.” Gregory focused his attention on Lady Ursula. “If Monique had known she was essentially next in line—assuming that Princess Aurore didn’t survive the poisoning—she might not have been so eager to follow the rules that you and the count set for her.”
“Me!” Lady Ursula exclaimed. “I just do as I’m told.”
“Except when it comes to Princess Aurore.”
The woman’s face fell. “Yes. I would do anything for Aurore.”
Now he felt as if he were beating up a puppy. God, both women were driving him mad.
Monique still hadn’t seemed to grasp the truth of the situation. “I—I don’t understand.” She glanced from him to Lady Ursula. “How can I be third in line? Grand-maman had three siblings. Surely they all had children.”
Lady Ursula shook her head. “Actually, no. The count and his princess wife were unable to produce a child. Aurore’s grandfather had one son, the previous Prince of Chanay, who only sired Aurore. And your grandmother’s other sister has been a spinster all her life. So with your parents dead and your having no siblings, you are the only descendant of the new generation, aside from Aurore.”
“You’re sure,” Monique said.
“Of course I’m sure!” Lady Ursula drew in a calming breath. “If Aurore dies, your grandmother will be heir apparent until her seventy-two-year-old sister dies. And given that your grandmother is ailing . . .”
“When she dies, Monique will become Princess de Chanay,” Gregory finished.
Clearly, no one had explained it all to Monique. There was no mistaking her reaction at hearing that she was essentially next in line for the throne of Chanay. Not even the best actress in the world could fake the astonishment on her face.
“That’s why the count has been keeping track of my family’s whereabouts all this time,” Monique breathed. “Mon Dieu.”
She looked as if she might faint. Hurrying to her side, Gregory offered her a chair, which she took, clearly in a state of shock.
“If you would leave us, Lady Ursula,” he said, “I need to speak to Monique alone.”
The lady-in-waiting crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going anywhere without her.”
“It’s a bit late to be trying to protect her, don’t you think?” he ground out. “Until now, you’ve abandoned her every time you thought it would suit the count’s purposes.”
The young woman bristled. “Now see here—”
“Besides,” he cut in, “I just received a message that the prince is scarcely an hour away, give or take thirty minutes. And you did want to speak to him alone before everyone else returns from town, didn’t you?”
“It’s fine, Lady Ursula,” Monique added. “I think I can be trusted to spend a few moments alone with his lordship.”
Lady Ursula looked conflicted. But in the end, she nodded and left the room. Clearly, if the choice was between seeing to her true love’s welfare or Monique’s, she would choose Princess Aurore every time.
Gregory shut the door to the study, his heart pounding as he saw the lost expression on her face. It tugged at his sympathies. “What am I to do with you, my sweet?”
She glanced up at him warily. “I don’t know, my lord.” Rising to walk over to the window, she stared out. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
He understood; the news had certainly caught him off guard. Mother’s remarks last night stuck in his head. Who could have known that her warning about not taking up with a princess might have proved sound?
Because she truly was a prospective princess, which meant she could never be his. Unless Aurore lived, in which case he might have a chance . . .
He cursed under his breath. The last thing he needed was a woman who would turn his life upside down. He had too much to accomplish. She would be wrong for him in every way.
Yet he didn’t care. He wanted her in his bed. And, God help him, in his life. Which was impossible.
“Monique—” he began.
“This changes nothing,” she said, whirling to face him. “Perhaps if Aurore dies, it affects things, but if she lives . . .”
Clearly she had thought through all the same paths that he had.
“You’re still in danger as long as you pretend to be her,” he said.
“I suppose.” A sudden softness spread over her face as Monique approached him. “But I have complete faith that you will find the culprit before anything happens to me. You must. Because even if I leave England, the killer will still be at large and might try to murder my cousin again in Chanay.”
“Doubtful. Once she is no longer a contender for the throne . . .”
“We can’t be sure that’s why this killer is after Aurore. It might have nothing to do with the conference at all. If what Lord Hartley learned is true, it . . . it might have to do with the succession.”
“The only one to benefit from Aurore’s death is you,” he said dryly, “so if it has to do with the succession, then you’ve been trying to shoot yourself.”
She glared at him. “Who is below me? Did Lord Hartley say?”
“There’s no one. You are last in the line. Another Prince or Princess of Chanay would have to be chosen, and since that would be a complicated process, no one person could be sure of becoming ruler. So no one has anything to gain yet by shooting both Aurore and you.”
“All the same, if I return home before the conference ends, the scoundrel might follow me, assuming I’m Aurore, and unravel the whole deception. Then what? There’s a chance we could all be exposed.” Her eyes searched his face. “That you could be ruined.”
It took all his will to resist the urge to pull her into his arms. “If that should happen, then let the bastard find out you’re an actress.” Despite his attempt to sound uninvolved, he couldn’t stop his fear for her from creeping into his voice. “At least you’d be safe.”
“But I’d be back in the same situation as before,” she pointed out. “With the count refusing to take me and Grand-maman back into the family.”
“Considering your place in the succession, he wouldn’t pursue that.”
“You don’t know that. If Aurore survives—and she’s young and strong, so she might—she could still live a long and healthy life. Despite what Lady Ursula says, Aurore might yet choose to marry and have children. And with each one, my grandmother and I drop further in the succession. Until we know how Aurore is—”
“I’ve already ordered Hart to Calais to learn that,” he ground out. “He leaves at dawn tomorrow morning.”
She stared him down. “Then we should wait to act until he returns.”
God, the woman would be the death of him yet. “The delegates will vote in four days.” Desperate to convince her, he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Whoever is trying to murder you will make damned sure he or she kills you before then.”
Frustration lit her features. “For pity’s sake, Gregory, do you want to see me the mistress of some elderly theater patron? Or whoever proves the highest bidder? Because that’s how I will end up if Aurore lives and I have not met the terms of my bargain with the count. He will discard me and Grand-maman like so much trash.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said hoarsely.
“Then you don’t know him as well as I do. I must see this out. Please let me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I know you want me out of your hair as quickly as you can manage, but—”
“You’re wrong, damn it.” He smoothed his hands down her arms to her waist, unable to stop himself from touching her. “I don’t want you to leave. But I also don’t want you to die.”
She cupped his jaw with a touch so tender, it made him groan. “Yet you’d sentence me to a living death with a succession of protectors in Dieppe.”
God, what a choice she laid before him. Because she might be right about the count. He simply didn’t know. Obviously, the man hadn’t paid her branch of the family any attention until now. And he possi
bly wouldn’t pay it any more if Aurore lived, but lost her bid to become queen of Belgium.
Still . . .
“You could be my mistress,” he said before he reconsidered. “Return to Dieppe and wait for me until this is over and we find out about Aurore. Hart would accompany you and keep you safe before going on to Calais. Then, if Aurore lives and the count cuts you off, I could bring you and your grandmother back to England.” His blood ran hot at the very thought of having her as his own. “I could set you both up somewhere—”
“So I could hide away for the rest of my life, to prevent anyone from recognizing me as the woman who’d played Princess Aurore? Because that’s what I would have to do to keep from ruining your career.” Her breathing grew ragged. “I said I wanted freedom, and you offer me a gilded cage.”
The accusation cut him bone-deep as he recognized the fairness of it. Or rather, the unfairness of what he was offering her. “What about if you stay in Dieppe, and I pay for your grandmother’s care while you continue in the theater? That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
She eyed him skeptically. “And you would do that out of the kindness of your heart? For a woman you would never see again?” She caressed his cheek. “Or are you simply proposing to make me your mistress in France?”
Would never see again? The very thought of it made his chest seize up.
His chest, not his heart. This was not obsession. Not need. Certainly not love. It was plain, old-fashioned desire.
God, even he wasn’t fool enough to believe that.
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss against the palm, then against the spot where he’d once left his mark. When desire leapt in her eyes, he said hoarsely, “And if I were? If I wanted to make you my mistress there?”
“It wouldn’t work, and you know it. We’d never see each other. And what would happen when you wish to marry?” When he opened his mouth to protest that, she pressed her finger to his lips. “Don’t lie to me or yourself. We both know you must marry eventually and you can’t marry me. Nor do I want to find myself with a string of by-blows—”
The Secret of Flirting Page 21
