The Secret of Flirting

by Sabrina Jeffries

  He fought the surge of satisfaction that those words roused in him. “All the same, you see now why we must marry.”

  “So you may throw your future away on a French putain?”

  “Don’t call yourself that,” he said sharply. “Never again.”

  She stroked his cheek. “It is what the world will call me, mon coeur, once it learns that I have been an actress for years. That I have been lying to everyone about who I am.”

  He gritted his teeth. She was right about that. “We’ll find a way around . . . exposing your past. Somehow.”

  Her mocking laugh echoed in his ears. “I would love to hear how you intend to do that. It’s impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible,” he said in true annoyance. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you no faith in me?”

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.” A weariness spread over her features. “I simply know how the world works, mon coeur.”

  It was the second time she’d called him my heart. It should alarm him. Instead, it made him want to whisk her away somewhere safe and make her his yet again. “What if I don’t care about my career?”

  She snorted. “Then you are lying to yourself. We both know you care very much. And if I took what you love away from you, you would come to resent me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I could not bear that.”

  Those words revealed that she cared more than she let on, and the realization struck him down deep, in the place where he kept all his darkest secrets. He wondered if she, of all people, might understand what he’d done in his youth and why. That she might accept his past and not judge.

  The idea tantalized him, made him want to explore it. He reached for her, but before he could drag her into his arms, a knock came at the door.

  Bloody hell. He’d be very happy to have all of this over, so he could sort out his feelings for Monique and his insane wish to have her as his wife, though it would surely mean the end of his career.

  “What is it?” he called to the intruder, only too aware that he was naked except for his drawers.

  With a frown, Monique left his side to continue putting on her clothes.

  “My lord, the constable is coming up the drive,” came the voice of his most trusted footman.

  Damn. “I’ll be right there,” he called out.

  “Very good, sir,” the footman said.

  As soon as the servant’s footsteps receded, Monique murmured, “You have many responsibilities. You must attend to them.”

  And leave her be? With this matter unresolved? “I don’t care about my responsibilities. I care that I just deflowered—”

  “I do not wish to gain a husband who is forced into marrying me.” Her gaze was direct and rather chilling as she gestured for the door. “Go speak to the constable and see if he might know who is trying to kill me. Go uncover all the many secrets you excel at revealing. I don’t expect anything of you.” She cast him a wan smile. “All I want is to finish out the masquerade so I can take care of Grand-maman.”

  The words carved a guilt on his heart that was nothing like the one put there by his murder of his father. Because she obviously didn’t expect him to behave as a gentleman in this matter and accept his responsibilities. He’d never had a woman think so little of him, and it chafed at him.

  “This discussion is not over,” he said. “Don’t think that it is, ma chérie.”

  “You should put some clothes on,” she retorted, very much like a wife. She pulled on her chemisette and then her gown, and fastened the latter up hastily.

  He shook his head. Despite all the political difficulties involved in this affair, she would actually make him a very good companion. Perhaps it was time to explore ways out of this mess that could result in his wedding her.

  “I’ll take care of the constable,” he said. “You might wish to go to your bedchamber and make sure that you are . . . presentable before the prince arrives.”

  He wasn’t sure why he’d said that until she glowered at him. And then he knew. He’d wanted to be certain she was his and no one else’s. That given the choice, she would choose him.

  And now he had his answer. Astonishing how gratifying he found it.

  Oh yes, he had a new purpose. Somehow, he meant to make sure that she could be his wife . . . and that he could keep his career safe in the process.

  Because any other choice was rapidly becoming unthinkable.

  Leaving the room, he headed downstairs to meet with the constable in the drawing room. He gave the man the same story he’d given the duke—someone had shot at him in London and now in the country.

  The constable took careful notes. “I’ll look into it, m’lord, but there’s so much mayhem going on, what with today being Guy Fawkes Day and all, that it could have been just ’bout anyone. You’re sure it was the same fellow as what shot at you in town?”

  “I’m sure. One of my guests, the Duc de Pontalba, saw the man from behind and the description matched. He tried to go after him, but the fellow escaped toward Canterbury.”

  “Then I should like to speak to this duke, if I may,” the constable said.

  “Of course. I’ll have him fetched.”

  Gregory opened the door to the drawing room only to find that the prince had arrived, along with, oddly enough, Danworth. Perhaps Lady Ursula had been right about the two men being friends.

  “Fulkham!” Prince Leopold called to him. “Thank you so much for the invitation, old fellow. Given that the conference is leaning toward Princess Aurore as a candidate, I confess I was rather surprised to be asked here.”

  “We decided to make it a more international group,” Gregory said blandly. “Besides, with your relation Lady Ursula and your good friend Danworth attending, it only made sense to have you as well.”

  Gregory noticed that Danworth looked suddenly uncomfortable.

  The prince smoothed his features into nonchalance. “Of course, my relation and my . . . er . . . friend.”

  “I suppose that’s why Danworth went to meet you on the road?” Gregory queried.

  “Not at all,” Prince Leopold said. “I merely happened to spot Mr. Danworth as I was passing through your quaint village on my way here.”

  “And not the others?” Gregory pressed him.

  The prince blinked. “The others?”

  “I went into Canterbury with his lordship’s mother and the count this morning to shop,” Mr. Danworth said hastily. “But we got separated.”

  Hmm. He would have to ask Mother exactly when Danworth had left them. “Well, I do hope my mother and the count return in time for dinner.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late, and I would hope—”

  “Lord Fulkham!” said a voice from the doorway of the drawing room. “May I speak to you a moment?”

  The way Danworth blanched at the sight of the constable gave Gregory pause. “Of course.”

  He walked over to the constable, who whispered, “That fellow there is Tom Smith.”

  Gregory fought the urge to glance at Danworth. “The one in the blue coat?”

  The constable nodded. “He’s the one who asked about your father’s death.”

  His heart thundered in his chest. “Thank you,” Gregory said. “Please speak of this to no one. I will handle it. Do you understand?”

  The constable nodded, albeit a bit reluctantly.

  “The duke will be down soon to speak with you. So please take a seat.”

  Again, the constable understood his meaning. “Of course, my lord.”

  Gregory returned to his guests, his mind reeling. What reason could Danworth have had to ask about Father’s death? Unless this was part of an investigation into Gregory’s suitability to become secretary of the foreign office.

  But why would such an investigation be mounted by the party leaving office? Could Danworth have found a way to move on to the opposition party, the same way Gregory had?

  The arse seemed to have gathered his composure. “Who is that fello
w, Fulkham?” Danworth asked in his loftiest tone.

  Gregory forced a shrug. “The constable from Canterbury. We had an incident this afternoon, which I had to report.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You know how these locals are during Guy Fawkes Day. Very reckless.”

  Danworth’s face showed no reaction that might indicate he’d been part of the shooting. Then again, he worked for the prime minister and knew how to play the game.

  No matter. Tonight Gregory would confront him with what he knew and demand an explanation, about both “Tom Smith” and the attempts on Monique’s life.

  And if Danworth was behind the latter?

  Gregory would eviscerate him.

  Twenty

  Her heart torn in two, Monique stood in her bedchamber making herself “presentable.” She didn’t know how to interpret Gregory’s proposal of marriage. Had he meant what he’d said? Or was it merely part of his rules of honor that said he must offer for any virgin whose innocence he took? He certainly hadn’t voiced any eagerness to marry her out of love.

  She sighed. She would adore being Gregory’s wife, being loved by Gregory. Because somewhere along the way she’d fallen in love with him, however unwisely. He might be a proud, hardheaded Englishman, but he was also kind. And protective. And so sweetly passionate that . . .

  Tears welled in her eyes, and she brushed them away ruthlessly. Marriage was impossible, and they both knew it. So it didn’t matter if she loved him or not. Their paths were set, and those paths went in opposite directions.

  As soon as she’d changed out of her riding habit, she headed downstairs. As she reached the ground floor, she heard an unfamiliar male voice speaking rather pompously. So it was unlikely to be the constable.

  Her blood stilled. Prince Leopold?

  Pasting a smile on her lips, she sailed into the foyer, where stood not only a man royally bedecked, but also, inexplicably, Mr. Danworth, along with Gregory.

  “Ah, here she is.” Gregory cast Prince Leopold a thin smile. “I understand that you have not yet met the princess?”

  Prince Leopold regarded her with a keen interest that gave her pause. “Sadly, no.”

  Gregory swiftly performed the introductions, although it seemed rather pointless, since each was well aware of the other’s identity.

  Smiling amiably, the prince stepped forward to take her hand. “It is a very great pleasure to meet you, Princess. I would have arranged a meeting sooner if I’d known how very lovely you are.”

  As he lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss, she had to admit he was quite attractive. From what her great-uncle had told her, he was at least forty, yet not a strand of gray streaked his hair, and he dressed quite well. He also had an air of command about him that reminded her vaguely of Gregory.

  Still, his compliments gave her pause. Why would he be interested in her—in Aurore—after she’d supposedly rejected him? “It’s good to finally meet you, too, Your Highness,” she said blandly.

  Lady Ursula rushed into the foyer, then halted. With widening eyes, she smiled at Prince Leopold. “Cousin! How wonderful to see you here at last!”

  A change came over him that arrested Monique’s attention. “Indeed,” he said, rather dismissively, making poor Lady Ursula pale. Then he turned to Monique. “I’m fatigued from my journey, Princess, but I do hope to enjoy your company at dinner.”

  She nodded, aware that Gregory was scowling most unwisely. “I would be honored, sir.”

  The prince turned to Mr. Danworth. “Thank you for joining me in my carriage. I would never have found the place otherwise.”

  Mr. Danworth nodded. “I was happy to help, Your Highness.”

  How strange. The two men were cordial, to be sure, but they didn’t seem to be the great friends Lady Ursula had described. Were they putting on a show? Or had Lady Ursula simply been lying about their friendship?

  She could tell from Gregory’s face that similar thoughts were passing through his head. But he merely ordered the servants to show the prince to his room.

  As soon as Prince Leopold was gone and Lady Ursula and Mr. Danworth had headed up to their own rooms to dress for dinner, Gregory came to her side.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She stiffened. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Gazing up the staircase to where his guests had disappeared, he said, “I don’t know. But clearly something is going on with the prince and Danworth.”

  “Lady Ursula said they were friends, but they didn’t seem friendly to me.”

  “Exactly. It worries me. The constable told me—” He caught himself.

  “What did he tell you?”

  His gaze grew shuttered. “Nothing. At least, nothing that I’m sure of the meaning of yet.”

  She understood; she wasn’t sure what anything meant yet.

  Before she could remark on his words, the entrance opened and his mother came in, laughing along with the count, who looked thoroughly enamored.

  “Mother!” Gregory said sharply. “Where the devil have you been?”

  “We were having a very pleasant time in town,” Gregory’s mother said, with a knowing glance at Monique’s great-uncle.

  The count smiled down at her. “We were, indeed. Your mother is a delightful woman, Fulkham.”

  When Gregory bristled, Monique had to suppress a laugh. Clearly, he didn’t approve of any possible relationship between his mother and the count. But Monique thought it was sweet. Much as she resented the count’s behavior toward her and Grand-maman, she also recognized that he needed a softening influence.

  Like Lady Fulkham.

  “Tell me,” Gregory said in a firm tone, “was Danworth with you the entire day you were in Canterbury?”

  The count and Lady Fulkham exchanged a glance. Then Lady Fulkham shrugged. “We lost track of him quite early. I’m not sure where he went.”

  Gregory’s jaw tightened. “I see. Well then, that is that.”

  What an odd thing to say. But with no more information to go on, Monique didn’t know what to make of it.

  “Dinner is in less than an hour,” he added. “Perhaps you two should go upstairs to change clothes.”

  “Oh!” his mother said. “Of course.” She cast the count a flirtatious glance. “I do hope you will sit next to me at dinner.”

  The count took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it. “I would be honored, my lady.”

  Gregory rolled his eyes. And as soon as the pair had disappeared up the stairs, separately, he said, “What is your great-uncle up to, Monique?”

  “I have no idea. Perhaps he just likes your mother.”

  “I doubt that,” Gregory ground out. “He has some reason for flirting with her, I’m sure.”

  The remark made her sad. “That’s the trouble with you, Gregory. Everyone you work with has an ulterior motive, usually political. But sometimes people just want to be with other people for no reason beyond simple liking.” Or loving.

  He stared at her. “I don’t trust your uncle.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t trust him either. But he appears to like your mother a great deal. And I think those feelings are genuine.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not all of us are trying to use our gender to gain something, you know. Sometimes we just desire certain people because we desire them.”

  As he gaped at her, clearly skeptical about the idea of his mother desiring anyone, she left him to mount the stairs. If he couldn’t even accept that his mother might wish to find a companion, then what was the chance he would accept that she did?

  Once the constable had finished questioning the duke, Gregory had packed the man off, promising to learn more about why Danworth was looking into the death of his father.

  Gregory considered speaking to the count about this latest attempt on Monique’s life, but that would only make the man want to return to London right away, and Gregory wasn’t sure that was wise. He still needed to do some more investigation.

  Dinner that night was int
erminable. The shooting was discussed at length, but thankfully everyone accepted his story that he’d been the target. Except perhaps for the count, who looked thoughtful. But no one else gave away anything that could help him figure out who’d been behind the attempt on Monique’s life.

  Gregory also couldn’t help noticing that Prince Leopold was enormously interested in Monique. And why wouldn’t he be? She was a vivacious and clever beauty who knew how to engage any man’s attention.

  In truth, she would be wise to court the prince’s affections. If Aurore died and Monique eventually took her place, then Leopold would be well served by having her as his wife. Was that Monique’s aim?

  Gregory watched her avidly, jealousy burning in his chest. But to be fair, she showed no true interest in the prince. It was Gregory she fixed upon. Gregory whom she deferred to.

  Clearly, he was a fool, vacillating about what she wanted. Whom she wanted. It was clear that he was the only man who had her affections.

  Very well, then he would make sure that the way was paved for the two of them. Even if it meant changing his hopes for the future.

  With that in mind, he asked Danworth to join him in his study after the ladies retired to the drawing room. It was time to figure out where the prime minister’s secretary stood in all this. And why Danworth had questioned the constable about Gregory’s father.

  When Danworth entered his study, he seemed wary. Not surprising, given what Gregory had learned. Did the fellow realize that Gregory knew so much? Did he care?

  “What is this about, Fulkham?” Danworth demanded, clearly on the defensive.

  Gregory forced a smile. “You tell me. I understand that you’ve been asking in town about the circumstances surrounding my father’s death.”

  Danworth fixed him with a dark glance. “I have, indeed.”

  Surprising that the man was admitting it.

  The fellow crossed his arms over his chest. “The constable told me that your father died as a result of a tumble down the stairs while he was drunk.”

  “Yes,” Gregory said tersely. “My father was often drunk. What has that got to do with anything?”