Prince Leopold? Early on, he’d been England’s top choice for ruler of Belgium. He’d been married to Princess Charlotte, heir apparent to the British throne, until she’d died in childbirth. The Belgians had liked him for the position. And since he wasn’t French or Dutch, neither of those parties ought to have complained.
But the French had, of course. They were still eager to have one of their own princes put in place if they could get the other countries to agree. Barring that, they wanted the Princess of Chanay, since she spoke French and came from a French line.
“What’s the rumor?” Gregory demanded. This could be important in the scheme of things.
Danworth scrubbed a hand over his face. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else. Since Prince Leopold is out of town, I haven’t been able to confirm it with him. So it may be nothing.”
“What’s the rumor?” Gregory repeated, growing annoyed. If anyone should know this, it was him. He was in charge of this damned business, after all.
“There’s talk—still just talk, mind you—that Prince Leopold has made an offer of marriage to Princess Aurore. If it’s true—”
“It affects everything,” Gregory said. “Yes, it certainly does.” A union between Prince Leopold and Princess Aurore would all but ensure that one of the two would be chosen as ruler of Belgium. “When did this rumor surface? Before the process to confirm Belgium’s independence began? Or after?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. I just know when I heard it. And that was recently.”
Recently. So perhaps it had begun after Monique’s masquerade, which meant the two things might be connected. Then again, as Monique had said, even the great Count de Beaumonde could hardly switch out one bride for another without comment.
“Was this offer made by the prince in person?” Gregory asked. “I was told that Princess Aurore rarely met with people outside of Chanay circles.”
That seemed to give Danworth pause. “The rumor is that it was all done by correspondence, but I cannot imagine the prince’s not at least attempting to see the woman. Still, as I said, I’m merely trying to clarify the rumor. It may be arrant nonsense.”
“What did Lady Ursula say?”
Danworth snorted. “She wouldn’t confirm or deny it, no matter how much I pressed her. She just kept changing the subject.”
“Which means there must be something to the rumor, or she would have denied it outright.”
“Or she’s hoping for such a union even if it hasn’t been brokered. Honestly, I wouldn’t take it too seriously. You know how easily this sort of gossip spreads.”
Gregory did, indeed. That was why he proceeded with caution when it came to women. Because any tales swirling around town about a man offering for the wrong woman could have disastrous consequences.
You didn’t proceed cautiously with Monique. You kissed her most unwisely.
He grimaced. Clearly she was the exception to his rule. And it was starting to grate on him that every time he saw her, he let her be the exception. That simply wouldn’t do. He’d worked too hard and long for his position—and the one he hoped to have someday—to allow his fascination with an impostor to overtake his good sense. If anyone found out who she was and that he’d known all along . . .
Damn it, that mustn’t happen. So he’d better get to the bottom of this masquerade before someone like Danworth discovered it by accident and reported on it to the prime minister. Because then there would be hell to pay. And any possibility of his becoming foreign secretary would be over.
But attacking her with the truth hadn’t worked. She’d merely laughed and flirted her way around his every remark. Even his kisses. So he needed another tack. Put her at her ease, make her think he’d given up while he waited for the evidence he hoped Hart might turn up.
Then, and only then, would he pounce.
Six
The evening after the royal dinner, Monique was standing with Lady Ursula in an English lord’s ballroom when she felt the hairs stand on the back of her neck. She didn’t even have to turn and look to see why. She knew.
It was Lord Fulkham. He had come . . . for her. To catch her. To bait her.
Last night, he’d watched her the entire time she’d been dancing, and tonight he had clearly decided to repeat the experience. Or to try to get her alone again. Which she didn’t dare allow.
Only one person could help prevent that—Lady Ursula. The lady-in-waiting had been looking out for her, keeping her away from the man she most wanted to avoid.
She pulled Lady Ursula aside. “He’s here.”
“Who?” The woman scanned the ballroom. “Do you mean the duke?”
“No, of course not!” Monique cast a furtive glance over to where Lord Fulkham stood talking to a delegate from the Dutch contingent. “That cursed undersecretary. You have to keep him away from me as you did last night.”
Lady Ursula’s expression grew troubled. “I shouldn’t have done that. The count was most displeased at me for it.”
“But I’m glad you did.” She squeezed Lady Ursula’s hand. “You made sure that the men kept me dancing so he could never come near. I was so grateful.”
The lady-in-waiting eyed her suspiciously. “You told me that Lord Fulkham did nothing wrong when you were alone with him.”
Oh, dear. Playing a set role as an actress was far easier than juggling who she was with who she was supposed to be. And it was all his fault. She could escape fully into the role if not for him lobbing questions at her every moment.
Unfortunately, if she warned the count of Lord Fulkham’s suspicions, he might send her back to the Continent, ending their bargain. She couldn’t take that chance.
“Lord Fulkham didn’t do anything he shouldn’t have,” she lied. “I just don’t like him. He makes me nervous.”
“As well he should, since he has a very important part in making the decision for or against you.” Lady Ursula leaned close. “That’s why you must spend time with him, reassure him of your worth. Can’t you just put your feelings aside for a bit? Aurore needs you.”
And so did Grand-maman. “He’s very clever. I’m afraid he’ll find me out.” Has already found me out.
“Nonsense.” Lady Ursula patted her arm. “You have been amazing. I confess I was skeptical when the count proposed this solution, but you are a quick study and good at improvising when you’re uncertain.” She smiled faintly. “I only wish I could see you on the stage. I know you must be magnificent.”
The compliment caught Monique off guard. “Thank you. It isn’t exactly a royal occupation.” To put it mildly.
“Will you miss it?” the lady-in-waiting surprised her by asking. She seemed genuinely interested, too. “I mean, when you and your grandmother move to Chanay for good.”
“If we move for good. I must bring this to a successful conclusion first.”
“And I have faith that you will,” Lady Ursula said kindly. “Still, when you move to Chanay, there will be no more applause every night, no more adventures on the stage . . . and off the stage.” She cast Monique a wistful look. “No more freedom to do as you please.”
If any other woman had said such things, Monique would have assumed she was making insinuations about supposed promiscuity. All actresses were believed to be promiscuous. But something in Lady Ursula’s manner said that she didn’t mean it that way.
“I haven’t had much of that freedom anyway,” she said softly, “not with Grand-maman ill.”
Her life had revolved around her grandmother’s care for so long that she’d forgotten what it was like to go for a walk alone or meet a gentleman at a café. Lord Fulkham would probably be shocked to hear that she was as chaste as her cousin Aurore probably was.
Her grandmother had been very rigid about gentleman callers. Monique’s father had seduced Monique’s mother, and Grandpapa had made the fellow marry. But shortly before Monique’s birth, he had run off, proving his low character. So Grand-maman had been stricter with Monique, not wanting her
granddaughter to be seduced.
Grand-maman had always said she’d been lucky that her own actor husband had proved a gentleman, but there were too many men out there who would take advantage of a pretty young thing.
By the time Monique had grown old enough to rebel at such restrictions, her grandmother had needed restrictions of her own. Then it had seemed impossible to add a beau into their lives.
Which was why once Grand-maman passed on, Monique would not stay in Chanay. She craved her freedom. She loved her grandmother and would miss her terribly, but she wanted to be young and alive again. So while she could live without the excitement of the theater, she could never live within the confines of royalty.
Not be able to say what she thought and go where she wished? Be forced to marry someone handpicked for political reasons? No, thank you. That was not for her.
Apparently it was not for Lady Ursula either, judging from her remarks. “Do you miss not being ‘free to do as you please’?” Monique asked, partly to take her mind off Grand-maman’s uncertain future, and partly because she was simply curious. “Do you wish you were not a lady-in-waiting to royalty?”
“Oh no, not one bit! I love being helpful to Aurore.”
When her face clouded over, Monique asked, “Have you heard how my cousin is doing? Is there any word of her condition?”
Were those tears glistening in Lady Ursula’s eyes as she shook her head? Poor woman.
Then she seemed to gather her composure. “The count says it’s too soon to have received any message from Calais, and I daresay he’s right. It’s just that I was never as close to my family as you seem to be to your grandmother, so Aurore is all the family I—” She stiffened, then pasted a tight smile to her lips as she glanced beyond Monique. “Why, good evening, Lord Fulkham. How lovely to see you again.”
Monique fought the urge to bolt. Smoothing her features into nonchalance, she turned to face him. “Yes, how nice to see you, monsieur.”
It was a lie. It had to be a lie, even though he was dressed to impress. His perfectly tailored suit of black superfine heightened the crystalline blue of his eyes and the casually disordered waves of his dark hair, making her want to reach up and smooth the strands into place. Worse yet, his delicious brown silk waistcoat of some checked design made her think of chocolate wafers, which was apt, because she wanted to eat him up.
Mon Dieu.
His gaze seemed to take her in and like what it saw, too, judging from the sharp interest flaring in it. “You look luscious this evening, Your Serene Highness. That gown suits you.”
“Luscious?” Lady Ursula said in her heavily accented English. “I do not know this word.”
Monique did. She’d looked it up after he’d said it last night. How dare he use such a blatantly sensual word around Lady Ursula! “I think it means beautiful.”
A wry smile twisted up Lord Fulkham’s lips. “Exactly. So beautiful that I was hoping Her Highness might be willing to grace me with a waltz. Since she is not otherwise engaged at the moment.”
“I’m sure she would be honored,” Lady Ursula said before Monique could drum up some excuse. “Wouldn’t you, Your Highness?”
“Of course,” Monique said. “I am curious to see if his lordship is as good at dancing as he is at diplomacy.”
He clearly didn’t miss the sarcasm in her voice but apparently chose to ignore it. “I can show a good leg as well as the next man.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?”
With a smooth nod, she let him lead her onto the floor, only to find that he hadn’t lied. He danced very well for a pompous Englishman whom she still wanted to throttle.
She waited for him to resume his attack on her masquerade. If he did, he would find himself at a disadvantage; tonight she was prepared. He would not get the better of her.
“You do look luscious, you know,” he drawled. “Every inch a princess.”
“That’s because I am a princess,” she said sweetly.
“Of course. It was rude of me to imply otherwise last night. Forgive me.”
That made her falter. “Very well. If I must.” No, that sounded churlish. “You are forgiven.” Yes, that sounded more regal.
The twinkle in his eyes said that she wasn’t fooling him one bit.
They glided about the room, his hand resting on her waist as lightly as a caress while his other hand clasped hers in a gesture of possessiveness that reminded her of the mark he’d left on her wrist. The one he now had the audacity to rub with his thumb through her white kid glove.
“Tell me about Chanay,” he said in a husky voice that made her belly quiver.
And sparked her temper. “Why? So you can pick at everything I say to use as evidence that I am this other woman friend of yours?”
“Hardly. As you pointed out last night, I’ve never been to your country. You could tell me that the sheep run Chanay, for all I would know.” He smiled most charmingly, which instantly put her on her guard. “I merely thought you might be homesick and wish to talk about the place.”
“I see.”
He had to be still trying to trip her up. Did he think she would be so stupid as to not have learned anything about the country she was supposed to be representing?
Fortunately, Grand-maman had told her endless stories about Chanay. “What do you wish to know?”
“Do the sheep run the place?”
A laugh escaped her in spite of her caution. “Only when the shepherds have gone home for the day.”
He smiled at her with genuine humor, and her heart flipped over in her chest. How foolish was that? She clearly needed a less susceptible heart.
Leaning close, he murmured, “We English have a saying, ‘When the cat’s away, the mice will play.’ What happens when the shepherds are away?”
She edged away from that too-close mouth of his. “The sheep are eaten up, monsieur. Everyone knows that. Sheep are too trusting. They require good shepherds to keep them safe from . . . wolves.”
He laughed. “If you’re trying to say I’m a wolf preying on the sheep, you are far off the mark. There isn’t a sheep alive as quick-witted or as resourceful as you. Even when your shepherds abandon you.”
She swallowed. “What do you mean?”
He glanced beyond her to where the others from Chanay were watching them dance with approving smiles. “Lady Ursula as much as thrust you directly into my hands. And the count has been more than eager to do the same.”
“They are not my shepherds,” she said fiercely. “I am perfectly capable of being my own shepherd.”
“Exactly. That is a princess’s purview, is it not?”
Now she was confused. Had he actually decided to believe she was the princess, or was he merely toying with her? Given his position, probably the latter. Either way, she had best be careful; he could not be trusted.
She tipped up her chin. “It is a queen’s purview as well.”
Glancing away, he twirled her about the floor as effortlessly as a man born to it, which, of course, he was. “So you think you would make a good queen, do you?”
“A better one than you,” she quipped, delighted when that startled him into another laugh. “And yes, I think I would. I know what people want from their rulers.”
His amusement faded to cynicism. “Ah. And what is that, pray tell?”
“Fairness. Honesty. Loyalty. And compassion.”
He released a low whistle. “That is quite a list of qualities. What about a firm hand? What about justice?”
“There can be no justice where there’s no fairness. And a firm hand should always be tempered with compassion.”
That seemed to shake him. He gazed earnestly into her eyes. “It appears you think like a queen after all.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Nothing surprises me about you.”
The look he then shot her sparked a need in her blood that burned through her veins the way his love bite had burned through her skin. He had this way of stripping her d
own to the essentials. No one had ever laid her bare like that.
The music ended, startling them both. He accompanied her to where the count now stood beside Lady Ursula. But before he left her, he said, “I would like to take you on a drive about London, show you some of the sights. Perhaps we could visit Hyde Park?”
“That would be wonderful,” the count answered for her.
She bit her lip to keep from protesting. She was so very tired of having people answer for her.
To her surprise, Lord Fulkham ignored the count. “Your Highness? Would you like a tour of the city? Hyde Park is spectacular in autumn, with the leaves changing color. I think you would enjoy it.”
Feeling the weight of Count de Beaumonde’s gaze upon her, she flashed Lord Fulkham a thin smile. “That would be lovely, sir.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
The count frowned. “Have you forgotten, Fulkham? Tomorrow is when the delegates are presented at Parliament.”
The quick flash of annoyance on Lord Fulkham’s face showed that he had forgotten. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to miss that. But it’s in the morning. The late afternoon is actually the fashionable hour during the Season, and it’s the best time to go all year.”
“Regrettably, we have another engagement in the afternoon,” the count said, to Monique’s vast relief. “But I’m sure we could manage it on the following afternoon”
“Excellent. I shall come at four p.m. I look forward to it.” Lord Fulkham smiled at Monique with such intensity that a flame ignited low within her and licked fire along all the forgotten and desolate parts of her heart.
“As do I,” she said.
And to her complete mortification, she realized that she meant it.
The next morning, only one person interested Gregory as he scrutinized each foreign delegate being introduced to Parliament. He told himself it was because she was an impostor, but the truth was, Monique Servais interested him no matter what role she played. He enjoyed sparring with her. He enjoyed watching surprise gild her features whenever he said something that caught her off guard.
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