The Secret of Flirting

by Sabrina Jeffries

  It was the first time Gregory had given any indication of his bias toward a candidate for ruler, but he’d done it deliberately to witness the duke’s reaction and figure out his true intentions. Did Pontalba merely mean to court the woman for his country’s sake, or was he playing a deeper game involving his own candidate?

  Besides, Gregory was proud of his gardens, even though he was rarely here to enjoy them. His mother had worked hard to improve and expand them, and Gregory resented Pontalba’s disdain. Especially in front of Monique.

  Unfortunately, Pontalba didn’t rise to the bait. “Pardonnez-moi, my lord, I did not mean to offend. And of course, you do not have the space on your estate for the extensive gardens I have at Valcour. But you do much with what you have.”

  Gregory fought to keep an even keel. If not for the smug look in Pontalba’s eyes, he wouldn’t have managed it, but he was not going to let the duke know he’d drawn blood. That didn’t mean, however, that he would allow the arse to win the pissing match, which was all this was.

  “Thank you, sir,” Gregory drawled. “Given my busy schedule, I prefer the amount of land I have. I can’t be here as often as I wish, since the cabinet and the prime minister depend upon me too heavily. Of course, you don’t have those constraints. I heard you were sent to the London Conference because the fellow who was supposed to come had other obligations.”

  When Pontalba’s smugness vanished, Gregory congratulated himself on giving as good as he got.

  But before the arse could retort, Lady Ursula surprised Gregory by jumping in. “I would hardly call an estate of two hundred acres ‘small,’ Your Grace.”

  Pontalba visibly started. “No,” he said grudgingly. “I suppose not.”

  “Oh,” Monique put in, “you were not here when Lady Fulkham told us of its size earlier.” Then, with a furtive glance at Gregory, she added, “But I’m sure yours is equally large, Your Grace.”

  So she meant to placate everyone, did she? Gregory was still stewing over that when she said, “Lord Fulkham, I understand that you have a knot garden on the property. Do you think we could see that? I do so love knot gardens.”

  Gregory doubted that the actress had ever seen a knot garden in her life, but no point in challenging her. “Of course. This way, Princess.”

  Deliberately, he took them the long way around to the acres at the back of his home, so he could show them the terraced gardens, the stone bridge over the pond, and the view out over his extensive woodlands. By the time they’d reached the knot garden, the duke had grown silent about his precious Valcour.

  As well he should. Since the revolution, few of the ducal titles in France had substantial property attached to them. Pontalba might be a duke, but Valcour was probably derelict and uninspiring.

  Though that didn’t stop the man from leaning over to whisper in Monique’s ear from time to time, making her laugh or flirt or blush. It was the blushes that roused Gregory’s temper. He should be the only one making her blush.

  Damn it, he must stop this obsession with her. He still needed answers, and he was squandering his opportunity to ask Lady Ursula the important questions.

  Forcing himself to ignore Monique’s flirtations, he said, “So you are related to Prince Leopold, are you?”

  The smile Lady Ursula had worn for most of their stroll faltered. “We are distant cousins, yes. When he was sixteen and I was seven, I used to trail after him everywhere. His family and mine were very close. We even came to see him a few times in England after he married Princess Charlotte.”

  He narrowed his gaze on her as a thought occurred to him. “You would have been, what, fifteen then?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, not that much younger than the princess.”

  “Pardon me, sir, but there is a vast difference between a fifteen-year-old and a twenty-year-old. One is essentially still a child, the other a woman.”

  A fifteen-year-old was not a child, as she well knew. What if Lady Ursula had wanted Prince Leopold for herself? That would explain why she might try to eliminate Princess Aurore.

  Though the lady-in-waiting didn’t strike him as the murdering sort. And it didn’t explain why she would attempt to kill Monique. Unless she was worried that Monique might charm the prince, too. If Lady Ursula had spoken to Danworth and heard of the prince’s interest in renewing the courtship, that might have been enough to do it.

  Still, if the count were to be believed, the prince’s initial offer had been refused some time ago. So why would Lady Ursula try to kill Aurore if the woman was no longer a rival? It made no sense.

  But something was still afoot with Lady Ursula. She’d been too eager to have the prince come here. Gregory just hadn’t figured out why yet.

  He pressed her further. “Those differences in age between men and women aren’t so bothersome in later years, are they? For example, a man of forty, like Prince Leopold, must not seem that old to a woman of thirty-one.” Like you.

  She merely turned his implication back on him. “And a woman in her twenties, like Princess Aurore, must not seem that young to a man of thirty-five, like yourself.”

  He stifled an oath. “Do you honestly think I have designs on the princess?”

  “Don’t you?” She nodded to where Pontalba had just straightened the princess’s shawl. “Every time he whispers to her, you go rigid as a pike.”

  “Only because of her political importance,” he lied. “That sly weasel is up to no good with her. Either he’s trying to ruin her chances to become queen so he can put his own candidate in . . . or he’s hoping to dazzle her with a courtship so he can rule with her himself. I don’t trust him.”

  Lady Ursula regarded the couple thoughtfully. “I don’t particularly like him, but I’m not sure he’s as villainous as you think.” She cast Gregory an enigmatic glance. “Still, if you want, I can get him away from her.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “And what do you require in exchange?”

  “Nothing. Just your promise that you won’t . . . press her into anything untoward.”

  “Like a mésalliance with me, you mean?”

  “Like a compromising situation.”

  He stiffened. “I could certainly promise you that.” But he was playing with words. He could promise her that, but he didn’t intend to.

  All the same, he would say almost anything to get Monique away from that arse Pontalba. Because he honestly didn’t trust the smarmy fellow.

  As soon as they reached the knot garden, he moved away from Lady Ursula to approach Monique. “What do you think, Your Highness? Is it what you expected?”

  She surveyed the garden with an odd concentration. “It’s . . . different.”

  “From ones you’ve seen before? Probably. Some use box hedges to form the strands of the knot, but my mother uses rosemary. I think she hopes that the old saying ‘Where rosemary flourishes the lady rules’ will prove to be true if she plants enough of it.”

  “Well, rosemary’s hardy stems make it a good choice. And the addition of purple lavender is delightful. I only wish I could see it when it’s blooming.” Monique sniffed the air. “Even so, it smells heavenly, as do the wild marjoram and sage. What a fine selection of plants. Your mother has a good eye for what belongs in a knot garden. Not to mention a good nose.”

  Gregory cocked his head. She’d managed to startle him. Again. “You do know your knot gardens.”

  “My grandmother always dragged me to see them.” A wistful note entered her voice. “She loves—” Monique caught herself. “Used to love them.”

  He knew that Princess Aurore’s grandmother was dead. But not Monique’s, perhaps? He suddenly remembered the discussions at the theater three years ago about her aging grandmother. Damn, he wished he could reach Hart to have him pursue that line of questioning.

  Although there really was no need. Hart would be sharp enough to cover it. He’d become quite adept at spying.

  Apparently noticing Monique’s slip, Lady Ursula said, “You mis
s your grandmother terribly, don’t you, Your Highness?” She glanced at Gregory. “The princess still speaks of her as if she is with us, though she’s been gone ten years.”

  Her “Highness” said nothing, merely gave him a sad smile. It twisted something inside his chest.

  He must talk to her alone. He offered her his arm. “Since you like knot gardens, Princess, I have something special to show you if you will come with me.”

  She eyed him warily and didn’t take his arm.

  Lady Ursula said, “Why don’t you two go on? I’m rather tired after our long trip today.” She turned to Pontalba. “Your Grace, would you accompany me back to the house? I’m afraid I might get lost.”

  His lips thinning, the duke glanced from her to Gregory, but the Frenchman could hardly refuse. “Of course, madam. I’d be happy to.”

  As soon as they’d gone, Monique stared him down. “What are you up to, Gregory?”

  “How would you like to see a knot garden in process?”

  Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  “Mother has laid out a scheme for a new one by our garden pavilion. She just hasn’t planted it yet.”

  “Oh, that sounds wonderful!” Tucking her hand in the arm he offered again, she let him lead her on.

  Now what? Asking her point-blank about her masquerade hadn’t worked heretofore, but Lady Ursula’s remarks had given him more ammunition for tricking her. Yet some small part of him was loath to do it. She looked so very pleased with the idea of seeing Mother’s newest garden project.

  And she looked so fetching in that blue walking dress that made her eyes appear almost azure beneath the shade of the trees. He just wanted to stroll with her and pretend that they were not at odds, that she wasn’t an impostor whom it was his duty to expose.

  As if she, too, was reluctant to discuss the elephant between them, she said, “I don’t understand why you never come here. It is so very . . .” She uttered a sigh. “Lovely. If I had these gardens—”

  “Have you no gardens in Chanay?”

  She shot him a veiled look. “We’re not talking about me. For once, can’t you just answer a simple question without turning it back on me?”

  “I don’t like to talk about myself,” he said honestly.

  They skirted a patch of calla lilies as she said, “If you told me more, I might be willing to tell you more.”

  That started an uneasy roiling in his gut. “Spilling one’s secrets is dangerous for a man like me, Princess.”

  “I’m not asking for your secrets. Just something to help me understand you. What has caused an ambition so powerful that it makes you spend all your time in the city, when you could live a life of ease here amid all this glorious green?”

  “For a woman who spends her time in theaters far from the countryside,” he snapped, “you have an astonishing affinity for green.”

  Blanching, she halted in her tracks. “I’m sorry. I thought you would take my request seriously. It appears I was wrong.”

  The hurt in her voice surprised him. And when she turned on her heel as if to go, he said in a low voice, “Princess, please.”

  That made her pause.

  A frustrated breath rushed from his lips. “Fine,” he bit out. God, he would surely regret this in the end, but he couldn’t have her running from him. Not anymore. “What do you wish to know?”

  Twelve

  Monique was certain that delving into the mystery that was Gregory Vyse was a mistake. He wiggled more under her skin with every view she got of his real life, the one he led beyond his ambition.

  But she couldn’t stop prying. Perhaps it was the actress in her, wanting to figure out what made him behave as he did. All she knew was that he fascinated her, which men rarely did.

  “I already told you what I want to know,” she said baldly. “Why do you spend all your time in London when you could be here?”

  Muttering a curse, he headed down a graveled walk. She followed his aimless ambling.

  After a while, he spoke. “Let’s just say that this place holds bad memories for me.”

  “Of what?”

  “Not what—who. My late father.” He remained silent a long time. “My parents didn’t exactly get along. My father was a mean drunk, and my mother generally got the brunt of his temper. So there were lots of arguments.”

  “Oh.” She wanted to ask if those arguments had grown physical, but she’d said she wasn’t asking for secrets, and he might consider that one. Still, she would love to know. “How . . . er . . . bad were the arguments?”

  “Bad.” His jaw seemed carved out of granite. “So bad that they used to wake my little brother, even though he slept in the nursery a floor away.”

  That startled her. “You have a brother?”

  He winced. Clearly, he hadn’t meant to reveal that. “Had a brother. He’s dead now. I learned of his passing the night I met you, after the play.”

  She tensed. Curse him—he couldn’t even tell her one important thing about himself without trying to provoke her into revealing the truth about the masquerade.

  Then she realized he hadn’t even registered what he’d said, because he went on without so much as looking at her. “He died doing something for me.” His voice turned bitter. “In the service of what you call ‘my ambition.’ ”

  The pain in his words cut through her. She laid her hand on his arm as they walked. “I’m sure that’s not what you intended.”

  Pulling free of her, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Of course not. Yet the result is the same—John is dead and it’s my fault.” He scanned the woods they were passing. “And every inch of this place is haunted by him. Him and my father. One good ghost, one bad ghost—though it hardly matters. They’re still ghosts.” His tone grew acid. “They rather spoil my enjoyment of all the ‘green.’ ”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I did not mean to call forth your ghosts. And now that I see what a sacrifice you were making by offering your home to us and being forced to come here, I’m sorry for that, too.”

  “Don’t be.” He dragged in a long breath, then faced her with a half smile. “Believe it or not, your being here makes it less . . . ghostly.” Before she could even take pleasure in that, his smile faded and he said in a hard voice, “And now it’s your turn to answer a question.”

  Oh, Lord. Knowing what the question would be, she went on the defensive. “First, you promised me another knot garden. I have yet to see it.”

  That smirk of his returned. He could tell she was stalling, but he merely swept his hand forward. “It’s right there.”

  She gazed beyond him to a large clearing with an octagonal-shaped brick pavilion at the end. Walking past him, she surveyed the ground, then gaped at the design marked in powdered chalk. “And here I thought you were making it up just to get me alone.”

  “Unlike a certain female I know, I don’t generally make up things when the truth will suffice.”

  Ignoring the barb, she strode around the design, careful not to step on the chalk marks that not only laid out the pattern but described in words what plants went where. “Kudos to your mother. Does she intend to have a true knot garden with the effect of overlapping hedges to make the strands? I can’t tell from the design.” She stopped in the middle of an enigmatic circle. “Might she be planning a fountain here?”

  “How the devil should I know?”

  “Sacrebleu, you really do not spend much time at your estate, do you?” She eyed him askance.

  “Not since my father died, no. And even when he was alive, I spent most of my time right there.” He gestured to the pavilion. “I used to sneak books up there from Father’s library and read the day away.” His voice hardened. “Or the night, if they were fighting.”

  Her heart constricted at the thought of the lonely little boy reading to avoid the painful realities of his parents’ marriage. “Is that why your mother is putting the knot garden here? To coax you back home by improving your favorite
spot?”

  He snorted. “If it is, then it won’t work.”

  “Don’t be too sure. Your mother’s work is amazing, and I daresay it will look spectacular from up in those windows. This is a very ambitious effort for a knot garden.”

  “Where do you think I get my ambition from?” he quipped.

  With a laugh, she shook her head. “Lady Fulkham is quite a force, isn’t she?”

  “Since she runs this place in my stead, she has to be.” He came over to stand beside her. “I’ve offered time and again to hire a manager, but she won’t hear of it. She likes to keep her hand in.”

  Monique kept her gaze fixed on the design. “Apparently she’s not as bothered by ghosts as you.”

  “No,” he said softly. “Though she ought to be.” Just as Monique was about to ask why, he added, “So how long ago did Prince Leopold offer for you?”

  The abrupt change of subject caught her off guard. Especially since it wasn’t the question she’d expected. And she didn’t know how to answer.

  She chose to be careful. “I’m not sure. I was only informed of it a few months ago. It might have been before that, however.”

  “You’re lying,” he said bluntly. “I saw the surprise in your face when Lady Ursula suggested including him in this party. And when the count mentioned the offer of marriage, you were stunned. I’d already heard rumors of it, but apparently no one had informed you of the prince’s interest in Aurore until that very moment.”

  “Gregory—” she began, turning away.

  He stepped in front of her to clasp her shoulders. “I should warn you that even as we speak, one of my men is in Dieppe, trying to determine exactly what deal you made with the devil that led you here. Actually, you know my man, Lord Hartley. He was with me at the theater the night we saw your play. More recently, he witnessed your presentation in Parliament and agreed with me that you quite possibly are Monique Servais.”

  The gloves had come off. He was clearly done waiting for her to confess.