The Secret of Flirting

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Leaving those words to knock about in her brain and make her frantic, he released her before continuing. “So rest assured—your masquerade will be exposed eventually. I won’t stand by and let an impostor take the throne of Belgium. I was willing to let the idiotic scheme ride at the beginning, to give me time to figure out what was going on, but not after I heard about Prince Leopold’s designs on Princess Aurore. Surely you cannot think I would let you marry the man in her stead.”

  “I have no intention of marrying the man!” she protested. “And he’s already been refused, so his designs don’t matter.”

  “They matter far more than you think, you little fool. Don’t you see? A union between Prince Leopold and Princess Aurore would ensure that the two together are made rulers of Belgium. It would solve so many diplomatic issues that all sides would eagerly approve it.”

  His expression grew fierce. “Your dear ‘uncle’ or manager or whatever you choose to call him would like that very much indeed. So you may find yourself pressured into such a marriage, especially if the princess is dead and Beaumonde hopes to put you in her place.”

  “Dead!” Had he heard something the count wasn’t telling her? Had the princess not survived her cholera or poisoning or whatever it was? If Gregory had spies everywhere, as apparently he did—

  She seized his coat lapels. “What have you heard? What has happened?”

  He met her gaze coldly. “To whom?”

  “Damn you! You will make me say it, won’t you?”

  “I will. Or I will drag you in front of the count and make him say it, if I must.”

  “No, you can’t, please. I’ll do anything . . . just don’t let him know you know the truth.”

  “You didn’t tell him about our previous—”

  “Certainly not. And you mustn’t, either.” She shifted away, frantic to think how to convince him. “Surely there’s a way we can . . . All I need is . . .”

  An idea occurred to her, and she whirled on him. “You said you want me. Well, you can have me.” Though his expression grew stormy, she persisted. She’d been on the verge of having to take a protector in Dieppe—how was this any different?

  Besides, she was attracted to Gregory, which was more than she could say for any of her admirers at home. “Just let the masquerade play out. I swear to you that there is nothing wicked about it. And if it turns out that it does involve marriage to Prince Leopold or anything like that, I will confess the truth myself, even if you and I have already—”

  “Shared a bed?” he roared. “What kind of monster do you take me for? I would never accept such a bargain. You may not believe this, but I am a gentleman. Not to mention, I am perfectly capable of wooing a woman into my bed without forcing her there.” Eyes glittering like the hardest of diamonds, he stepped up close. “If ever I make love to you, it will be a mutual decision, not some form of blackmail.”

  “It . . . it’s not blackmail. It’s quid pro quo.”

  His harsh laugh cut through her. “What the devil do you know about ‘quid pro quo’? You’re an actress.”

  She tipped up her chin. “One of my admirers is a lawyer.”

  “One of your admirers at the theater,” he prodded.

  A frustrated breath rushed out of her. “Yes, yes! Of course I am Monique Servais.” She swallowed. “Though I can’t believe you recognized me after three years, despite all the makeup and clothes and wig—”

  “Sorry, my sweet,” he said. “You could cover yourself in mud, and I would still recognize you.”

  The heat flaring in his gaze gave her hope. “Then why won’t you just—”

  “I told you.” He lifted a hand to brush something from her cheek, and only then did she realize she was crying. His voice roughened. “I don’t believe in hurting women. Forcing you to my bed would be tantamount to rape, and thus vastly unsatisfying for both of us, trust me.”

  Rape. The hard word jangled in her ears. “Not if I chose to be there.”

  “An act done in desperation is not a choice. And while I might back you into a corner to get the truth out of you, when it comes to warming my bed, I only want what’s freely given.”

  He trailed his hand down her cheek, gathering tears as he went. “So you have only one recourse. Tell me the truth. Tell me why this is so important that you would offer your body to secure it. Then perhaps together we can figure out a solution that won’t require scandalizing the world and ruining your future.”

  The slender offer of other alternatives, coupled with the kindness in his words, so took her by surprise that her defenses crumbled. She caught his hand and turned it to kiss the palm. Then, as she wondered where to begin, she pulled away to go roam the path laid out by his mother’s chalked design.

  “Does it have anything to do with your grandmother?” he asked.

  That startled her. “How did you—”

  “I overheard you speaking of her three years ago. And then just now, you were talking about—”

  “Yes,” she said bitterly. “Apparently, I am not quite as good an actress as I thought I was.”

  “You’re magnificent,” he said fiercely, surprising her yet again.

  “Even though I’m a comic actress?” she retorted.

  He looked chagrined. “I should not have said what I did that night. To be honest, I was perturbed to find myself so attracted to a provincial French actress.” He ventured a smile. “Especially one who had managed to impress me with her talent, yet professed herself annoyed at the prospect of meeting me. But trust me, I knew from the moment I saw you on the stage that you were extraordinary.”

  She snorted. “If I were so extraordinary, I would have been better in my role as Princess Aurore, and you wouldn’t have guessed my identity the first time you saw me.”

  “It wasn’t a lack of acting ability that handicapped you, my sweet. Because you were not actually on the stage. I suspect that when you’re being yourself you’re probably honest. And lying about oneself is vastly different from playing a role in the theater.”

  Therein lay the rub, to paraphrase Shakespeare. On the stage, she was aware that everyone knew she was playing a role. She had permission, as it were, to lie egregiously. To inhabit the character, to be wholly someone else.

  But in life . . .

  She didn’t particularly like lying about being a princess to people who didn’t realize they were watching a play.

  “Your grandmother,” he prodded. “She’s the reason you’re doing this. Why, exactly?”

  Monique sighed. He was not going to let this go. “My grandmother is . . . ill. She’s not in her right mind anymore, hasn’t been for some time. Because of our connection to the Chanay royal family—”

  “Wait,” he interrupted, “you truly have a connection to them?”

  “Yes.” She flashed him a sheepish smile. “As it happens, I’m Princess Aurore’s cousin.”

  He gaped at her. “Really?”

  She took a perverse pleasure in shocking him. “I’m her second cousin.”

  “That’s why you resemble her. You’re related!”

  She smiled faintly. “In truth, we look astonishingly alike. Probably because my grandmother is one of her great-aunts.”

  “So how did you end up in—”

  “Dieppe? Grand-maman fell in love with an actor in her youth. As the youngest of four children, she thought she ought to be able to marry whom she wanted. Her family disagreed. So she married him in secret.” Anger crept into her voice. “And for her misbehavior, the royal family cast her out. She and Grandpapa joined his troupe and traveled the Continent, as did my mother before—” No, she would not tell him that embarrassing detail. “Anyway, we became a family of actors, which we’ve been all these years.”

  Gregory cast her an incredulous look. “So the count really is your great-uncle.”

  “Yes. He was married to one of Grand-maman’s sisters. That’s why he chose me. He promised that if I pretended to be Princess Aurore until she gained the th
rone of Belgium, he’d make sure that Grand-maman spent her final days in the home of her youth. Chanay. The place she loves and misses. The place she was banished from when she married Grandpapa.”

  “Good God.”

  And for once, she quite agreed.

  Thirteen

  Gregory’s head reeled. Monique was Beaumonde’s great-niece. A member of the Chanay royal family. In a way, she was as legitimate a descendant as Princess Aurore. Just probably not directly in line for the throne, or the Rocheforts wouldn’t have ignored her branch of the family for so long.

  A thought occurred to him. She was decidedly not the count’s mistress, which meant . . .

  Well, he didn’t know what it meant, except that it pleased him inordinately. He hadn’t liked the idea of her with that ancient relic, Beaumonde.

  But that should not be what he was focusing on. Her revelation raised a number of questions. “How did the count know about you and your resemblance to the princess?”

  She shrugged. “Apparently he’s kept an eye on our family all these years. I had no idea. Though I knew I was from the royal line of Chanay, Grand-maman seemed sure that they had no use for us. They’d never made any overtures until he approached me in Dieppe a short while ago.”

  “And you agreed to his mad scheme because—”

  “It’s just me and Grand-maman, and I can’t take care of her on my own anymore,” she said bluntly. “I can’t afford to hire anyone to watch her day and night, now that she’s started to wander. Even good actresses don’t make that much money. So my only choice is to quit working and descend into poverty with her, or”—she wrapped her arms about her waist—“take a protector, which I have no desire to do.”

  The thought of her being forced into that position twisted something in his chest, even as he realized with self-loathing that he had wanted to be her protector. But he wouldn’t have wanted it at the cost to her freedom of choice. It would have been mutual.

  Right, his conscience clamored. Mutual.

  She went on in a hollow tone. “Plus, the more Grand-maman sinks into . . . senility, the more she longs for her home. So when my great-uncle offered to allow us both to return to Chanay and live there free of worry if I would just pretend to be my second cousin, it seemed the perfect solution.” She shot him a dark look. “I had no idea I would run into you again, my lord. Or that you would remember me.”

  “I would imagine not. Our encounter was brief.” He arched an eyebrow. “Although I should point out that you remembered me as well.”

  She tipped up her chin. “Hard not to remember a man of such arrogance.”

  He ought to take offense, but she looked so adorably put out that he had to bite back a smile. “Is that all you remembered of me? My arrogance?”

  Coloring, she glanced away.

  “So I did not imagine the attraction between us that night,” he murmured.

  “As I said,” she retorted. “A man of arrogance. In any case, your remembering me has ruined everything, especially considering the position you’re in.”

  That jerked him back to the reality of the situation. “Yes, let’s talk about that. Princess Aurore is in line for the Belgian throne.” He bore down on her. “Is she dead?”

  She blinked. “I thought you said that—”

  “I don’t know what has happened to her. But something clearly has, or you wouldn’t be here in her stead.”

  A heavy sigh escaped her. “The last time I saw her, she was very much alive. But ill.”

  That gave him pause. “In what way?”

  Her expression was conflicted. “I—I’m not sure. They told me she had cholera. That’s why they needed me. They didn’t want to risk her losing her chance at being queen simply because she was sick.” Her voice grew choked. “But after you said it was me someone was trying to kill . . .”

  His blood ran cold. “You wondered if she’d been poisoned.”

  Wide-eyed, she nodded. “My uncle says that is ludicrous. I just don’t know whether to believe him. This world of politics and shady doings is not my purview.” She began to roam the knot garden design again. “I’m an actress, not a diplomat. I wouldn’t even know how to tell if she was poisoned.” Her voice lowered. “Though she did seem very ill. When I saw her, she was insensible and apparently had been so for a few days.”

  That didn’t sound good. “Where is she now?”

  “In Calais. She fell ill as they were preparing to make the crossing to England.”

  Interesting. “So it was only then that the count came to you?”

  “Yes. He took a steam packet to Dieppe to meet with me and Grand-maman.”

  That confirmed what Hart had learned. And it meant that it was possible the count hadn’t initially intended to put Monique forward as a substitute. That he might have been trying to fix a bad situation in the only way he knew how.

  On the other hand, if Beaumonde had been aware of Monique’s resemblance to Aurore all along, he might very well have chosen to assassinate his great-niece and put Monique in her stead rather than risk Aurore’s bumbling through the conference.

  “What about preparing you for the role?” Gregory asked. “How could he have known you would understand enough about what was required of a princess to step into Aurore’s shoes?”

  “I asked the same thing!” she cried. “I mean, Grand-maman has tried through the years to teach me the proper behavior just in case they ever . . .” Her voice hardened. “But of course that didn’t happen until they found themselves in difficulty. And he said we had enough time on the crossing to prepare me. He did seem . . . rather out of sorts about the whole matter.”

  “I can well imagine,” Gregory said dryly.

  The count struck him as a man who wouldn’t set up such a havey-cavey plan unless he was forced into it. If Beaumonde had intended all along for Monique to take Aurore’s place, he would have eliminated Aurore in enough time to prepare Monique to replace her. This smacked of the actions of a desperate man, not a scheming one.

  Besides, if the count had wanted to replace Aurore, why would he then have hired someone to shoot at Monique? If she was supposed to be the future of Chanay and Belgium, it made no sense. So Gregory could probably rule out Beaumonde as the one trying to kill Monique.

  Unless, of course, the count had somehow learned about her former association with Gregory.

  A chill swept him. “Are you certain your great-uncle doesn’t know that we met before?”

  “How could he? I never told him.”

  “And you never told Lady Ursula. Or your maid or—”

  “Are you mad?” She faced him down. “I want Grand-maman taken care of, and he’s made quite clear that if this masquerade isn’t successful, his promise to bring her home is for naught. So I haven’t told a soul. I was hoping to brazen it out until the whole thing was over.”

  Her expression turned pleading as she drew nearer him. “Which is why you must keep silent. If you reveal to my uncle that I’ve failed to convince you I’m Aurore, then I will be packed off to Dieppe without so much as a farewell. He will only honor his promise if Aurore becomes queen. Otherwise . . .”

  The desperation in her eyes sliced through him. Damn her. Damn the count. He couldn’t let this nonsense stand. And yet . . . “What is supposed to happen to Aurore if you do succeed in being chosen as ruler of Belgium?”

  She sighed. “Aurore will take my place. By then, he hopes, she’ll be well, and she can go to Belgium and assume her throne. Then Grand-maman and I will go to Chanay as ourselves. Relations to the crown. But after Grand-maman dies, I intend to return to Dieppe and my position at the theater.”

  How did she still manage to surprise him? “You would choose being an actress over living as a relation to royalty?”

  “A poor relation, forced to submit to their will in everything? Absolutely. I love my work at the theater. And I crave . . .” She trailed off with a sigh. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  He stepped nearer. “Try m
e. What do you crave, Princess?”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “You realize I’m not truly a princess.”

  “To me, you are.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each finger and reveling in the way she blushed. For a woman who’d probably gone through quite a few lovers, she had a surprising air of innocence about her. “Tell me, my sweet, what you crave.”

  She searched his face, as if to determine his sincerity. Then she flashed him a sad smile. “Freedom. To be myself. To live my life and practice my craft. To not always be worrying about how I shall care for Grand-maman, or what will happen if—”

  A loud cry broke the stillness of the clearing. “Princess? Fulkham? Where are you? I’ve returned!”

  A vile oath escaped Gregory. “Pontalba, damn him.” Gregory had more questions, needed to know more before he could make a decision about how to handle this matter. “Come with me.”

  Before she could protest, he tugged her across the path and into the pavilion.

  At least she went willingly. She too must realize that they weren’t done. “Gregory?”

  He held a finger to her lips. “Keep quiet, and he’ll go away.”

  She nodded, though her eyes showed she wasn’t as certain.

  They could hear the fellow approaching, far too near for Gregory’s comfort. Pulling her deeper into the pavilion, he dragged her up the stairs that led to the second floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows that indeed overlooked Mother’s proposed new garden.

  He released Monique and rounded the chaise longue near the window to stand where he could observe the duke. With the afternoon sun shining full on this side, the man shouldn’t be able to see them. Which was a good thing, since Monique came up behind him so she could look out the window, too.

  As Pontalba surveyed the clearing, he scowled and muttered to himself, “Damn it, I could have sworn I heard them out here somewhere.”

  Monique tensed, and Gregory shot her a reassuring glance.

  “What the hell is this, anyway?” the duke said in French. “A bunch of chalk lines on the ground? These English are mad, I swear.”

  The leap of fire in Monique’s eyes amused Gregory. He could see she was itching to march out and give the man a piece of her mind about Mother’s designs. It made him want to kiss her.