“Well, I asked the constable why no one ever suspected your mother of causing your father’s death, and he said that they knew for certain that she’d had nothing to do with it. That if anyone had killed him, it was a male.” Danworth smirked at him. “Because when your father was found, he was clutching a button in his hand. And not the sort of button found on a woman’s attire. A boy’s button.”
Gregory’s blood ran cold. The night of his father’s murder, he’d lost a button off the school jacket he’d been wearing when he’d defended his mother. He’d looked for the button, but hadn’t been able to find it anywhere. So he’d assumed it had been lost somewhere in the depths beneath the staircase.
No one had ever told him it had been found on the body. But then, he’d been too young for anyone to consider making him privy to the investigation. “A boy’s button? How in God’s name could anyone be sure of that?”
“Well, the constable wasn’t, because he didn’t recognize the design. He said it must have been from a servant who was trying to keep his lordship from falling. Fortunately, I knew better. I could see that it came from an Eton jacket.”
Oh, God, the constable had actually shown the arse the button. “I don’t see why that matters.” Gregory hoped he sounded far more bored and nonchalant than he felt.
“It matters,” Danworth said as he approached Gregory, “because since the constable still has the button, it could easily be called into evidence.”
“To prove what?” Gregory said. “That my father was tossed down the stairs by some anonymous Etonian?”
His sarcastic tone didn’t seem to faze Danworth. “I’m saying that you are the person who tossed your father down the stairs. I’m saying you killed your father.”
Gregory fought the sick feeling swelling in his belly. “Ah, I see. And why would I do that?”
Danworth shrugged. “I have no clue. But I do know one thing. If word got out about this, you’d be ruined.”
That was certainly true. “Assuming that anyone would believe it.” Gregory stared the man down. “And who would? Especially since I was away at Eton at the time.”
“You were not. You had come home for the holiday already.”
Gregory tensed. “What makes you think so?”
With a smirk, Danworth circled the study. “I found someone in Canterbury who remembered seeing you on your way home.” He lifted an eyebrow. “A certain shopkeeper was adamant that you passed through town the very night your father died. He saw you looking out of a coach window. Imagine that.”
“Imagine that, indeed,” Gregory clipped out, his tone cold. “Some shopkeeper thought he saw me peering out of a coach window on a night more than twenty years ago? Assuming that I did anything wrong, which I did not, no court in the world would convict me on the basis of such flimsy evidence.”
Danworth snorted. “I’ve no need to prove it in court. I merely need to prove it in the court of public opinion, and I damned well have enough evidence to do that. Any insinuation of your being involved in your father’s death would ruin you in politics for decades to come. Especially if the papers got hold of it.”
Gregory certainly couldn’t refute that. “So what do you want from me?” he snapped. “I assume that you want something or you wouldn’t have gone to such trouble to drum up this ridiculous tale.”
Danworth marched toward him. “I want only one thing from you. It would cost you very little. I want you to throw the weight of your influence behind Prince Leopold to be chosen ruler of Belgium. Not Princess Aurore.”
That told Gregory two things. One, Danworth was still unaware of “Princess Aurore’s” true identity. And two, the man might very well be behind the attacks on Aurore’s and Monique’s lives.
What a pity that he couldn’t prove it. Danworth might have been missing for part of the day, but Gregory somehow couldn’t see the man hiding in the woods in an attempt to assassinate Monique. Or lurking about in Hyde Park for the same purpose.
Still, Danworth was a damned good shot, so it was conceivable. And it didn’t rule out the possibility that the man had hired someone to do the deed for him.
But before he accused Danworth of anything, he needed more information. “Why are you determined to put Leopold on the throne?”
Danworth crossed his arms over his chest. “As you know quite well, Wellington is about to lose his position as prime minister. As long as I remain tied to him, I will lose any chance of advancement.” Bitterness crept into his tone. “I’ll end up an aging private secretary to an ancient relic of a politician, whose only usefulness is in writing his memoirs. But if Leopold becomes king of the Belgians, he has promised me a post there worthy of my talents. No more toadying to the likes of Wellington, no more putting up with nonsense from lords like you.”
“And all you have to do to gain your post is to blackmail me.”
The bloody arse shrugged. “You may call it blackmail if you wish. I would call it quid pro quo. A favor for a favor. I keep silent about your family secrets and you put your influence behind Leopold.”
“I see. And whose idea was it to ask for this ‘favor’? Yours? Or the prince’s?”
“Leopold knows naught of this. But I daresay he’d have no quarrel with it if he did.”
Gregory wished he could be sure of the truth of either of those statements. “And what about attempted murder?” He bore down on Danworth. “Does he know about that little strategy of yours for eliminating his competitors?”
A slight twitching of the man’s eyelid gave Danworth away, though he stood his ground. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t attempted to murder anyone.”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you. As you already know, we’re here in the country precisely because someone shot at the princess in Hyde Park a few days ago.”
“I thought you said you were the target?”
“You know damned well I was not.”
Danworth stared coldly at him. “I was nowhere near Hyde Park then. Ask Wellington.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I intend to.” And while he was at it, he would ask if Danworth had been dispatched to Calais around the time of the princess’s poisoning. “But even if you had nothing to do with that attempt, I know you damned well had something to do with the second attempt on the princess’s life this morning.”
“I don’t even have a gun with me. How could I possibly have shot at the princess?” Danworth snapped, though sweat broke out on his brow.
Gregory pressed his advantage. “According to my mother, you conveniently disappeared for most of the shopping trip. Which makes you the only one of my guests not accounted for during the attack.”
“Your mother?” Danworth snorted. “She was so busy cozying up to Beaumonde that she wouldn’t have noticed if I had been there.”
“Do I detect a note of jealousy?” Gregory said, seizing on his opponent’s weakness. “Were you hoping to feather your nest by gaining my mother’s affections yourself?”
Though Danworth colored, he shook his head. “I have no need of a wife so much older than I, sir. I can have any woman I want.”
“True. Which is why I question your flirtations with her. Or were you perhaps hoping that she might tell you something about my father’s death that you couldn’t learn by deceiving the constable?”
He saw he’d hit his mark when Danworth’s jaw flexed. “No deception was required. The man was more than ready to reveal what he knew.”
“Because you told him you were an investigator from London interested in implicating my mother. You knew that would make him provide an alternate view of the crime.”
“I knew that would make him tell the truth.” Danworth drew himself up. “In any case, it doesn’t matter. You can’t prove I did anything wrong—you’re just lashing out because I’ve uncovered your nasty little secret.” He strode up to Gregory with a menacing smile. “You’ve heard my terms. If you wish to continue in your present career, then you must advocate for Leopold when we r
eturn. Otherwise, I will reveal to the world the truth about how your father died. And what your part in it was.”
Gregory desperately wanted to tell the arse to go to hell, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t just he who would suffer. It was Mother. And Monique, if she chose to marry him.
“Well then,” Gregory said noncommittally, “I suppose I have a decision to make.”
“You do, indeed. Just be sure to make the right one, my lord. Or I swear I will make you and yours regret it.”
And with that, the arse walked out.
Twenty-One
As Mr. Danworth left the study, Monique slid behind a massive ornamental display case in the hall and prayed he wouldn’t notice her. Fortunately, the man seemed too caught up in what had just occurred to pay his surroundings any mind. That wasn’t surprising, given what he’d said to Gregory. Clearly, Mr. Danworth thought he held all the cards.
And perhaps he did. She had come up here after leaving the drawing room, hoping for a chance to continue this afternoon’s discussion with Gregory in private. Instead, she’d heard Mr. Danworth threaten him most appallingly.
Waiting until the wretch disappeared up the stairs, probably headed for his bedchamber, she slipped into the study.
The moment the door closed, Gregory said, “What now? You wish to blackmail me into something else?” He turned, then started. “Oh. It’s you.” He tensed and wouldn’t meet her gaze. “What are you doing here?”
Her heart ached to see him looking so lost. “I came to talk to you, and I overheard—”
“What Danworth said?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “How much did you hear?”
“Most of it, I think.”
That seemed to deflate him. “Wonderful. So I suppose I can add you to the list of people who despise me.”
His acid words broke her heart. “Don’t be absurd. I could never despise you. But I don’t understand how he could threaten such a horrible thing. Clearly, he is cobbling together a bunch of nonsense—”
“I wish he were.” Gregory went to pour himself some brandy from the decanter on his desk. “Sadly, he is not.”
That shocked her. She’d been sure that Danworth was simply taking advantage of an accidental death to strike out at Gregory. “So what he claims, what he threatens to expose—”
“Is the truth. Yes.” Twirling the glass he held in his hand, he stared down into the amber liquid. “You might as well know it. The world will hear it soon enough.”
Her blood clamoring in her veins, she walked up to take the glass of brandy from him. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” she said firmly. “I’ll reveal the truth about my masquerade, and that will be an end to it. You will champion Prince Leopold, who will become king of Belgium, thus ensuring that none of your secrets come out.”
“And you will be forced into poverty with your grandmother?” A faint smile curved up his lips as he faced her. “I think not.”
“I will not save Grand-maman at the risk to your future . . . and that of your mother. I refuse to see your family embroiled in scandal on my behalf. Grand-maman and I will manage somehow. You have far more to lose than we ever did.”
His confident demeanor faltered a little at that. “You’re amazing, do you know that?” he said in a voice wrought with emotion. “You just heard that I am a murderer, yet here you are, springing to defend me.”
I am a murderer.
No—she couldn’t believe it. With her heart pounding, she laid her hand on his arm. “I know the situation can’t have been as cut-and-dried as Mr. Danworth implied.”
Now he looked desperate. “Ah, but it was.” He dragged in a shuddering breath.
She had to know it all. “Tell me about it, mon coeur. How did it happen? When did it happen?”
He gazed off across the room. “When I was twelve.”
When he said nothing more, she prodded him. “What were the circumstances?”
For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he drew himself up as if preparing for an onerous task. “I had just come home from Eton for the holidays. My father was drunk and in a foul temper. He lashed out at my mother as always, and I defended her, as always.”
His gaze grew distant. “Father and I were at the top of the stairs—the ones right outside that door there, actually—and I got so angry that I thrust myself between them, determined to keep him from hurting her. I’d done it often enough before. She’d done it for me, too.”
Snatching the glass of brandy back from Monique, he took a long swallow. When he continued, the matter-of-fact tone with which he’d begun his recitation shifted to something more tortured. “Father pulled his fist back to punch me, and I shoved him. He fell, all the way down the staircase, head over heels. He—” His voice cracked a little before he gathered himself to continue. “He ended up in a crumpled heap at the bottom. His neck broke on the way down, and he . . . died instantly.”
“So you didn’t mean to kill him,” she said softly.
He uttered a harsh laugh. “Didn’t I? I’ve never been sure. Perhaps I did. Perhaps I took my chance to rid us of the plague that was my father.” His voice hardened. “All I know is that when he died, I had not one moment of remorse. Do you hear me? Not. One. Moment.” He downed the rest of the brandy, his eyes bleak. “If anything shows that I’m a killer at heart, it’s that.”
“Oh, Gregory, that’s not true. You did feel remorse, or you wouldn’t have spoken of the ghosts that torment you here.”
“Only because I remember so much of what my father did to my mother. Only because every time I return, I realize how little . . . I regret killing him.”
“You were twelve!” she cried. “You were acting as impulsively as any lad that age and trying to protect your mother. No one would blame you.”
“You think not, do you?” He poured himself more brandy and stared into its depths as if finding the past in them. “As a result of his death, I inherited everything. I gained my title and my fortune by shoving my father down the stairs. Plenty of people will see only that.”
Unfortunately, that was probably true. “Then you must do what Mr. Danworth says. Vote for Prince Leopold. Use your power to get him chosen as king.”
Even if it meant that she had to return to Dieppe with Grand-maman and take a protector. She couldn’t watch Gregory and his mother be destroyed in the press by . . . by a devil like Danworth.
“I am not going to let that arse win,” he said fiercely. “I’m certainly not going to reward Leopold by giving him what he wants after he used such tactics to gain it, assuming that he knew what Danworth was up to.” He set down his glass to fix her with a tortured gaze. “And I damned well will not overlook the fact that Danworth tried to murder you in order to gain his aims.”
She swallowed. She’d heard that part, too, after all. “You don’t know that for certain.”
“I can’t prove it, no.” He caressed her cheek. “But I know it as surely as I know that Danworth is up to no good. And I won’t let him get away with it.”
“Then you and your mother will suffer. You’ll lose your career and your future,” she whispered. “I can’t bear that.”
He stared at her a long moment. “Why do you care? All I’ve done is give you grief, threaten to expose you . . . take your innocence. You ought to be handing me over to Danworth on a silver platter.”
“I would never do that!” she cried, her heart in her throat. “I love you! So I can’t stand by and watch while you are destroyed.”
I love you. The words rang in his ears. Clearly, he was losing his mind, because never had three words sounded so sweet.
And so very maddening. All he could think was how he wanted to take her to bed and make love to her until the sun came up. She’d just heard how he’d murdered his father, yet she was on his side. He didn’t know whether to exult or to despair. If Danworth—and possibly Leopold—had his way, she would be headed back to Dieppe in two days, with nothing to show for all her effort.
&nbs
p; He couldn’t endure that. “I don’t care what Danworth says—Aurore will be chosen as queen of Belgium. And you and I will marry. Somehow. I shall not stand by and watch you suffer at the hands of Danworth or anyone else.”
A despairing look crossed her face. “Yesterday you told me you couldn’t allow the masquerade to continue, and now you’ll put Aurore, whom you’ve never met, in the position of queen of Belgium? Why?”
“Because she’s the best choice politically, assuming she lives.”
“That’s not the main reason. You just don’t want Danworth to win. But Aurore may not even live. So choose Leopold, save your career, prevent a scandal, and stop being stubborn about it, for God’s sake!”
“I am stubborn,” he growled. “It’s why I’ve progressed this far in my career. I don’t give in to blackmail, and I especially won’t give in to it if it means watching you suffer.”
“Gregory—”
He dragged her into his arms. “You’re mine, chérie. And I think it’s time I convinced you of that.”
If he couldn’t convince her with words, then he would convince her this way. He took her mouth, reveling in how she melted against him. There had to be a way for them to marry. He would find a way, damn it.
In the meantime, he would show her that they were meant to be together. He’d been at a disadvantage before, not knowing she was an innocent. But he knew now, so he could show her what things could be like between them . . . if he took her the way she deserved.
Pulling back from her, he drew her toward the door that led to his adjoining bedchamber. “Come with me, my sweet. This time we will do it right.”
She didn’t even pretend to be confused about what he meant. “Did we do it wrong last time?” she said with a tender teasing that lodged somewhere down deep. “Because it certainly seemed right to me.”
“I could have taken more care with you, ma chérie.”
“I have no complaints.”
He led her into his bedchamber and closed the door before saying, “I aim for better than that.” Then he thrust her against the door and kissed her hard and long, until he felt her soften against him.
The Secret of Flirting Page 24