The Secret of Flirting

by Sabrina Jeffries

  The group walked out together, and she and Gregory watched as their companions drove off in one coach. Then his carriage arrived and they climbed in. They had scarcely settled into their seats, and Monique had just registered that they were alone, before Gregory pulled her into his arms and gave her a long, heartfelt kiss that sent her pulse racing and her knees melting.

  As it dawned on her what he was doing, she pushed away. “You told my uncle we’d be suitably chaperoned!”

  “We will be . . . as soon as we fetch Flora from the park where she is indeed waiting in the carriage. Just not this one.” His eyes gleamed at her. “And if we happen to take an hour or so touring the park beforehand, who will know? Certainly, Flora won’t say anything. She works for me, after all.”

  When he reached for her again, she pressed her hand against his chest. “You said we had to behave above reproach until the official announcement of our betrothal!”

  “We do. And when we arrive at the reception, you will be perfectly presentable, with your maid following right behind you.” His voice lowered to a husky rasp. “But it’s been three days, mon amour. If I don’t have you to myself for at least an hour, I will die.”

  She eyed him askance. “A rather extravagant claim for a man who only last week couldn’t bring himself to say the words ‘I love you.’ ”

  He grinned. “People change.”

  “Forever?” she asked, wanting to be sure. “Once all the furor is over, there will still be people who remember I was once a ‘whore of an actress,’ who will refuse to invite us, who will—”

  “I don’t care.” Taking her hand, he stripped the glove from it with clear intent. “And I believe I told you never again to call yourself that.” He tongued her wrist, reminding her of the last time he’d done so.

  When a thrill shot through her, she caught her breath and had trouble remembering what she’d been saying. “O-other people may still . . . call me that.”

  “Not if they want to keep their teeth,” he said, nipping at her tender skin as if to emphasize the teeth part. “Because I will tolerate no insult to my wife.”

  “You might not be able to . . . to stop them. If it costs you your career—”

  “Enough.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “I am going to say this only once. Unless you don’t wish to marry me—and if that’s the case, please tell me immediately—we are getting married. Because I love you, now and always. And nothing short of an act of Parliament will prevent me from making you my wife. So there will be no more worrying about the future or my career. Understood, ma fiancée?”

  Fiancée. Oh, she did like the sound of that. And if he was mad enough to risk all to marry her, who was she to protest? “Whatever you say, mon coeur.”

  He arched one eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling that this will be the last time I ever hear those words again?”

  She blinked. “Mon coeur?”

  “No. ‘Whatever you say.’ ”

  “Oh, monsieur.” She reached up to untie his cravat. “I can think of quite a few things you might tell me where I would respond with that phrase.”

  Need flared in his face. “Ah. Things like ‘Take off your stockings, my love.’ ‘Lift your skirts, my love.’ ” He bent to whisper in her ear, “ ‘Come to bed, my love.’ ”

  “Whatever you say, mon coeur.” She lifted her skirts enough to unfasten her garters. “Whatever you say, mon coeur. And . . . I see no bed here, mon coeur.”

  A chuckle escaped him. “I knew it. You could never be entirely biddable.”

  She smirked at him. “If you wanted ‘biddable,’ sir, you would have married long before now.”

  He laughed outright. “True. Then I suppose I must put this in terms you will accept. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, mon amour?”

  “Whatever you say, mon coeur.” Then, pulling his head down to hers, she showed him precisely how biddable she could be for the man she loved.

  Epilogue

  January 1831

  In the ballroom of Canterbury Court, Gregory drank punch and watched his new wife dance with her great-uncle, who, true to his word, had been on an extended visit to England for the past two months. Rumors were already swirling that an offer of marriage from him to Gregory’s mother was imminent. That made Gregory scowl.

  “It’s only been three hours since the wedding. Surely you are not already regretting the marriage,” Hart said as he approached.

  “Hardly. The only part I regret is having to call Beaumonde my relation.”

  “Twice over, if I’m to believe the rumors.”

  Gregory’s scowl deepened. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “You do realize that your mother has a right to be happy, too.”

  He sighed. “I just worry that Beaumonde isn’t the sort to make her happy.”

  “No one can decide that for someone else.” Hart nudged him. “Though, honestly, you landed in clover, old fellow, getting to have Monique Servais as a wife.”

  Gregory’s scowl vanished. “Don’t I know it. No man was ever so lucky.”

  “You got an actress and a princess all in one. Who could ask for more?”

  “Well, I doubt the princess part will ever come to fruition, with Princess Aurore still young and healthy.” He shot Hart a sly glance. “Though a royal title could come to pass for our child.”

  Hart stared hard at him. “My God, don’t tell me that you two are expecting.”

  With a smug smile, Gregory lifted his glass. “Keep this under your hat, but why do you think we married so quickly?”

  “Quickly! You courted her for two months! And that was after you had clearly secured her affections.”

  “The plan was to court her for six.” He grinned at Hart. “Not that I’m complaining. You have no idea how hard it is to court a woman respectably when all you want to do is marry her.”

  “I have no idea, indeed,” Hart said, “since I have never wanted to marry. Or at least not in a very long time.” Just as Gregory was going to press him further on that, Hart released a heavy sigh. “And now I owe damned Jeremy a hundred pounds.”

  “What for?” Gregory asked.

  “He said that you were marrying to cover up the fact that you’d got Monique with child. Idiot that I am, I insisted that you would never be so reckless as to allow such a thing to happen, if you know what I mean.”

  Gregory chuckled. “I do, actually.” The dance had ended, and his wife was heading toward him. His heart sped up, as it always did at the prospect of spending time with her. “But when I see something I want, I don’t stop to think about consequences. It’s my one failing.”

  “Huh. Better you than me. When it comes to women, I always think about consequences.”

  “You do now. That may change.”

  Hart frowned. “Unlikely.”

  Monique had reached them. “Lord Hartley! It’s so good to see you. Where have you been the past two months?”

  “Nowhere he can tell you, my sweet,” Gregory said as he drew her to him. “You know how that is.”

  “Ah. More schemes, I see.” She cast Hart a fond glance. “Well, good luck to you, sir. I assume you’ll need it, to follow any instructions my husband would give you.”

  “What I need is to stop betting against married men,” he grumbled, and walked off.

  She eyed Gregory quizzically. “What is he talking about?”

  “No idea.” Somehow he doubted that she would enjoy hearing about Hart and Jeremy making bets on her virtue. “So, how is the count?”

  A snort escaped her. “Grumpy as usual. At present your mother refuses to consider the idea of marriage.”

  Thank God. “Well, he can’t blame me. I said not one word against it. And at least he fulfilled his end of our bargain, too.”

  “He did, indeed. I was rather surprised that matters turned out so well. The papers have portrayed us most romantically, thanks to your grand play at the assembly hall.”

  “Surely you didn’t think my p
lan would fail,” he said smugly. “By this time next year, the actress Monique will be forgotten and the Princess Monique will be firmly entrenched in the public’s mind.”

  “And you will be foreign secretary. Or so say the rumors.”

  More and more, it looked as if he would. His machinations at the vote had impressed many in the new government. He could only pray no one ever found out what a near thing it had been.

  “So why is Mother balking at accepting the count’s offer?” he asked, now curious.

  “I take it she’s had too many overbearing men in her life.”

  “I do hope you’re not including me in that number.”

  She feigned a look of shock. “You? Overbearing? Never!”

  “Watch it, mon amour,” he teased. “As of tonight, you will be permanently in my bed, and I might have a mind to show you exactly what overbearing is.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I can’t wait.”

  His cock twitched, and he lowered his voice. “Neither can I.”

  Then they were surrounded by his fellow members of St. George’s. And their wives.

  “So the bachelor has finally fallen,” Warren announced. “I never thought to see the day when a master conniver like Fulkham married for love.” He paused. “You did marry for love, old chap, didn’t you?”

  “Of course he did,” his wife, Delia, put in. “I knew he was in trouble the first time I saw him gazing with such . . . enthusiasm . . . at Princess Aurore.” She shot the newlyweds a sheepish smile. “I mean Monique. Forgive me, I keep forgetting. And I’m so very happy for you both.”

  With his wife, Yvette, hanging on his arm, Jeremy Keane moved into the fore. “I’m still not entirely sure that the marriage isn’t one of Fulkham’s schemes.” He eyed Gregory. “I’ll believe it’s a real marriage when I see their first child.”

  “Jeremy!” Lady Yvette chided.

  “What? Don’t tell me you didn’t think the same.”

  “I did not!”

  If Gregory hadn’t already heard about Jeremy’s bet with Hart, he might have taken offense, but he could tell the man was fishing for information. “You’ll see my first child, Keane, only when you agree to paint his portrait.”

  “Or her portrait,” Monique said with a sniff. “You never know.”

  Brilliana rubbed her belly before she caught herself and dropped her hand. “No, you never do,” she said brightly. Her husband, Niall, took her hand with a secretive smile.

  Gregory’s eyes narrowed on the couple. It seemed that he and Monique were not the only ones who had jumped the gun, so to speak. And since Niall and Brilliana had been married scarcely a month, the two babies might very well be born close together. That ought to make Monique happy, since she and Brilliana had already become fast friends.

  Niall’s sister, Clarissa, gazed up at her husband, Edwin. “Mama was certain I was having a girl after some fortune-teller told her that I would, wasn’t she?”

  Edwin rolled his eyes. “A fortune-teller who can’t predict the future. What a shock.” He patted Clarissa’s hand affectionately. “When your mother told us that, I knew it would be a boy. You could set a clock by the inerrancy of her fortune-teller’s predictions.”

  “Well, it’s a little early yet for us to be talking about children,” Gregory said blithely. Not for the world would he have Monique embarrassed, as she was liable to be if people found out she’d conceived on the wrong side of the blanket.

  “Is it?” Jeremy said with a suspicious gaze.

  “You are incorrigible!” his wife cried. “Stop teasing Fulkham or he’ll wonder why he puts up with us.”

  “He puts up with us because we’re jolly good fun,” Warren replied.

  “You are, indeed,” Gregory said, and raised his glass of punch.

  The others raised their glasses and made a toast to the happy couple.

  When they were done, Clarissa sighed and glanced around at her friends. “Well, ladies, now that Lord Fulkham gained himself a wife all on his own, we need a new bachelor to help.”

  Hart had the misfortune to walk up just in time to overhear his cousin’s remark. When all the ladies turned their gazes on him, he held up his hands. “No. No, no, no. Not me. Set your sights elsewhere, ladies.”

  Gregory laughed. “You’d better run, then, Hart. Otherwise . . .”

  That was all the warning Hart needed to make a quick about-face and head in the opposite direction. The gentlemen laughed.

  “With these ladies nipping at his heels, he’s as good as married already,” Jeremy said.

  “His goose is cooked,” Niall said in agreement.

  “Might as well put the shackles on his legs himself,” Warren said.

  His wife eyed him askance. “You don’t consider yourself shackled, do you?”

  Warren blinked. “No, not me. Certainly not.” He glanced toward the orchestra in a panic. “They’re starting up a waltz. Shall we, my dear?”

  That seemed to mollify Delia, for she let him lead her away. The others drifted off, too, obviously drawn by the chance to dance entirely alone with their spouses instead of in the usual country dances.

  Only Gregory and Monique remained. She leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I like your friends.”

  Friends. He actually had real friends, who came around not because they needed his help in some scheme, but because they liked him. How gratifying.

  He finished his punch and set the glass on a nearby tray. “I think they’re all quite mad.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “But a little madness never hurt anyone.” Then she sobered, and her gaze went to where her grandmother was now dancing with the count.

  Gregory took her hand. “Your grandmother seems to be settling in here very well. My mother is growing quite fond of her.”

  A frown crossed Monique’s brow. “I still wonder sometimes if she would be happier in Chanay.”

  “Without you there? I doubt it.” He squeezed her hand. “But if you wish, we could take her there. Now that Danworth’s trial is over and he’s been sentenced to hang for conspiracy to commit murder, I daresay I could get away for a few weeks. And I’m sure Princess Aurore and Lady Ursula would be delighted to have you for a visit.”

  “I would love to see them, too.” She gazed up at him. “You wouldn’t mind going? To be honest, I don’t know how much longer Grand-maman has. Lately she’s been talking about Grandpapa as if he is right there with her.”

  A lump stuck in his throat. “Perhaps he is. When you love someone, being apart is the worst punishment of all. I know that if I were here and you had gone on to the great beyond, I would pray to see your ghost every day, even if it meant I was insane.”

  Her eyes filled with a love that swelled his own heart. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Then she broke into a teasing smile. “Although this talk of ghosts makes me wonder if you haven’t been reading a bit too much of Hamlet lately.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You do realize it’s the greatest play ever written by Shakespeare.”

  She laughed. “Forgive me, sir, but the greatest play ever written by Shakespeare is Much Ado about Nothing. And to quote his finest male character, Benedick, who can be almost as somber a fellow as you at times, ‘Come, come, we are friends: Let’s have a dance now we are married, that we may lighten our own hearts and our wives’ heels.’ ”

  “Wait a minute, I thought the line was, ‘Let’s have a dance ere we are married.’ ”

  Striking her bosom in mock surprise, she said, “Why, Lord Fulkham, you have read a comedy or two.”

  He smirked at her as he quoted, “ ‘Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no fibs.’ ”

  It was rather satisfying to watch her jaw drop. “You said you’d never seen or read She Stoops to Conquer!”

  “Three years ago, no. But after a certain female handed me my pride on a platter, I thought it might be prudent to give it a go.” He bent to whisper, “Just in case I ever happened to see her again.”


  “And you waited until now to tell me this astonishing tidbit?” she cried.

  “The secret of flirting, my dear, is never to let on how much you like someone until you’ve secured them. Everyone knows that.”

  Then, while she was laughing, he led her to the floor.

  Author’s Note

  The British politics in the book is relatively accurate, although some of the characters are invented (of course, since this is a fictional romance). Also, Guy Fawkes Day had become problematic at this time because it was celebrated so enthusiastically. I figured that made it safe to use in my book.

  The London Conference of 1830 did exist and did come on the heels of the fight for Belgium’s independence, although I fudged the dates by a few weeks to make it fit with Guy Fawkes Day and I telescoped the action. Most of the real events in the book took place over a span of months (not the conference itself, but the completion of the negotiations). But since I could find no information on what social gatherings were connected with the London Conference, I made some up.

  Also, while the delegates did decide who was going to be ruler of Belgium (and it did end up being Prince Leopold), there was no big vote and no structured group of delegates versus candidates. As far as I know, the candidates were never involved in the actual conference.

  Prince Leopold, however, was second choice. First choice was a French prince, the Duke of Nemours, who turned it down because his father, King Louis-Philippe of France, saw what a political minefield it would be and cautioned against it. No woman was ever considered as a candidate. But the princes and princesses of Chanay were based in history, on the princes and princesses of Chimay, an actual Belgian principality. While none of them were candidates, the princely line stretches from 1486 until today and did include both male and female heirs, so I figured they could have been considered. Why not?

  And after reading about the line of Chimay, I thought, What if one of the princesses ran away with an actor and became exiled from the family? That and the events surrounding Belgium’s independence were the basis for my story.