Page 13 of The Secret of Flirting
“That explains why you were invited, but it doesn’t explain why you came. You always profess to find these affairs dull.”
“Oh, but his wifeadoresthem,” Lady Yvette said brightly as she came up to kiss Gregory on the cheek. “So he puts up with them for my sake.”
Jeremy chuckled. “I put up with them because of the reward I know I’ll get for it later.”
Lady Yvette blushed. They’d already been married a year, yet they acted like newlyweds. It was enough to make a bachelor want to slit his wrists.
And when Warren, the Marquess of Knightford, walked up with his wife, Delia, in tow, Gregory prepared himself for more of the same. But Delia was more interested in sharing gossip than in flirting with her new husband.
“You’ll never guess who we just saw in Ambassadors’ Court,” Delia said, her eyes bright with excitement. “The Princess de Chanay. And she’s much more beautiful in person than in that awful copy of her portrait they printed in theLady’s Monthly Museum. I don’t know who they get to paint these things, but my sister-in-law could do far better.”
Warren smirked at her. “In your opinion, Brilliana could do anything far better. Admit it. You’re biased.”
Brilliana was Niall’s fiancée. Now that he’d been pardoned and had returned to London, he’d wasted no time in getting himself engaged... to Delia’s widowed sister-in-law, of all people. So those two couples were quite cozily interconnected, since Niall was Warren’s cousin.
Sometimes Gregory felt left out. Which was absurd. Spymasters couldn’t afford the luxury of bosom friends. Too many secrets to keep. Indeed, he kept nearly all oftheirsecrets, too, and not always by choice.
“Ahem,” Jeremy said loftily. “While I don’t deny that Brilliana does excellent work,Iam, after all, the famous—”
“Artist,” Delia and Yvette said in unison. Then they both laughed.
“Weknow, you old bastard,” Warren said. “You remind us often enough.”
“Well,” Jeremy said, eyes gleaming, “at least I do something useful with my time. Allyoudo is go to parties with Delia.”
“Since when is art useful?” Warren drawled.
“Good God,” Gregory snapped, “would you two shut up? I want to hear about this princess, and I honestly don’t give a damn about who would paint her portrait best.” He turned to Delia. “Were you able to speak with the woman? I haven’t met her yet.”
“That surprises me,” Warren said. “I thought you had taken over for the foreign secretary since he’s laid up with the gout. Isn’t she part of the Chanay delegation to the conference?”
“She is, but—”
“Honestly, Warren,” Jeremy interrupted, “doesn’t your wife keep you busy enough not to have to dabble in politics?”
Delia rolled her eyes. “He reads three newspapers a day from front to back. You might say politics is his hobby.”
“I thought brothels were his hobby,” Yvette said cheerily. “Isn’t he the one who gave that awful naughty watch to Niall?”
“Which I got fromyourbrother,” Warren pointed out genially.
“And which Brilliana hates,” Delia put in. “But not for the naughty activity it portrays, oh no. She disapproves of the quality of the art.”
Yvette laughed. “Of course she does. She has good taste. Which apparently our husbands do not.”
“Except in women,” Jeremy said with a wink.
“Hear, hear!” Warren said, and raised his glass of champagne.
God, this lot was cloying. And decidedly uninformative. “So, Delia, the Princess de Chanay...”
“Oh, I didn’t get to speak to her. That great-uncle of hers hovers about her every minute. And I gather he only allows people of political importance to come near.”
“People likeyou,” Warren said. “Aren’t you one of the people involved in making sure the delegates don’t kill each other while trying to decide the fate of Belgium?” He gestured at Gregory with his glass and spilled some of his champagne on Delia in the process.
“Warren!” she cried. “This gown is brand-new!”
“Sorry, love,” he said, not looking remotely repentant, though he did give her his handkerchief. “I’m a bit foxed.”
