Page 2 of The Secret of Flirting
“No. But then, there’s little reason for that. The soldiers are posted there to keep slave ships from operating. Not much political intrigue.”
A sigh escaped Hart. Apparently, he’d been banking on the alternative source of income he’d hoped to get from spying. As a second son to a marquess, Hart probably found that his allowance and army pay didn’t go quite far enough to support such lordly entertainments as gambling and wenching.
Bloody hell. Undoubtedly Gregory would regret this, but the manwasJohn’s friend, after all. “I tell you what,” he said. “I’m planning on attendingLe mariage de Figaroat the new theater after this. Why don’t we go together? Afterward, I’ll ask you questions and see how much you noticed. If you answer to my satisfaction, I’ll consider you the next time you’re in a position to help me.”
It never hurt to have more spies. If Hart was as observant as John claimed he was sharp-witted, the man might prove useful one day.
Hart brightened. “Excellent! I’m told that Mademoiselle Servais is in tonight’s performance, so you’ll be glad you went. I swear she’s as good as Mrs. Siddons ever was.”
“I somehow doubt that. I had the privilege of seeing Sarah Siddons in her last role on the stage. Very impressive. And I’d be shocked if a theater in a town the size of Dieppe has an actress of any great ability in its employ.”
The sudden twinkle in Hart’s eye gave him pause. “Then prepare to be shocked, old man.”
The theater in Dieppe had two rows of boxes. Thanks to his position, Gregory had been offered the finest one for his own use on this visit, a fact that overjoyed Hart. Gregory had to admit that the small but new venue had a certain charm, as did the performance. He’d always preferred the original play by Beaumarchais to the opera by Mozart.
As for Mademoiselle Monique Servais, Gregory had to stifle his irritation at discovering how magnificent she really was. He hated being proved wrong.
Well, notwrong, exactly. A comedic role like that of Suzanne lacked the gravitas of any of Mrs. Siddons’s great dramatic personae, so comparisons between them would be apples versus oranges. But still...
“What did I tell you?” Hart said as the music came up for the interlude. “She’s astounding.”
Gregory disliked exaggeration. “If by ‘astounding’ you mean that she’s a particularly pretty French chit with a superior speaking voice and an unaffected manner that enhances her credibility as Suzanne, you’d be right. But other than that—”
“Other than that, what? Admit it, man. She has the curves of Aphrodite, the face of Helen of Troy, the voice of... of—”
“A siren? As long as you’re making comparisons with mythical beings, you might as well throw that one in. And you speak only of her physical attributes.”
Whichwereuncommonly attractive. Despite wearing a massive powdered wig, she managed to walk with a sensual grace that made him wonder what she looked like beneath that ridiculous costume from his grandmother’s era.
Then again, even Frenchwomen with modest features had a talent for projecting beauty to the world. And Mademoiselle Servais’s features, as best he could tell from this distance, weren’t remotely modest. What’s more, her voice was melodic without being singsong, and she enunciated every word of dialogue. She captivated the audience—and him—each time she stepped onstage.
“You’re just a sore loser,” Hart said in a moment of keen perception. “Tell the truth—she’s better than you imagined.”
“I will concede that. But then, my expectations were low.” When Hart scowled, he added, “And you’re supposed to be paying attention to more than just the actress, remember? This is a test, after all.”
“Right.” Hart crossed his arms over his chest. “Ask me anything.”
“What was the name of the porter who took our tickets?”
“Mr. Duval,” Hart said readily enough.
Not bad. No one generally noticed such people. “His given name?”
Hart thrust out his chin. “He didn’t say.”
“Actually, someone else did when they greeted him, but you may not have heard.” Gregory settled back in his seat. “Describe him, starting with his hair and ending with his shoes.” When Hart did a creditable job of that, Gregory nodded. “Now tell me what you think his life at home is like.”
That seemed to startle Hart. “His life at home?”
“One can tell a great deal about a man’s circumstances from how he behaves, dresses, speaks. But for now, just give me your impressions.”
Before Hart could begin, a knock came at the door to the box. When Gregory bade the person enter, it was none other than the porter himself. “Is everything to your satisfaction this evening, gentlemen?” Duval asked in French.
“It is, thank you,” Gregory said dismissively.
Then Hart chimed in, obviously trying to keep the man there longer so he could better answer Gregory’s question. “Could you arrange for us to meet Mademoiselle Servais after the play?”
As Gregory stifled a groan, the porter’s face clouded. “I’m afraid not, sir. She usually hurries home.”
