Page 21 of The Secret of Flirting
Her wrist burned where he’d sucked her skin. Though she knew her bracelet would cover the bruise—and her sleeves and gloves would do the same tomorrow—the thought of his having marked her deliberately, “somewhere more intimate, in a place where no one would see but me,” had her pulse beating wildly in that very spot. It was all she could do not to rub it.
“Forgive me for not having noticed your absence sooner,” Lady Ursula whispered to Monique. “I had no idea that his lordship had cornered you out here or I would have raced to your side.”
“It’s fine,” Monique murmured. “He was a perfect gentleman.”
The woman searched her face. “That’s good. His reputation is stellar when it comes to women, but you never know with these Englishmen. They seem to think all ladies from the Continent are free with their favors.”
“I can handle any fellows ofthatsort, I assure you. We saw plenty of them in the theater.”
“Oh yes. I keep forgetting you were an actress. You just... look so much like Aurore and behave so much like a princess that I think of you more as one of the family. And truly, you are, you know.”
Monique cast her a grateful smile. “Thank you. That’s reassuring. My grandmother never gave up hope that the family might one day take her back. She made me learn all the rules and protocols, everything. I thought it was silly, but it made her happy. And now I’m glad of it.”
Lady Ursula squeezed her hand. “Well, we appreciate what you are doing for the princess. Never think otherwise. I know the count can be overbearing, but he means well. And if Aurore could speak, I know she would tell you—”
Her voice grew so choked, she had to leave off to clear her throat. Then she pasted a smile to her lips. “Oh, look, there’s the duke just inside the doors. He’s a handsome fellow, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” But not half as handsome as a certain insolent lord.
No, she was not going to think of that man. With any luck, she’d avoid being alone with him in future, and this would all be over in a week or two.
She could only hope.
Gregory watched the two women disappear into the building but dared not follow right away. He was too aroused by his encounter with the “princess,” whom he was almost certain was Monique. Whose luscious mouth had left him hard as stone.
Well, at least he’d leftherwith something, too. He hadn’t really intended to “mark” her... until it occurred to him that such a mark could be useful. If her people tried to switch her off for the real princess in the next few days, he would know.
Right. That had been his only reason. It hadn’t had anything to do with the intoxicating idea of her secretly having a reminder of him. An intimate reminder of their very intimate embrace.
He hardened again. Bloody hell!
The markhadn’tbeen about that. It had been about being sure of who was who, in case the two women really did look that similar. Such a strong resemblance would explain why the Rochefort family had picked Mademoiselle Servais for this subterfuge—that and the lack of decent images of the real princess.
Still, he couldn’t fathom how the Rocheforts would have known of some obscure actress in Dieppe, no matter how accomplished she was. And even if they’d heard of her somehow, they couldn’t have been aware that Mademoiselle Servais would resemble Princess Aurore to such a marked degree.
Unless it was the resemblance that had set everything in motion. Someone who had seen the portrait as well as the actress could have remarked upon the resemblance to Beaumonde.
But that didn’t explain the reason for the masquerade in the first place. And Monique had told him nothing that would explain it, either, curse her. She hadn’t slipped up and revealed her true self once. It was enough to make him question his own eyes.
Perhaps he justwantedher to be the actress, so he’d feel free to pursue her as a mistress. Even a man with his political connections and wealth couldn’t marry a royal. The Princess of Chanay was under the same restriction as the English royals—she must marry another royal.
But he could take anactressas his mistress, if she agreed to it. Judging from their explosive kiss, she might. Actresses, after all, were experienced in such matters.
You need a wife, not a mistress. And she won’t exactly fall into your arms after you unmask her.
True. Even so, the possibility of taking Monique Servais to bed made him...
Hard. Again. Damn her. It had been years since a woman had aroused him so profoundly. Three years, to be precise. Generally he was too careful to allow himself such an indulgence, but she got under his skin. He wished he knew why.
A pity there was no one with whom he could confer about her real identity, to at least confirm his suspicions. Unfortunately, he was the only one who had met her outside this arena.
Wait a minute—Hart had met her, too. It might not hurt to have the man’s opinion to bolster his own. And if Hart agreed she was the actress, he could nose around the staff at the house where the Chanay contingent were staying to see if he could learn more.
The chap had turned into quite the useful investigator in the past three years. He’d be discreet and thorough.
Gregory would talk to Hart tonight at St. George’s. Hart had recently become a member, which had surprised some of the others, given the fellow’s reputation with women. St. George’s was supposed to be a place for pooling information to uncover rogues dangerous to members’ female relations—in Gregory’s case, it had been his sister-in-law—not a place for protecting such fellows. But Hart was an exception, given his connections to both Edwin and Warren.
Privately, though, Gregory suspected that Hart’s reputation might not be as scandalous as the gossips claimed. For all the man’s flirtations and talk of women, Gregory had never actually seen him in a brothel unless Hart was on a mission.
