Page 22 of The Secret of Flirting
Thoughts of suspicions and missions banished Gregory’s arousal, so he headed inside. To his surprise, he found Lady Ursula awaiting him.
She curtsied. “My lord, it appears that you are taking me in to dinner.”
Ah, of course. He wasn’t of sufficient rank for the princess, but he certainly was for one of her ladies.
“I would be honored,” he told her, offering his arm. This could be a good opportunity. Perhapsshewouldn’t be as tight-lipped about the masquerade as the impostor herself.
When he caught sight of Monique disappearing through the doors with the Duc de Pontalba, he tensed. The French duke was too good-looking by half, with his carefully coiffed blond hair and his surprisingly fit physique. Not to mention that the broad-shouldered fellow was possessed of a smooth tongue—the sort of chap one did not want to see nosing around one’s sister.
Or one’s mistress.
He grimaced.She’s not your mistress, you fool, and not likely to be, either—especially if you don’t keep your head in the game. Pay attention.
Lady Ursula leaned close. “They say that the duke is looking for a wife. It would be an eligible match, you know, a way of pacifying him when the French prince he’s championing loses his bid for ruler of Belgium.”
She was correct. As a high-ranking French noble, the Duc de Pontalba was one of the delegates in charge of choosing the ruler. But the Dutch would protest any French candidate. They wanted a buffer between their country and France, not a puppet ruler who would always side with their enemy.
“What makes you think his fellow will lose his bid?” Gregory asked the young lady. He judged her to be older than Monique by a few years, but she still had a fresh countenance and a wealth of flaxen hair. Any other man would find her quite beautiful.
He did not. She was slender, with the body of a gazelle, not his sort at all. She didn’t smell of lilies and apples, or have a prominent chin and sparkling emerald-green eyes. Nor did she have full breasts that would make a grown man weep.
Lady Ursula blinked up at him. “I assumed that Princess Aurore is considered first choice. Is that not true?”
“Nothing is certain yet, so the duke’s prince has as good a chance as anyone.” That was laying it on a bit thick, but he wanted to gauge her reaction. Would she champion the impostor? Or try to undermine her?
She sniffed. “A Frenchman cannot rule Belgium. The people would revolt. They don’t like the French.”
“True.”
They entered the dining room, and he looked for Monique. She was near King William, of course, with the duke on her other side and already watching her like a man waiting to pluck the best rose on the bush.
The hell he would.
“She is not for you,” Lady Ursula said in an undertone.
Had he beenthattransparent? Devil take it. “Of course not. I wouldn’t presume. I’m merely trying to determine how a possible alliance between them could alter the negotiations.”
Liar.
Her face cleared. “Oh, of course. I never think of such things. I’m not very political.” She ventured a smile. “I am more concerned that Aurore not be taken advantage of.”
“Surely her years of preparation as a princess would make her able to head that off on her own.” He watched Lady Ursula’s face, but she betrayed nothing.
“Perhaps.” She grew pensive. “Still, young women can be blind where an attractive man is concerned, especially those who have not been out in the world much.”
Clearly the lady was part of the subterfuge, trying to smooth Monique’s way in her role as the princess. Yet Lady Ursula didn’t seem the sort to support such a masquerade. What the devil was going on?
He would have probed her for more information, but they were being seated now. And the next time he had a chance to speak to her, she was engrossed in a conversation with the man seated to her left.
Gregory leaned forward to see who it was. Ah, James Danworth, private secretary to the prime minister. No doubt he’d been invited because the prime minister was in the north at present. And now the fellow was either picking Lady Ursula’s brain about the princess in order to report back to his employer, or he’d noticed the woman’s attractions and was trying to court her himself.
Danworthwasan ambitious sort. But somehow Gregory couldn’t see him marrying an obscure German lady to further his ambitions. He’d be better off marrying an English heiress.
Gregory couldn’t make out what they were saying over the din of the banqueting room, but fortunately, Danworth wasalsoa member of St. George’s. So questioning him about the princess some other time should be easy enough.
Whatever the two were discussing was so engrossing that Lady Ursula never turned Gregory’s way again, leaving him to spend the entire meal attempting conversation with the elderly countess on his right, who was famous for her reticence. By the time the main course arrived, he’d given up on trying to engage her and had turned to observing the princess’s behavior.
Odd how she never made a slip, never used the wrong fork, never seemed ill at ease in such a setting. Some of it he could attribute to her ability as an actress. But the rest? Someone would have had to train her for months for this. He itched to know why they would go to so much trouble.
