Page 23 of The Secret of Flirting
Therewasone point in the evening when the syllabub was served and she regarded it with a slight frown, her fingers toying with a dessert spoon as she looked over at Lady Ursula. How intriguing.
Lady Ursula picked up her syllabub and sipped from the glass. With a hint of relief on her face, Monique did the same. It was the only time he caught her trying to get direction from someone else on how to behave.
Though she still didn’t succeed in drinking it without getting a charming line of the thick cream along her top lip. When she licked it off, she caught him staring at her, and a soft pink spread over her cheeks. It fired his blood, sent him right back to that moment in the garden when she’d kissed him with all the impudence of a courtesan. He held her gaze in a duel of wills that only ended when Pontalba leaned over to whisper something to her that made her stiffen.
Gregory had to fight the urge to leap over the table and throttle the man. Which was ludicrous. She was an impostor!
Yet something about her roused every protective instinct in his soul.
That shook him. God, it was going to be a very long night.
Five
St. George’s was too crowded for Gregory’s taste this evening. It probably didn’t help that he was in a foul mood, having endured hours of watching Monique captivate everyone with whom she came in contact. Apparently, he was the only person in England who rubbed her wrong.
But he was also the only person in England who knew what it felt like to kiss her. That did soothe his damaged pride a bit.
He found Hart in the card room, finishing up a game of vingt-un with Niall, Warren, and Jeremy.
“I see I’m not the only one who abandoned the palace festivities early in the evening,” Gregory said as he took a seat.
Despite his attempts to get near Monique after dinner, he’d been blocked by one person after another. Her dance card had been full of dignitaries, and she’d danced until the count had whisked her away.
After that, Gregory had seen no point in staying, especially since Danworth had left already. What a pity. Gregory was still trying to figure out what the man’s interest in the princess might be. He intended to find out tonight, assuming that Danworth showed up here, which was a good bet.
Warren rose from the table. “We’re not staying. My brother has the devil’s own luck tonight.”
“You play him at your peril, Fulkham,” Niall added as he shoved his money toward Hart.
“Bunch of cowards,” Hart complained. “They always run when the going gets tough.”
“It has nothing to do with that,” Jeremy said with a sly wink. “And everything to do with the fact that our wives are waiting for us. Eh, lads?”
Warren grinned. “Mine certainly is.”
“I doubt that,” Hart retorted. “They probably don’t even realize you’re gone. When I left your house, Warren, they were already in the midst of a hen party fit to make a bachelor’s ears bleed. No doubt they’re still at it. Why do you think I fled in search of more entertaining company?”
Niall snorted. “Scared of a bunch of women. Who’s the coward now?”
Hart cast him a black look. “I can’t even flirt with them. You lot are liable to shoot me if I do.”
The three men laughed.
“Flirt all you like,” Warren said lightly. “Delia can take care of herself—she knows just how to skewer you with her sharp tongue, and she rather enjoys doing so. Not to mention that I enjoy watching it. And I promise none of the rest would look twice at you, except to tease you.”
“Or marry him off,” Jeremy said. “That’s the real reason he avoids them. They’ve got a list of prospective wives for him that would make his ballocks curl up and die.”
Hart rolled his eyes heavenward. “You see what I’m up against, Fulkham? Watch out—the hens have got a list for you, too. I’ve heard them discussing it.”
“So have I,” Gregory said dryly. “Fortunately, I’ve been fending off matchmakers for years now, so I’ve got the knack of it. You merely tell the lady doing the matchmaking that no one could ever live up to her charms, and while she’s preening over the compliment, you beat a hasty retreat.”
Warren, Niall, and Jeremy laughed. Hart did not. He was still nursing a grudge at the others for quitting the game so early in the evening.
“And on that note, gentlemen,” Warren said, “we’re off to fetch our matchmaking wives home. Hart, don’t beat Fulkham too badly. Leave him with his dignity at least.”
Then the gentlemen were gone. Now it was just Gregory and Hart. Perfect.
Gregory took a seat opposite Hart. “Deal me in.”
