Page 26 of The Secret of Flirting
“It’s not so much that he has an interest in Belgium, as it is that he wanted me to clarify a rumor concerning the princess and... er... Prince Leopold. Since Lady Ursula, like the princess, is from Hanover, I thought she could confirm or disprove the rumor.”
Prince Leopold? Early on, he’d been England’s top choice for ruler of Belgium. He’d been married to Princess Charlotte, heir apparent to the British throne, until she’d died in childbirth. The Belgians had liked him for the position. And since he wasn’t French or Dutch, neither of those parties ought to have complained.
But the French had, of course. They were still eager to have one of their own princes put in place if they could get the other countries to agree. Barring that, they wanted the Princess of Chanay, since she spoke French and came from a French line.
“What’s the rumor?” Gregory demanded. This could be important in the scheme of things.
Danworth scrubbed a hand over his face. “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else. Since Prince Leopold is out of town, I haven’t been able to confirm it with him. So it may be nothing.”
“What’s the rumor?” Gregory repeated, growing annoyed. If anyone should know this, it was him. He was in charge of this damned business, after all.
“There’s talk—still just talk, mind you—that Prince Leopold has made an offer of marriage to Princess Aurore. If it’s true—”
“It affects everything,” Gregory said. “Yes, it certainly does.” A union between Prince Leopold and Princess Aurore would all but ensure that one of the two would be chosen as ruler of Belgium. “When did this rumor surface? Before the process to confirm Belgium’s independence began? Or after?”
“I... I’m not sure. I just know whenIheard it. And that was recently.”
Recently. So perhaps it had begun after Monique’s masquerade, which meant the two things might be connected. Then again, as Monique had said, even the great Count de Beaumonde could hardly switch out one bride for another without comment.
“Was this offer made by the prince in person?” Gregory asked. “I was told that Princess Aurore rarely met with people outside of Chanay circles.”
That seemed to give Danworth pause. “Therumoris that it was all done by correspondence, but I cannot imagine the prince’s not at least attempting to see the woman. Still, as I said, I’m merely trying to clarify the rumor. It may be arrant nonsense.”
“What did Lady Ursula say?”
Danworth snorted. “She wouldn’t confirmordeny it, no matter how much I pressed her. She just kept changing the subject.”
“Which means there must be something to the rumor, or she would have denied it outright.”
“Or she’s hoping for such a union even if it hasn’t been brokered. Honestly, I wouldn’t take it too seriously. You know how easily this sort of gossip spreads.”
Gregory did, indeed. That was why he proceeded with caution when it came to women. Because any tales swirling around town about a man offering for the wrong woman could have disastrous consequences.
You didn’t proceed cautiously with Monique. You kissed her most unwisely.
He grimaced. Clearly she was the exception to his rule. And it was starting to grate on him that every time he saw her, he let her be the exception. That simply wouldn’t do. He’d worked too hard and long for his position—and the one he hoped to have someday—to allow his fascination with an impostor to overtake his good sense. If anyone found out who she was and that he’d known all along...
Damn it, that mustn’t happen. So he’d better get to the bottom of this masquerade before someone like Danworth discovered it by accident and reported on it to the prime minister. Because then there would be hell to pay. And any possibility of his becoming foreign secretary would be over.
But attacking her with the truth hadn’t worked. She’d merely laughed and flirted her way around his every remark. Even his kisses. So he needed another tack. Put her at her ease, make her think he’d given up while he waited for the evidence he hoped Hart might turn up.
Then, and only then, would he pounce.
Six
The evening after the royal dinner, Monique was standing with Lady Ursula in an English lord’s ballroom when she felt the hairs stand on the back of her neck. She didn’t even have to turn and look to see why. Sheknew.
It was Lord Fulkham. He had come... forher. To catchher. To baither.
Last night, he’d watched her the entire time she’d been dancing, and tonight he had clearly decided to repeat the experience. Or to try to get her alone again. Which she didn’t dare allow.
Only one person could help prevent that—Lady Ursula. The lady-in-waiting had been looking out for her, keeping her away from the man she most wanted to avoid.
She pulled Lady Ursula aside. “He’s here.”
“Who?” The woman scanned the ballroom. “Do you mean the duke?”
“No, of course not!” Monique cast a furtive glance over to where Lord Fulkham stood talking to a delegate from the Dutch contingent. “That cursed undersecretary. You have to keep him away from me as you did last night.”
