Page 51 of The Secret of Flirting
They skirted a patch of calla lilies as she said, “If you told me more, I might be willing to tellyoumore.”
That started an uneasy roiling in his gut. “Spilling one’s secrets is dangerous for a man like me, Princess.”
“I’m not asking for your secrets. Just something to help me understand you. What has caused an ambition so powerful that it makes you spend all your time in the city, when you could live a life of ease here amid all this glorious green?”
“For a woman who spends her time in theaters far from the countryside,” he snapped, “you have an astonishing affinity for green.”
Blanching, she halted in her tracks. “I’m sorry. I thought you would take my request seriously. It appears I was wrong.”
The hurt in her voice surprised him. And when she turned on her heel as if to go, he said in a low voice, “Princess, please.”
That made her pause.
A frustrated breath rushed from his lips. “Fine,” he bit out. God, he would surely regret this in the end, but he couldn’t have her running from him. Not anymore. “What do you wish to know?”
Twelve
Monique was certain that delving into the mystery that was Gregory Vyse was a mistake. He wiggled more under her skin with every view she got of his real life, the one he led beyond his ambition.
But she couldn’t stop prying. Perhaps it was the actress in her, wanting to figure out what made him behave as he did. All she knew was that he fascinated her, which men rarely did.
“I already told you what I want to know,” she said baldly. “Why do you spend all your time in London when you could be here?”
Muttering a curse, he headed down a graveled walk. She followed his aimless ambling.
After a while, he spoke. “Let’s just say that this place holds bad memories for me.”
“Of what?”
“Not what—who. My late father.” He remained silent a long time. “My parents didn’t exactly get along. My father was a mean drunk, and my mother generally got the brunt of his temper. So there were lots of arguments.”
“Oh.” She wanted to ask if those arguments had grown physical, but she’d said she wasn’t asking for secrets, and he might consider that one. Still, she would love to know. “How... er... bad were the arguments?”
“Bad.” His jaw seemed carved out of granite. “So bad that they used to wake my little brother, even though he slept in the nursery a floor away.”
Thatstartled her. “You have a brother?”
He winced. Clearly, he hadn’t meant to reveal that. “Hada brother. He’s dead now. I learned of his passing the night I met you, after the play.”
She tensed. Curse him—he couldn’t even tell her one important thing about himself without trying to provoke her into revealing the truth about the masquerade.
Then she realized he hadn’t even registered what he’d said, because he went on without so much as looking at her. “He died doing something for me.” His voice turned bitter. “In the service of what you call ‘my ambition.’ ”
The pain in his words cut through her. She laid her hand on his arm as they walked. “I’m sure that’s not what you intended.”
Pulling free of her, he raked his fingers through his hair. “Of course not. Yet the result is the same—John is dead and it’s my fault.” He scanned the woods they were passing. “And every inch of this place is haunted by him. Himandmy father. One good ghost, one bad ghost—though it hardly matters. They’re still ghosts.” His tone grew acid. “They rather spoil my enjoyment of all the ‘green.’ ”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I did not mean to call forth your ghosts. And now that I see what a sacrifice you were making by offering your home to us and being forced to come here, I’m sorry for that, too.”
“Don’t be.” He dragged in a long breath, then faced her with a half smile. “Believe it or not, your being here makes it less... ghostly.” Before she could even take pleasure in that, his smile faded and he said in a hard voice, “And now it’syourturn to answer a question.”
Oh, Lord. Knowing what the question would be, she went on the defensive. “First, you promised me another knot garden. I have yet to see it.”
That smirk of his returned. He could tell she was stalling, but he merely swept his hand forward. “It’s right there.”
She gazed beyond him to a large clearing with an octagonal-shaped brick pavilion at the end. Walking past him, she surveyed the ground, then gaped at the design marked in powdered chalk. “And here I thought you were making it up just to get me alone.”
“Unlike a certain female I know, I don’t generally make up things when the truth will suffice.”
