Page 36 of The Secret of Flirting
“Only by sheer luck and her assailant’s bad aim.” His lordship grabbed her sleeve again to display the holes. “Someone shot at her.”
The blood drained from her great-uncle’s face. “Surely not!”
Lord Fulkham took her arm to compel her forward. “We should go inside now, sir. I won’t chance her being in the villain’s sights again.”
With a shaky nod, the count led the way.
Lord Fulkham didn’t release her until they were in the drawing room. As she removed her hat with shaky hands and set it on the marble-topped console table, he strode up to her great-uncle. “The princess was fired upon. We cannot let this stand.”
The count drew himself up as only an old royal could. “Of course not.Ifshe truly was being fired upon. How can we be sure it’s not merely the result of your country’s lax rules about violence among the lower classes? Perhaps there were people in the park using their guns recklessly—or worse, criminals seeking to intimidate you so they could rob you. Or rob someone else. The shooting might have nothing to do with the princess at all. Your countrymen may merely be behaving wildly. Guy Fawkes Day is in two days, is it not?”
His words gave her pause until she reminded herself that she’d seen none of the “lower classes” in the park. Perhaps Count de Beaumonde was simply unaware of what sort of person frequented Hyde Park. And what was Guy Fawkes Day?
Although she was ready to give the elderly man the benefit of the doubt, Lord Fulkham clearly was not, for his face flushed with anger. “This isnotmy countrymen being ‘wild,’ damn you, and the mayhem of Guy Fawkes Day doesn’t begin until the fifth. Something else is clearly going on.”
The count crossed his arms over his chest. “Like what?”
His lordship shot her great-uncle an incredulous look. “That ought to be obvious to you.Someoneis intent upon assassinating the princess. And you and I must figure out who—before Her Highness ends up dead.”
Eight
Gregory stared the count down, fury scorching him like a wildfire. Because as the oddness of the count’s reaction sank in, he began to realize what this was actually about.
The bastard had intended Monique to take the place of the real princess so that if someone attempted to kill Princess Aurore, Monique would die instead. Why else have a masquerade?
But didMoniquesee that? Probably not, or why would she have gone along with it? She couldn’t possibly have realized it in the beginning—although she might be starting to recognize the truth now.
And the fact that she was being used as a pawn infuriated him the most. When he thought of those holes in her sleeve, his stomach roiled.
But apparently not the count’s, given how his hard gaze skewered Gregory. “Why on earth would someone wish to assassinate my great-niece?”
“I can think of any number of reasons,” Gregory snapped, “the main one being that she is the top candidate for ruler of Belgium.”
“Still?” she asked, then paled as she clearly realized what she’d inadvertently implied: that his knowledge of her masquerade might have put her out of the running. Swiftly she tried to recoup. “I wasn’t sure how my presentation went yesterday, and you weremostaggressive in your questioning of me today.”
Now was his chance. He could unmask her in front of the count, who clearly wasn’t going to acknowledge the masquerade or reveal whether he knew that Gregory knew of it. Gregory could just lay everything out in the open—voice his suspicions and put an end to the danger for her.
And risk ruining himself in the process. Because if by some slim chance he was wrong about her identity, the count would have him removed from the conference. The man had powerful friends, especially if Prince Leopold was sniffing around Princess Aurore.
Even if Gregory was right about her, he still couldn’t prove it. And the count wasn’t going to admit it based on Gregory’s three-years-old memories of an actress in a theater, dressed in costume and makeup and the rest.
So confronting him might merely result in the count’s denying him further access to the “princess.” Gregory dared not chance that, for her own sake as well as his. Especially now that she was in danger.
Better to play it safe. “I questioned you aggressively,” he told her, “because that is my job. But everyone knows you are first choice. Which is precisely the problem. Anyone could resent that—the French, the Dutch, even some Englishmen who want Prince Leopold in that position.”
The count, damn his hide, was already shaking his head. “You are utterly wrong. This incident has nothing to do with the London Conference or the choice of a ruler for Belgium. Your country merely has no control over its citizens. It was a random attack by criminals. My great-niece should probably not be taken out into a public park again, not because of some attempt on her life, but because your countrymen are mad!”
“It’s more than that, and you know it.” Gregory glanced over to where Monique stood shivering, clearly still unnerved by what had happened. “Are you willing to risk her life to prove me wrong?”
The count blinked. “Well, no, but I don’t think—”
“I have a suggestion for how to protect her that will satisfy your concerns as well as mine.”
Beaumonde eyed him warily. “Oh?”
“You mentioned Guy Fawkes Day. You are right about its becoming quite a wild event—lots of people starting bonfires, creating mayhem, and making nuisances of themselves in the name of the holiday. So most events involving the conference will be suspended for the next five days, and many of the English members of the conference are retiring to the country in an effort to avoid the celebrations. You and the princess should do so as well.”
“Leave London?” the count said, clearly outraged. “That hardly seems wise when events of the conference are still going on.”
