Page 62 of The Secret of Flirting
She tightened her hands into fists at her sides. Oh, the things she wanted to tell him—that she was done with the masquerade, that Lord Fulkhamknewshe was Monique Servais... that if the duke breathed his garlic breath on her one more time, she would shove her scented handkerchief down his throat.
Instead, she flashed the count a brittle smile. “I shall do my best to please you, Uncle.”
That seemed to bring him up short. “Well... then... see that you do.” He paused. “You do realize I say these things only for your own good. This is too important for all of us.”
How well she knew.
Fifteen
That night at dinner, Gregory had trouble concentrating on his guest’s chatter. After his encounter with Monique, he’d gone into nearby Canterbury to speak with the constable, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to find out if anyone suspicious had been lurking about.
Thank God he had, for the constable had informed him that a stranger from London had been in town a few days before. But it hadn’t had anything to do with the princess, because the fellow had been asking aboutGregory. About his father’s death. About why no one had found it suspicious that the previous Lord Fulkham had broken his neck falling down a staircase.
The constable, of course, had told the man the truth—no one had found it suspicious because the baron had been well known for his drunkenness. Indeed, it had not been the first time the man had taken a tumble while drunk.
Still, though Gregory knew no one could ever find out the truth, it unnerved him to have someone asking about it. Unfortunately, the constable only had a name for the mysterious London investigator: Tom Smith, obviously an alias. The constable knew nothing more that could tell Gregory what this was about.
Bloody hell.
Well, there was naught he could do about it at present. He had to focus on getting through the next few days with Monique. On making sure she stayed alive... and that he didn’t do something unwise.
Like bed the woman.
God, even now he wanted to do so. Tonight she was at her most effervescent—flirting with Pontalba and Danworth, charming Mother, and teasing Lady Ursula and even the count in a way that seemed to startle the old Frenchman.
But she persistently ignored Gregory. Not that he could blame her. First, he’d nearly ravished her. Then they’d had a close call with Danworth. If she hadn’t acted swiftly to allay the fellow’s suspicions, Danworth would now be wondering why they’d been up there alone, seemingly hiding from the world.
But she’d made everything seem perfectly natural, despite her lips swollen with Gregory’s kisses and her coiffeur tilted off-center. He couldn’t help admiring her aplomb. For a woman who’d spent her life as a commoner, she could play the princess to the hilt.
Indeed, she was presently enchanting every person at the table, including him, with her self-deprecating remarks about her encounters with the English.
“So when I asked His Majesty about the ancient queen, he was quite insulted,” she told the other guests. “Thank heaven Lady Ursula explained to him that I meant the ‘previous’ queen and not his wife. Only then did I realize that ‘ancient’ in English may look likeancienin French, but it is decidedlynotthe same in meaning.” She covered her cheeks fetchingly. “How veryembarrassant!”
Mother laughed. “I can only imagine. Especially since Queen Adelaide is nearly thirty years younger than the king.”
“But my explanation must have satisfied him,” Lady Ursula put in, “since he then went on to ask the princess to waltz with him.”
“Did he really?” his mother said. “I confess I’m surprised. I thought he never waltzed with anyone but the queen.” Her tone turned dry. “Or Mrs. Jordan, back when she was alive.”
“Mother,” Gregory chided. “Must you gossip about His Majesty?”
“Who was Mrs. Jordan?” Monique asked.
His mother ignored him, intent on sharing a juicy tidbit with the few at the table who’d likely never heard it. “She served as the king’s mistress for twenty years before she died and before he married. He lived with her in his own house. Why, they had ten children together! You may actually have met some of them. All the FitzClarences are his by-blows by that actress.”
As Monique’s smile turned brittle, Gregory stifled a groan. A quick glance at the count showed the man blandly nodding as Lady Ursula colored and turned a sudden, inordinate attention to her fish.
God, when those two had chosen an actress to impersonate Aurore, they should have told her about the king’s former mistress, given that the FitzClarences were in and out of the palace and royal functions with regularity.
“His Majesty has always been unorthodox,” Gregory explained. “He never expected to be called upon to rule, so since he couldn’t marry Mrs. Jordan—”
“Why couldn’t he marry her if he wished?” Lady Ursula asked. “He’s a prince.” Inexplicably she cast a furtive glance at the count. “He ought to be able to do as he pleases.”
“That’s a lovely idea,” Gregory said, not even trying to hide his sarcasm. “Unfortunately, no matter how enticing the concept, English law forbids it.”
Monique stared at him, her expression so vulnerable it cut him to the heart. “Because he was a prince? Or because she was an actress?”
“Both, I’m afraid. Royals cannot marry anyone unsanctioned by the king, and William’s father, George III, would never have sanctioned such a marriage.”
