Thirteen
Gregory’s head reeled. Monique was Beaumonde’s great-niece. A member of the Chanay royal family. In a way, she was as legitimate a descendant as Princess Aurore. Just probably not directly in line for the throne, or the Rocheforts wouldn’t have ignored her branch of the family for so long.
A thought occurred to him. She was decidedly not the count’s mistress, which meant . . .
Well, he didn’t know what it meant, except that it pleased him inordinately. He hadn’t liked the idea of her with that ancient relic, Beaumonde.
But that should not be what he was focusing on. Her revelation raised a number of questions. “How did the count know about you and your resemblance to the princess?”
She shrugged. “Apparently he’s kept an eye on our family all these years. I had no idea. Though I knew I was from the royal line of Chanay, Grand-maman seemed sure that they had no use for us. They’d never made any overtures until he approached me in Dieppe a short while ago.”
“And you agreed to his mad scheme because—”
“It’s just me and Grand-maman, and I can’t take care of her on my own anymore,” she said bluntly. “I can’t afford to hire anyone to watch her day and night, now that she’s started to wander. Even good actresses don’t make that much money. So my only choice is to quit working and descend into poverty with her, or”—she wrapped her arms about her waist—“take a protector, which I have no desire to do.”
The thought of her being forced into that position twisted something in his chest, even as he realized with self-loathing that he had wanted to be her protector. But he wouldn’t have wanted it at the cost to her freedom of choice. It would have been mutual.
Right, his conscience clamored. Mutual.
She went on in a hollow tone. “Plus, the more Grand-maman sinks into . . . senility, the more she longs for her home. So when my great-uncle offered to allow us both to return to Chanay and live there free of worry if I would just pretend to be my second cousin, it seemed the perfect solution.” She shot him a dark look. “I had no idea I would run into you again, my lord. Or that you would remember me.”
“I would imagine not. Our encounter was brief.” He arched an eyebrow. “Although I should point out that you remembered me as well.”
She tipped up her chin. “Hard not to remember a man of such arrogance.”
He ought to take offense, but she looked so adorably put out that he had to bite back a smile. “Is that all you remembered of me? My arrogance?”
Coloring, she glanced away.
“So I did not imagine the attraction between us that night,” he murmured.
“As I said,” she retorted. “A man of arrogance. In any case, your remembering me has ruined everything, especially considering the position you’re in.”
That jerked him back to the reality of the situation. “Yes, let’s talk about that. Princess Aurore is in line for the Belgian throne.” He bore down on her. “Is she dead?”
She blinked. “I thought you said that—”
“I don’t know what has happened to her. But something clearly has, or you wouldn’t be here in her stead.”
A heavy sigh escaped her. “The last time I saw her, she was very much alive. But ill.”
That gave him pause. “In what way?”
Her expression was conflicted. “I—I’m not sure. They told me she had cholera. That’s why they needed me. They didn’t want to risk her losing her chance at being queen simply because she was sick.” Her voice grew choked. “But after you said it was me someone was trying to kill . . .”
His blood ran cold. “You wondered if she’d been poisoned.”
Wide-eyed, she nodded. “My uncle says that is ludicrous. I just don’t know whether to believe him. This world of politics and shady doings is not my purview.” She began to roam the knot garden design again. “I’m an actress, not a diplomat. I wouldn’t even know how to tell if she was poisoned.” Her voice lowered. “Though she did seem very ill. When I saw her, she was insensible and apparently had been so for a few days.”
That didn’t sound good. “Where is she now?”
“In Calais. She fell ill as they were preparing to make the crossing to England.”
Interesting. “So it was only then that the count came to you?”
“Yes. He took a steam packet to Dieppe to meet with me and Grand-maman.”
That confirmed what Hart had learned. And it meant that it was possible the count hadn’t initially intended to put Monique forward as a substitute. That he might have been trying to fix a bad situation in the only way he knew how.
On the other hand, if Beaumonde had been aware of Monique’s resemblance to Aurore all along, he might very well have chosen to assassinate his great-niece and put Monique in her stead rather than risk Aurore’s bumbling through the conference.
“What about preparing you for the role?” Gregory asked. “How could he have known you would understand enough about what was required of a princess to step into Aurore’s shoes?”
“I asked the same thing!” she cried. “I mean, Grand-maman has tried through the years to teach me the proper behavior just in case they ever . . .” Her voice hardened. “But of course that didn’t happen until they found themselves in difficulty. And he said we had enough time on the crossing to prepare me. He did seem . . . rather out of sorts about the whole matter.”
“I can well imagine,” Gregory said dryly.
The count struck him as a man who wouldn’t set up such a havey-cavey plan unless he was forced into it. If Beaumonde had intended all along for Monique to take Aurore’s place, he would have eliminated Aurore in enough time to prepare Monique to replace her. This smacked of the actions of a desperate man, not a scheming one.
Besides, if the count had wanted to replace Aurore, why would he then have hired someone to shoot at Monique? If she was supposed to be the future of Chanay and Belgium, it made no sense. So Gregory could probably rule out Beaumonde as the one trying to kill Monique.
Unless, of course, the count had somehow learned about her former association with Gregory.
A chill swept him. “Are you certain your great-uncle doesn’t know that we met before?”
“How could he? I never told him.”
“And you never told Lady Ursula. Or your maid or—”
“Are you mad?” She faced him down. “I want Grand-maman taken care of, and he’s made quite clear that if this masquerade isn’t successful, his promise to bring her home is for naught. So I haven’t told a soul. I was hoping to brazen it out until the whole thing was over.”
Her expression turned pleading as she drew nearer him. “Which is why you must keep silent. If you reveal to my uncle that I’ve failed to convince you I’m Aurore, then I will be packed off to Dieppe without so much as a farewell. He will only honor his promise if Aurore becomes queen. Otherwise . . .”
The desperation in her eyes sliced through him. Damn her. Damn the count. He couldn’t let this nonsense stand. And yet . . . “What is supposed to happen to Aurore if you do succeed in being chosen as ruler of Belgium?”
She sighed. “Aurore will take my place. By then, he hopes, she’ll be well, and she can go to Belgium and assume her throne. Then Grand-maman and I will go to Chanay as ourselves. Relations to the crown. But after Grand-maman dies, I intend to return to Dieppe and my position at the theater.”
How did she still manage to surprise him? “You would choose being an actress over living as a relation to royalty?”
“A poor relation, forced to submit to their will in everything? Absolutely. I love my work at the theater. And I crave . . .” She trailed off with a sigh. “You wouldn’t understand.”
He stepped nearer. “Try me. What do you crave, Princess?”
Her eyebrow lifted. “You realize I’m not truly a princess.”
“To me, you are.” He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing each finger and reveling in the way she blushed. For a woman who’d probably gone through quite a few lovers, she had a surprising air of innocence about her. “Tell me, my sweet, what you crave.”
She searched his face, as if to determine his sincerity. Then she flashed him a sad smile. “Freedom. To be myself. To live my life and practice my craft. To not always be worrying about how I shall care for Grand-maman, or what will happen if—”
A loud cry broke the stillness of the clearing. “Princess? Fulkham? Where are you? I’ve returned!”
A vile oath escaped Gregory. “Pontalba, damn him.” Gregory had more questions, needed to know more before he could make a decision about how to handle this matter. “Come with me.”
Before she could protest, he tugged her across the path and into the pavilion.
At least she went willingly. She too must realize that they weren’t done. “Gregory?”
He held a finger to her lips. “Keep quiet, and he’ll go away.”
She nodded, though her eyes showed she wasn’t as certain.
They could hear the fellow approaching, far too near for Gregory’s comfort. Pulling her deeper into the pavilion, he dragged her up the stairs that led to the second floor, with floor-to-ceiling windows that indeed overlooked Mother’s proposed new garden.
He released Monique and rounded the chaise longue near the window to stand where he could observe the duke. With the afternoon sun shining full on this side, the man shouldn’t be able to see them. Which was a good thing, since Monique came up behind him so she could look out the window, too.
As Pontalba surveyed the clearing, he scowled and muttered to himself, “Damn it, I could have sworn I heard them out here somewhere.”
Monique tensed, and Gregory shot her a reassuring glance.
“What the hell is this, anyway?” the duke said in French. “A bunch of chalk lines on the ground? These English are mad, I swear.”
The leap of fire in Monique’s eyes amused Gregory. He could see she was itching to march out and give the man a piece of her mind about Mother’s designs. It made him want to kiss her.
So he did.
And to his shock, she responded beyond his wildest dreams. She opened her mouth, let him deepen the kiss, then tangled her tongue with his, as if she’d never wanted anything more.
He was no fool—he took advantage, kissing her with all the urgency in his loins. He wanted her. Even now that he knew who she was, and what she and her great-uncle had planned, he still wanted her. In truth, it was hard not to want a woman who would risk everything for her grandmother.
But even before he’d known that about her, he’d desired her. Because when it came to her, all his vaunted control and logic went right out the window.
Right now, his entire life didn’t make sense. She was the last person he should desire—an actress who could do nothing to further his career. Who could actually harm it irreparably.
Yet he didn’t care. All he knew was he wanted to keep kissing her, holding her, touching her . . .
“Is he gone?” she whispered against his mouth.
The words drew him briefly from the sensual cloud she wrapped around him every time their lips met. He looked out. “I think so. I don’t see him.”
“Good,” she whispered, then tugged his head back down to hers.
The kiss rapidly spiraled beyond his control. Her mouth, so soft and wet, made him want to plunder and ravage her like some conqueror of old. He manacled her waist with his arm and smoothed his other hand down over her skirts to cup her sweet bottom, pleased to find how shapely she was beneath her petticoats.
God, how he wanted to taste her, caress her . . . take her.
She tore her mouth free to murmur, “You see how it could be between us? All you need do is promise not to say anything to the count.”
That sparked his anger, making him clasp her head in his hands. “I told you I will not let you barter your body for my silence.”
Her eyes narrowing, she slid her hand down over his rapidly hardening cock and rubbed it, silkily at first, then more roughly. “Are you sure? Because it seems to me that your body is more than willing to barter for mine.”
He hissed a breath through his teeth. “You don’t play fair, my sweet.”
“Says the man who marked my wrist with his love bite.” She stretched up to press a kiss to his neck just above his cravat. “Shall I mark you, my lord? So that every time you look in the mirror, you remember how you had a chance at me and threw it away for your ambition?”
“Not for my bloody ambition, for damned sure.” A groan escaped him as she licked the spot, tantalizing him with her tongue. “I risk my ambition more with every hour I let this masquerade go on. Even if I did agree to your terms and keep silent, I can’t prevent someone else’s unmasking you. And if it comes out that I knew the truth and didn’t speak, I’ll be ruined.”
She drew back to stare at him. “How would it come out, when the only ones who know of it are you and I?”
“And Hart and Lady Ursula and the count. Not to mention the princess and whoever else is looking after her in Calais.” He thumbed her lips, so sweetly swollen from the ferocity of their kisses. “I’ve been in politics long enough to realize that secrets known by a number of people don’t stay secret for long.”
That brought a frown to her brow. “Even when those people have a vested interest in staying silent? Except for Lord Hartley, who I assume is under your control, the others have to keep the secret or lose everything.”
“And what about the assassin? Do you think he will keep quiet? He knows you’re not Aurore. First, he tried to poison Aurore. Then, when the count’s response was to put a substitute in her place, the assassin shot at the substitute. Whoever is bent on not letting Aurore take the throne will resort to revealing the truth about your masquerade, if that’s what it takes for him to get what he wants.”
She pondered that a moment, then brightened. “Not necessarily. If Aurore was poisoned—and we’re still not sure she was—he could have managed that without ever actually seeing her. Besides, the count put her into seclusion in Calais once I stepped in, so this villain could have just assumed the poison didn’t work and still be trying to kill the woman he thinks is Princess Aurore.”
“I suppose that’s possible.” He hardened his tone. “But that only means you’re in more danger than we thought. And that the count knew it from the beginning.”
“He didn’t.”
Gregory eyed her closely. “What makes you so sure?”
“I asked him about it. He truly believes that Aurore has cholera and that the shooter was not trying to shoot at me.”
“Then he’s a fool.” The very idea that she was putting her trust in the count, who clearly wasn’t concerned for her welfare, made him want to shake her.
“Perhaps so, but he’s my only hope of making sure Grand-maman is cared for.”
“What about me?” he bit out without thinking.
She gaped at him. “You? You want to expose me.”
That stung, even though she was right. “I seek only the truth.”
“Which would destroy me. And Grand-maman.”
He cupped her chin in his hand. “I don’t wish to destroy either of you.”
“Then don’t say anything to my uncle.” When he stiffened, she added in a pleading tone, “Think of it this way. You can’t catch the assassin if you end my masquerade. And you want to catch him, don’t you? Assuming there is one? Because if he’s trying to kill his competitor for the crown, you don’t want him winning, do you?”
That made sense. Either that, or his cock was guiding his brain. Which rarely happened. Except, apparently, around her. “Let’s say I allow this travesty to continue until we . . . find the culprit. That would mean you’d be acting as bait for this monster.”
“Not here. You said I’d be safe at your estate.” She lifted a guileless, trusting gaze that fairly slayed him. “And if I’m not, you’ll protect me. I know you will.”
Fighting the absurd satisfaction that her faith in him brought him, he growled, “Then how am I to catch the bastard, if you stay here safe?”
“You said you had spies. I assume that your men will be looking into what happened at the park. My being here for five days will give them time to find him.”
“And if they don’t? You expect me to further risk your life by bringing you back to London?”
She stared off through the window as if seeking answers in his mother’s design. “I don’t know. Perhaps the soldiers will have scared him off. He might not try again.” She gave a shuddering breath. “All I know is that there’s no future for me in Dieppe if this does not succeed. My great-uncle will make sure of that. He doesn’t want Aurore to lose her chance.”
“That’s something else you haven’t considered. What if she dies in the end?”
Monique shrugged. “Then I will ‘die’ and the masquerade will be over.” She met his gaze. “I have no desire to rule Belgium. I’m only making sure that Aurore can do so.”
“I suspect your uncle would have something to say about that.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He wants the throne for Chanay. If Aurore dies, I daresay he’ll want you to take her place.”
“Well, I wouldn’t!” she said hotly. “And he can’t make me.”
“He’s making you do this.”
She thrust out her chin. “Yes, but this is to help Aurore. And Grand-maman. The other would be wrong.”
Gregory shook his head. She was so refreshingly naïve in some ways.
“Besides,” she said, “what do I know about ruling a country? No, he wouldn’t ask that.”
“Are you sure? Perhaps that was his plan all along—to put you in Aurore’s place.”
The shock on her face made it clear that hadn’t occurred to her. “I would never agree to that!”
“Even to take care of your grandmother?”
A troubled frown knit her brow. “Not even for that.”
He shouldn’t believe her, but he did. She seemed caught between a rock and a hard place. As was he. Because the minute he revealed her identity, it could come out that he’d known all along. She might even admit it herself to save her own skin.
Then everyone would question why he hadn’t acted from the beginning. And all his protests that he hadn’t been sure of who she was would fall on deaf ears.
Damn. He should have exposed her the moment he’d suspected the truth. But he hadn’t, so now he was in a quandary. “How about this?” he said. “The decision won’t be made until we return. So for now, I’ll let you go on with your masquerade while I try to find out if anyone truly is trying to murder your cousin, and why. By then we should know if Princess Aurore has survived, and we can move on from there.”
He was stalling, giving himself time to think his way out of this mess.
But judging from the way her face brightened, he had just given her the keys to the kingdom. “Oh, Gregory!” she cried, and threw her arms about his neck. She kissed both his cheeks. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“Hmph,” he grumbled. “I know I’m going to regret this.”
“You won’t, I swear,” she told him. Then she kissed his mouth. Sweetly. Tenderly.
His pulse broke into a stampede. “What are you doing?” he growled as he jerked back from her.
She stared up at him with eyes as luminous as the setting sun shining through the window behind her. “Making sure you don’t regret this.”
“Monique—”
She cut him off with a kiss that set his body afire. No woman had done that to him in a very long time. He was always too conscious of his position and what it would cost him to have a dalliance with someone he couldn’t trust.
But she made him want things . . . need things . . .
Clasping her close, he kissed her with all the fervent longing in his blood. And she gave as good as she got, twining her tongue with his, pressing her breasts against him, and making him ache down deep where he never ached. Not for anyone.
What did it matter if she did it out of gratitude, really?
But the rational part of him knew it mattered. It protested this lapse in his conscience. Yet the part of him that desired her stifled all protests, reminding him that she was no young virgin, that she could be his for the taking. That she was soft and giving in his arms, her mouth a wonder and her body eager for him. He wanted her so badly, he could hardly think.
So he abandoned thought and, without looking back, plunged in where angels feared to swim.