Eighteen
Gregory watched Monique to see her reaction, unsure what to expect. He was taken by surprise when she gaped at him.
“What are you talking about? I’m not . . . I can’t be . . .”
He pressed his advantage. “According to the fellow left in charge of your grandmother, she is second in line for the throne. Which makes you third.”
At least the part about the grandmother had proved to be true. Hart had found out from friends of Monique’s that Princess Solange had grown increasingly ill over the past year. That Monique had been desperate to find help for her.
But the other part . . .
He went on in a harder tone. “First in line is your grandmother’s older sister, who is doddering on the edge of the grave, as is, apparently, your grandmother. Once they both pass on, you are the successor. After Princess Aurore, of course.”
There was no mistaking Monique’s shock. “That’s impossible.”
Lady Ursula gave a heavy sigh. “She didn’t know. Trust me, she had no idea.”
Gregory crossed his arms over his chest. “And why the devil should I trust you when you’ve been keeping secrets all along?”
“Because I have nothing to gain by telling you this,” the young woman said stoutly. “The count told me we were not to tell her how far up she was in the succession. He was”—she cast an apologetic glance at Monique—“afraid she might take advantage of the knowledge.”
“I can well imagine.” Gregory focused his attention on Lady Ursula. “If Monique had known she was essentially next in line—assuming that Princess Aurore didn’t survive the poisoning—she might not have been so eager to follow the rules that you and the count set for her.”
“Me!” Lady Ursula exclaimed. “I just do as I’m told.”
“Except when it comes to Princess Aurore.”
The woman’s face fell. “Yes. I would do anything for Aurore.”
Now he felt as if he were beating up a puppy. God, both women were driving him mad.
Monique still hadn’t seemed to grasp the truth of the situation. “I—I don’t understand.” She glanced from him to Lady Ursula. “How can I be third in line? Grand-maman had three siblings. Surely they all had children.”
Lady Ursula shook her head. “Actually, no. The count and his princess wife were unable to produce a child. Aurore’s grandfather had one son, the previous Prince of Chanay, who only sired Aurore. And your grandmother’s other sister has been a spinster all her life. So with your parents dead and your having no siblings, you are the only descendant of the new generation, aside from Aurore.”
“You’re sure,” Monique said.
“Of course I’m sure!” Lady Ursula drew in a calming breath. “If Aurore dies, your grandmother will be heir apparent until her seventy-two-year-old sister dies. And given that your grandmother is ailing . . .”
“When she dies, Monique will become Princess de Chanay,” Gregory finished.
Clearly, no one had explained it all to Monique. There was no mistaking her reaction at hearing that she was essentially next in line for the throne of Chanay. Not even the best actress in the world could fake the astonishment on her face.
“That’s why the count has been keeping track of my family’s whereabouts all this time,” Monique breathed. “Mon Dieu.”
She looked as if she might faint. Hurrying to her side, Gregory offered her a chair, which she took, clearly in a state of shock.
“If you would leave us, Lady Ursula,” he said, “I need to speak to Monique alone.”
The lady-in-waiting crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going anywhere without her.”
“It’s a bit late to be trying to protect her, don’t you think?” he ground out. “Until now, you’ve abandoned her every time you thought it would suit the count’s purposes.”
The young woman bristled. “Now see here—”
“Besides,” he cut in, “I just received a message that the prince is scarcely an hour away, give or take thirty minutes. And you did want to speak to him alone before everyone else returns from town, didn’t you?”
“It’s fine, Lady Ursula,” Monique added. “I think I can be trusted to spend a few moments alone with his lordship.”
Lady Ursula looked conflicted. But in the end, she nodded and left the room. Clearly, if the choice was between seeing to her true love’s welfare or Monique’s, she would choose Princess Aurore every time.
Gregory shut the door to the study, his heart pounding as he saw the lost expression on her face. It tugged at his sympathies. “What am I to do with you, my sweet?”
She glanced up at him warily. “I don’t know, my lord.” Rising to walk over to the window, she stared out. “I don’t know anything anymore.”
He understood; the news had certainly caught him off guard. Mother’s remarks last night stuck in his head. Who could have known that her warning about not taking up with a princess might have proved sound?
Because she truly was a prospective princess, which meant she could never be his. Unless Aurore lived, in which case he might have a chance . . .
He cursed under his breath. The last thing he needed was a woman who would turn his life upside down. He had too much to accomplish. She would be wrong for him in every way.
Yet he didn’t care. He wanted her in his bed. And, God help him, in his life. Which was impossible.
“Monique—” he began.
“This changes nothing,” she said, whirling to face him. “Perhaps if Aurore dies, it affects things, but if she lives . . .”
Clearly she had thought through all the same paths that he had.
“You’re still in danger as long as you pretend to be her,” he said.
“I suppose.” A sudden softness spread over her face as Monique approached him. “But I have complete faith that you will find the culprit before anything happens to me. You must. Because even if I leave England, the killer will still be at large and might try to murder my cousin again in Chanay.”
“Doubtful. Once she is no longer a contender for the throne . . .”
“We can’t be sure that’s why this killer is after Aurore. It might have nothing to do with the conference at all. If what Lord Hartley learned is true, it . . . it might have to do with the succession.”
“The only one to benefit from Aurore’s death is you,” he said dryly, “so if it has to do with the succession, then you’ve been trying to shoot yourself.”
She glared at him. “Who is below me? Did Lord Hartley say?”
“There’s no one. You are last in the line. Another Prince or Princess of Chanay would have to be chosen, and since that would be a complicated process, no one person could be sure of becoming ruler. So no one has anything to gain yet by shooting both Aurore and you.”
“All the same, if I return home before the conference ends, the scoundrel might follow me, assuming I’m Aurore, and unravel the whole deception. Then what? There’s a chance we could all be exposed.” Her eyes searched his face. “That you could be ruined.”
It took all his will to resist the urge to pull her into his arms. “If that should happen, then let the bastard find out you’re an actress.” Despite his attempt to sound uninvolved, he couldn’t stop his fear for her from creeping into his voice. “At least you’d be safe.”
“But I’d be back in the same situation as before,” she pointed out. “With the count refusing to take me and Grand-maman back into the family.”
“Considering your place in the succession, he wouldn’t pursue that.”
“You don’t know that. If Aurore survives—and she’s young and strong, so she might—she could still live a long and healthy life. Despite what Lady Ursula says, Aurore might yet choose to marry and have children. And with each one, my grandmother and I drop further in the succession. Until we know how Aurore is—”
“I’ve already ordered Hart to Calais to learn that,” he ground out. “He leaves at dawn tomorrow morning.”
She stared him down. “Then we should wait to act until he returns.”
God, the woman would be the death of him yet. “The delegates will vote in four days.” Desperate to convince her, he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Whoever is trying to murder you will make damned sure he or she kills you before then.”
Frustration lit her features. “For pity’s sake, Gregory, do you want to see me the mistress of some elderly theater patron? Or whoever proves the highest bidder? Because that’s how I will end up if Aurore lives and I have not met the terms of my bargain with the count. He will discard me and Grand-maman like so much trash.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said hoarsely.
“Then you don’t know him as well as I do. I must see this out. Please let me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I know you want me out of your hair as quickly as you can manage, but—”
“You’re wrong, damn it.” He smoothed his hands down her arms to her waist, unable to stop himself from touching her. “I don’t want you to leave. But I also don’t want you to die.”
She cupped his jaw with a touch so tender, it made him groan. “Yet you’d sentence me to a living death with a succession of protectors in Dieppe.”
God, what a choice she laid before him. Because she might be right about the count. He simply didn’t know. Obviously, the man hadn’t paid her branch of the family any attention until now. And he possibly wouldn’t pay it any more if Aurore lived, but lost her bid to become queen of Belgium.
Still . . .
“You could be my mistress,” he said before he reconsidered. “Return to Dieppe and wait for me until this is over and we find out about Aurore. Hart would accompany you and keep you safe before going on to Calais. Then, if Aurore lives and the count cuts you off, I could bring you and your grandmother back to England.” His blood ran hot at the very thought of having her as his own. “I could set you both up somewhere—”
“So I could hide away for the rest of my life, to prevent anyone from recognizing me as the woman who’d played Princess Aurore? Because that’s what I would have to do to keep from ruining your career.” Her breathing grew ragged. “I said I wanted freedom, and you offer me a gilded cage.”
The accusation cut him bone-deep as he recognized the fairness of it. Or rather, the unfairness of what he was offering her. “What about if you stay in Dieppe, and I pay for your grandmother’s care while you continue in the theater? That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
She eyed him skeptically. “And you would do that out of the kindness of your heart? For a woman you would never see again?” She caressed his cheek. “Or are you simply proposing to make me your mistress in France?”
Would never see again? The very thought of it made his chest seize up.
His chest, not his heart. This was not obsession. Not need. Certainly not love. It was plain, old-fashioned desire.
God, even he wasn’t fool enough to believe that.
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss against the palm, then against the spot where he’d once left his mark. When desire leapt in her eyes, he said hoarsely, “And if I were? If I wanted to make you my mistress there?”
“It wouldn’t work, and you know it. We’d never see each other. And what would happen when you wish to marry?” When he opened his mouth to protest that, she pressed her finger to his lips. “Don’t lie to me or yourself. We both know you must marry eventually and you can’t marry me. Nor do I want to find myself with a string of by-blows—”
“There are ways to prevent that.”
She snorted. “Foolproof ways? Because I’ve seen actresses find themselves with child despite using French letters. Besides, I want children eventually. But not ones who will never see their father. I grew up without a father. I don’t want that for my own children.”
“Instead you want to go to Chanay and marry some . . . cursed fellow your great-uncle picks for you? Or return to Dieppe after your grandmother dies in hopes of marrying some French noble like the duke?”
A sad smile crossed her lips. “Would that bother you so much?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “Because part of what you said last night is true. I want no other man to have you.”
The moment he spoke the words, he knew they were true. He couldn’t bear the idea of her with another man, in marriage or otherwise. He wanted her for his own. And as she’d pointed out numerous times, that would never work.
“You only want me because you haven’t had your thirst quenched, my lord.” She slipped her hand inside his coat. “But we can easily remedy that.”
She was trying to distract him from his insistence that she go back to Dieppe before the vote. Before someone made a successful attempt on her life, which would destroy him.
Yet his cock rose at the thought of having her, even so. The bloody woman was shattering all his control. “Monique—”
“Shh,” she whispered as she rose to kiss him. “I want you, too, my lord. Here. Now, while everyone is still in Canterbury and the duke is at his toilette. While I can still have you. Give me this, at least.”
He let himself indulge in a long, hot kiss, in the delicious sweetness of her mouth and the tempting softness of her body in his arms. Then he drew back to rasp, “What about your determination not to have any of my . . . by-blows?”
“You said there were ways to prevent it—”
“No foolproof ways,” he reminded her.
She untied his cravat and drew it off inch by tantalizing inch. “I will risk it just this once, if only to gain the memory of being with you. That will have to last me a lifetime.”
“And afterward, you will agree to return to the Continent with Hart?”
Her answer was to pull his head down to her for another inflaming kiss. It wasn’t an answer, but he didn’t care anymore. Her remark about his not seeing her again was stuck in his head, and the thought of never having the chance to be with her blotted out the fact that he was a gentleman, that he should not do this, that they could be caught together . . .
Nothing mattered but taking her to bed.