Six
The evening after the royal dinner, Monique was standing with Lady Ursula in an English lord’s ballroom when she felt the hairs stand on the back of her neck. She didn’t even have to turn and look to see why. She knew.
It was Lord Fulkham. He had come . . . for her. To catch her. To bait her.
Last night, he’d watched her the entire time she’d been dancing, and tonight he had clearly decided to repeat the experience. Or to try to get her alone again. Which she didn’t dare allow.
Only one person could help prevent that—Lady Ursula. The lady-in-waiting had been looking out for her, keeping her away from the man she most wanted to avoid.
She pulled Lady Ursula aside. “He’s here.”
“Who?” The woman scanned the ballroom. “Do you mean the duke?”
“No, of course not!” Monique cast a furtive glance over to where Lord Fulkham stood talking to a delegate from the Dutch contingent. “That cursed undersecretary. You have to keep him away from me as you did last night.”
Lady Ursula’s expression grew troubled. “I shouldn’t have done that. The count was most displeased at me for it.”
“But I’m glad you did.” She squeezed Lady Ursula’s hand. “You made sure that the men kept me dancing so he could never come near. I was so grateful.”
The lady-in-waiting eyed her suspiciously. “You told me that Lord Fulkham did nothing wrong when you were alone with him.”
Oh, dear. Playing a set role as an actress was far easier than juggling who she was with who she was supposed to be. And it was all his fault. She could escape fully into the role if not for him lobbing questions at her every moment.
Unfortunately, if she warned the count of Lord Fulkham’s suspicions, he might send her back to the Continent, ending their bargain. She couldn’t take that chance.
“Lord Fulkham didn’t do anything he shouldn’t have,” she lied. “I just don’t like him. He makes me nervous.”
“As well he should, since he has a very important part in making the decision for or against you.” Lady Ursula leaned close. “That’s why you must spend time with him, reassure him of your worth. Can’t you just put your feelings aside for a bit? Aurore needs you.”
And so did Grand-maman. “He’s very clever. I’m afraid he’ll find me out.” Has already found me out.
“Nonsense.” Lady Ursula patted her arm. “You have been amazing. I confess I was skeptical when the count proposed this solution, but you are a quick study and good at improvising when you’re uncertain.” She smiled faintly. “I only wish I could see you on the stage. I know you must be magnificent.”
The compliment caught Monique off guard. “Thank you. It isn’t exactly a royal occupation.” To put it mildly.
“Will you miss it?” the lady-in-waiting surprised her by asking. She seemed genuinely interested, too. “I mean, when you and your grandmother move to Chanay for good.”
“If we move for good. I must bring this to a successful conclusion first.”
“And I have faith that you will,” Lady Ursula said kindly. “Still, when you move to Chanay, there will be no more applause every night, no more adventures on the stage . . . and off the stage.” She cast Monique a wistful look. “No more freedom to do as you please.”
If any other woman had said such things, Monique would have assumed she was making insinuations about supposed promiscuity. All actresses were believed to be promiscuous. But something in Lady Ursula’s manner said that she didn’t mean it that way.
“I haven’t had much of that freedom anyway,” she said softly, “not with Grand-maman ill.”
Her life had revolved around her grandmother’s care for so long that she’d forgotten what it was like to go for a walk alone or meet a gentleman at a café. Lord Fulkham would probably be shocked to hear that she was as chaste as her cousin Aurore probably was.
Her grandmother had been very rigid about gentleman callers. Monique’s father had seduced Monique’s mother, and Grandpapa had made the fellow marry. But shortly before Monique’s birth, he had run off, proving his low character. So Grand-maman had been stricter with Monique, not wanting her granddaughter to be seduced.
Grand-maman had always said she’d been lucky that her own actor husband had proved a gentleman, but there were too many men out there who would take advantage of a pretty young thing.
By the time Monique had grown old enough to rebel at such restrictions, her grandmother had needed restrictions of her own. Then it had seemed impossible to add a beau into their lives.
Which was why once Grand-maman passed on, Monique would not stay in Chanay. She craved her freedom. She loved her grandmother and would miss her terribly, but she wanted to be young and alive again. So while she could live without the excitement of the theater, she could never live within the confines of royalty.
Not be able to say what she thought and go where she wished? Be forced to marry someone handpicked for political reasons? No, thank you. That was not for her.
Apparently it was not for Lady Ursula either, judging from her remarks. “Do you miss not being ‘free to do as you please’?” Monique asked, partly to take her mind off Grand-maman’s uncertain future, and partly because she was simply curious. “Do you wish you were not a lady-in-waiting to royalty?”
“Oh no, not one bit! I love being helpful to Aurore.”
When her face clouded over, Monique asked, “Have you heard how my cousin is doing? Is there any word of her condition?”
Were those tears glistening in Lady Ursula’s eyes as she shook her head? Poor woman.
Then she seemed to gather her composure. “The count says it’s too soon to have received any message from Calais, and I daresay he’s right. It’s just that I was never as close to my family as you seem to be to your grandmother, so Aurore is all the family I—” She stiffened, then pasted a tight smile to her lips as she glanced beyond Monique. “Why, good evening, Lord Fulkham. How lovely to see you again.”
Monique fought the urge to bolt. Smoothing her features into nonchalance, she turned to face him. “Yes, how nice to see you, monsieur.”
It was a lie. It had to be a lie, even though he was dressed to impress. His perfectly tailored suit of black superfine heightened the crystalline blue of his eyes and the casually disordered waves of his dark hair, making her want to reach up and smooth the strands into place. Worse yet, his delicious brown silk waistcoat of some checked design made her think of chocolate wafers, which was apt, because she wanted to eat him up.
Mon Dieu.
His gaze seemed to take her in and like what it saw, too, judging from the sharp interest flaring in it. “You look luscious this evening, Your Serene Highness. That gown suits you.”
“Luscious?” Lady Ursula said in her heavily accented English. “I do not know this word.”
Monique did. She’d looked it up after he’d said it last night. How dare he use such a blatantly sensual word around Lady Ursula! “I think it means beautiful.”
A wry smile twisted up Lord Fulkham’s lips. “Exactly. So beautiful that I was hoping Her Highness might be willing to grace me with a waltz. Since she is not otherwise engaged at the moment.”
“I’m sure she would be honored,” Lady Ursula said before Monique could drum up some excuse. “Wouldn’t you, Your Highness?”
“Of course,” Monique said. “I am curious to see if his lordship is as good at dancing as he is at diplomacy.”
He clearly didn’t miss the sarcasm in her voice but apparently chose to ignore it. “I can show a good leg as well as the next man.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?”
With a smooth nod, she let him lead her onto the floor, only to find that he hadn’t lied. He danced very well for a pompous Englishman whom she still wanted to throttle.
She waited for him to resume his attack on her masquerade. If he did, he would find himself at a disadvantage; tonight she was prepared. He would not get the better of her.
“You do look luscious, you know,” he drawled. “Every inch a princess.”
“That’s because I am a princess,” she said sweetly.
“Of course. It was rude of me to imply otherwise last night. Forgive me.”
That made her falter. “Very well. If I must.” No, that sounded churlish. “You are forgiven.” Yes, that sounded more regal.
The twinkle in his eyes said that she wasn’t fooling him one bit.
They glided about the room, his hand resting on her waist as lightly as a caress while his other hand clasped hers in a gesture of possessiveness that reminded her of the mark he’d left on her wrist. The one he now had the audacity to rub with his thumb through her white kid glove.
“Tell me about Chanay,” he said in a husky voice that made her belly quiver.
And sparked her temper. “Why? So you can pick at everything I say to use as evidence that I am this other woman friend of yours?”
“Hardly. As you pointed out last night, I’ve never been to your country. You could tell me that the sheep run Chanay, for all I would know.” He smiled most charmingly, which instantly put her on her guard. “I merely thought you might be homesick and wish to talk about the place.”
“I see.”
He had to be still trying to trip her up. Did he think she would be so stupid as to not have learned anything about the country she was supposed to be representing?
Fortunately, Grand-maman had told her endless stories about Chanay. “What do you wish to know?”
“Do the sheep run the place?”
A laugh escaped her in spite of her caution. “Only when the shepherds have gone home for the day.”
He smiled at her with genuine humor, and her heart flipped over in her chest. How foolish was that? She clearly needed a less susceptible heart.
Leaning close, he murmured, “We English have a saying, ‘When the cat’s away, the mice will play.’ What happens when the shepherds are away?”
She edged away from that too-close mouth of his. “The sheep are eaten up, monsieur. Everyone knows that. Sheep are too trusting. They require good shepherds to keep them safe from . . . wolves.”
He laughed. “If you’re trying to say I’m a wolf preying on the sheep, you are far off the mark. There isn’t a sheep alive as quick-witted or as resourceful as you. Even when your shepherds abandon you.”
She swallowed. “What do you mean?”
He glanced beyond her to where the others from Chanay were watching them dance with approving smiles. “Lady Ursula as much as thrust you directly into my hands. And the count has been more than eager to do the same.”
“They are not my shepherds,” she said fiercely. “I am perfectly capable of being my own shepherd.”
“Exactly. That is a princess’s purview, is it not?”
Now she was confused. Had he actually decided to believe she was the princess, or was he merely toying with her? Given his position, probably the latter. Either way, she had best be careful; he could not be trusted.
She tipped up her chin. “It is a queen’s purview as well.”
Glancing away, he twirled her about the floor as effortlessly as a man born to it, which, of course, he was. “So you think you would make a good queen, do you?”
“A better one than you,” she quipped, delighted when that startled him into another laugh. “And yes, I think I would. I know what people want from their rulers.”
His amusement faded to cynicism. “Ah. And what is that, pray tell?”
“Fairness. Honesty. Loyalty. And compassion.”
He released a low whistle. “That is quite a list of qualities. What about a firm hand? What about justice?”
“There can be no justice where there’s no fairness. And a firm hand should always be tempered with compassion.”
That seemed to shake him. He gazed earnestly into her eyes. “It appears you think like a queen after all.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“Nothing surprises me about you.”
The look he then shot her sparked a need in her blood that burned through her veins the way his love bite had burned through her skin. He had this way of stripping her down to the essentials. No one had ever laid her bare like that.
The music ended, startling them both. He accompanied her to where the count now stood beside Lady Ursula. But before he left her, he said, “I would like to take you on a drive about London, show you some of the sights. Perhaps we could visit Hyde Park?”
“That would be wonderful,” the count answered for her.
She bit her lip to keep from protesting. She was so very tired of having people answer for her.
To her surprise, Lord Fulkham ignored the count. “Your Highness? Would you like a tour of the city? Hyde Park is spectacular in autumn, with the leaves changing color. I think you would enjoy it.”
Feeling the weight of Count de Beaumonde’s gaze upon her, she flashed Lord Fulkham a thin smile. “That would be lovely, sir.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
The count frowned. “Have you forgotten, Fulkham? Tomorrow is when the delegates are presented at Parliament.”
The quick flash of annoyance on Lord Fulkham’s face showed that he had forgotten. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to miss that. But it’s in the morning. The late afternoon is actually the fashionable hour during the Season, and it’s the best time to go all year.”
“Regrettably, we have another engagement in the afternoon,” the count said, to Monique’s vast relief. “But I’m sure we could manage it on the following afternoon”
“Excellent. I shall come at four p.m. I look forward to it.” Lord Fulkham smiled at Monique with such intensity that a flame ignited low within her and licked fire along all the forgotten and desolate parts of her heart.
“As do I,” she said.
And to her complete mortification, she realized that she meant it.
The next morning, only one person interested Gregory as he scrutinized each foreign delegate being introduced to Parliament. He told himself it was because she was an impostor, but the truth was, Monique Servais interested him no matter what role she played. He enjoyed sparring with her. He enjoyed watching surprise gild her features whenever he said something that caught her off guard.
He enjoyed watching her. Her malleable features displayed the subtlest of emotions. The characteristic served an actress—and an impostor—well. It made him wonder about the real Monique. He wanted to uncover her, to expose her . . . to explore her.
How reckless was that? She could destroy his entire career. Yet he was fascinated. Because she seemed not to know how dangerous she was, how dangerous was the game she played. That in itself intrigued him.
He glanced up into the gallery and noticed Hart standing there. Hart nodded, a signal that he had information to impart. Gregory looked about, noticed that the other MPs were half-asleep, and decided that he might as well speak with Hart now. She had not been presented yet, after all.
Rising from his chair, he made his way to the gallery and Hart. But as soon as he took a seat beside the fellow, Monique was presented.
Gregory couldn’t take his eyes off her. She wore a demure, elegant gown of fawn silk that shimmered whenever a shaft of sunlight caught it as she moved. Her hair, too, was sedately dressed, no doubt to amplify her regal appearance. But it was her smooth aplomb and measured speech that made her every inch a princess.
Which she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. He refused to believe himself to be so far off the mark.
“You may be right,” Hart said.
“About what?”
“Her being Monique Servais. I can’t be sure, but I’m leaning toward your point of view.”
Perhaps he wasn’t going mad after all. “What did you learn?”
“Apparently, the count made a trip to Dieppe a few days before the Chanay contingent departed from Calais.”
“Does anyone know why?”
“If they do, they’re not saying. But it certainly could be because he was going there to engage Mademoiselle Servais in his scheme.”
“It could.” He listened as she made an impassioned speech about the importance of choosing the proper ruler for Belgium. She was articulate and clever. If she was the real princess, he would champion her no matter what the cost. “Did you learn anything about why he might have wished to engage her?”
“No. That’s the trouble. I tried to find out, but when it came to information of that nature, the servants clammed up.”
“Or they didn’t know anything. The English servants would have been told that she was the princess. They have no reason to believe otherwise. Did you speak to the French ones?”
“There really weren’t any, so no. Have you any theories?”
“None right now. I need to know more.” Gregory paused to watch as she seduced a roomful of men into believing whatever she said. It was astonishing what a pretty, young female could do to further her cause. He refused to let such manipulation affect him.
Right. Because you’re not attracted to her in the least.
He scowled. He could handle Monique Servais. If that was really who she was. “Do you have time to take a trip?” he asked Hart.
“To Dieppe?”
“Exactly. I’d go myself except that I have to be here for the conference, especially with the foreign secretary indisposed.”
“I can go. The steam packets cross from Newhaven to Dieppe in nine hours these days. I could probably be back with a report for you by Friday. What do you want me to find out?”
“Whatever you can about Mademoiselle Servais. See if the count visited her personally, and if so, when. And do some research into her background. I can’t figure out why they would choose her, beyond her facility as an actress. The more you learn, the more I’ll know how to act.”
“Very well. I’ll discover what I can.”
“Excellent.”
They sat in shared silence a moment. Then Hart cleared his throat. “If she is Mademoiselle Servais, she plays the role of princess to perfection.”
“She does, indeed.”
“Are you sure she isn’t—”
“Aren’t you?” Gregory snapped.
Hart cocked his head to listen. “I just can’t be certain. She does have the same dulcet voice. Not to mention that sensual glide of a walk, like a swan on the water . . . or one of the finer French courtesans in the salons of Paris, who knows all the secrets of flirting and uses them to her advantage. It’s something in the way her hips swing ever so slightly, making a man want to reach out and grab—”
“Yes,” Gregory said irritably, “I know what you want to grab.” Randy bastard. “No princess walks like that. Besides, Princess Aurore has never been in Dieppe acting on the stage.”
“So why the masquerade?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
He could feel Hart’s gaze on him as the other man assessed the tension in his face.
“You like her,” Hart said accusingly.
Gregory forced a smile. “I think she’s talented at pretending to be someone else.”
“If that’s what she’s doing. And it’s more than that. You want her.”
He certainly did. But he would never admit that to Hart, of all people. Gregory drew himself up. “Unlike you, I do not fall for the blandishments of actresses.”
Hart uttered a mirthless laugh. “If you say so.” He rose. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Be quick about it, do you hear? The delegates plan to make a decision soon.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Barely aware of Hart slipping from the gallery, Gregory kept his gaze trained on Monique Servais. She did have the practiced grace of a princess. But Hart was right—something lay underneath it, a sensual quality that roused his blood. It called to him as no other woman ever had, made him want to unwind the barely restrained masses of her hair and luxuriate in it.
The effect she had on him made no sense. He was a practical man, well aware of the restrictions of his position. And she tempted him to toss them all to the wind just for another taste of that warm mouth.
He dropped his gaze to her wrist and the glove that covered the mark he’d made. An intense satisfaction coursed through him. At least there she was his.
Yet not his, either. She wasn’t the sort of woman to be owned. Which fascinated him. Most women wanted to adopt the high status of a husband so they could be sure of their place in society. She clearly did not. Or else she was sure enough of her own place to be content.
That gave him pause. Could he have been right the first time? Could she be the count’s mistress, who just happened to look enough like the princess to be her twin? It seemed an odd coincidence. But it would explain why the count had asked her to take Princess Aurore’s place.
Gregory also had to wonder about Princess Aurore. What would make the woman give up her duties to an impostor? Was she merely extremely shy? That would be in keeping with the reclusiveness she was famous for.
Perhaps this whole thing had come about because her people were afraid Aurore couldn’t present herself well enough to secure the position of queen. So they called in a woman who could, knowing that once Aurore was chosen, she could surround herself with sycophants who could keep people at bay.
Though that made sense, it didn’t seem likely. It was too much of a risk. Which left another more disturbing reason—that there was a sinister purpose behind it. Or worse yet, that she really was Princess Aurore and he was utterly wrong about the masquerade.
Damn it, he was tired of thinking about it. Until he had real information, he couldn’t puzzle it out. So he would just have to hope that Hart learned the reason for it in Dieppe. Because otherwise, Gregory would seriously have to improve his game at eliciting secrets from whoever that devilishly fetching creature was.