Update: I started reading an ARC of The Secret of Flirting last night. I finished at 2:00 this morning. What a wonderful send-off for this series. I loved it!
The Secret of Flirting
Excerpt
When they reached the garden, Monique’s
heart sank to see it so deserted. Apparently she hadn’t been the only one to
think dinner might soon be served. Even the band they’d heard playing out here
earlier had packed up and moved inside, closer to the banqueting room.
You can handle this, she told herself. You’re
an acclaimed actress, for God’s sake. This is what you do—play roles. Why,
you’ve even played a princess before. So get to it, and show this pompous
gentleman what you’re made of.
With that in mind, she went on the
offensive. “Please forgive me if this is rude, Lord Fulkham, but I’m confused
by what my uncle said concerning your part in these negotiations. I was unaware
that undersecretaries were of such profound importance in English political
matters. I thought they were little better than clerks.”
If she’d thought to insult him, his
laugh showed that she’d failed. “Some of them are. It just so happens that
England has two kinds. I’m the political kind. Especially these days, with the
foreign secretary laid up in bed.” He cast her a searching glance. “You have a
better knowledge of English affairs than I would have expected.”
She had her half-English father to
thank for that. He’d always kept up with politics in his mother’s country. “And
you, monsieur, have a better facility for ‘diplomacy’ than I would have
expected. I think my uncle is right. You do
have a silver tongue.”
“I hope not. It would make it
awfully hard to eat,” he quipped.
A laugh sputtered out of her. Curse
him. She didn’t remember him having a humorous side. “You are very droll,
monsieur.”
“And you are very . . . different,”
he said.
She tensed. “From what?”
“From what I expected. I’d heard
that the Princess of Chanay was a rather haughty young lady.”
She had no idea if Anne was
haughty. Though it would stand to reason. Weren’t all princesses haughty?
Not the way Monique played them.
And it didn’t matter how Anne really was. According to the count, no one outside
Chanay had ever met the princess, so Lord Fulkham couldn’t be sure what she was
like. He was merely trying to catch the woman he had met in an error.
Which meant she must be as
different from Monique Servais as possible, to throw him off guard, make him
doubt his eyes. Monique Servais had given him the sharper side of her tongue,
so Princess Anne must be engaging, flirtatious.
“A man like you should know better
than to listen to rumor,” she told him.
“Actually, rumor is my life’s
blood. There’s generally a bit of truth in every piece of gossip. It’s my job
to find out which bits are true and which bits are trumped-up lies.” He led her
down a path. “For example, I heard that you were partial to theatrical
entertainments. Is that the case?”
Curse the fellow, he’d heard no
such thing. He was just baiting her again.
She fought the urge to stiffen,
keeping her grip of his arm deliberately loose. “I enjoy the occasional play,
yes. Doesn’t everyone?”
“It depends. I like plays, but only
tragedies.” He shot her a veiled look. “Comedies set my teeth on edge.”
She remembered only too well his
ridiculous opinion of comedies. “I prefer operas,” she said lightly. “Doesn’t
matter to me what the story is about as long as there’s singing. Do you enjoy
the opera, monsieur?”
That seemed to catch him off guard,
for he frowned. “Not at all, I’m afraid. In real life people don’t speak to
each other in arias.”
“In real life people do not wear
elaborate costumes to go to the market either, but one can still enjoy seeing
such attire in that setting on the stage.”
“Yes, those powdered wigs are quite
entertaining,” he drawled. “Especially when the actors and actresses are
running in and out of the boudoir.”
She could feel his eyes on her.
Clearly he was referencing Le Mariage de
Figaro directly. Silly man. As if that
would make her lose her control and spill her secrets. “Oh, I do like that
kind of opera myself. Otello is so dramatic. And that scene in
Desdemona’s boudoir makes me weep every time.”
He halted to eye her closely.
“You’ve seen Rossini’s Otello?”
“Of course. In Paris. It was quite
moving.”
A triumphant look crossed his face.
“I thought you rarely left Chanay.”
Too late she remembered what the
count had told her about Anne’s secluded life. She scrambled to cover her
error. “That’s true—I rarely do. But Maman took me to Paris to see Otello once when I was a girl. It’s her
favorite opera.”
“You said that it ‘makes me weep
every time.’ That implies you’ve seen it more than once.”
Her heart thundered in her chest.
“I meant ‘every time I think of the scene.’ I misspoke. English is not my
native tongue, you know.” She tipped up her chin. “And why do you dissect my
words so, monsieur? Is it necessary for the prospective Queen of Belgium to
speak your language perfectly?”
“That’s not why I ‘dissect’ your
words, as you are well aware.”
Merde, obviously he’d figured her out. She would have to tread
carefully, or else he would swallow her up, and with her, all her hopes for her
and Grandmamma’s future. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Come now, mademoiselle.” He leaned
close enough to show the hardening planes of his face. “It’s time that you
relinquish this pretense. Because you and I both know that you are Monique
Servais and not the Princess of
Chanay at all.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Have you read any of the books in Sabrina Jeffries' The Sinful Suitors series?
One randomly chosen person posting a comment before Midnight (Pacific Time) today will receive a print ARC (advance reader copy) of The Secret of Flirting. (U.S. addresses only)
