What prince? “No,” he said slowly. “I’m not the prince.”

“Thank goodness.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “I should hate to have let on to the prince that Lady Lydingham had hired . . .” The young woman’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re not the prince, and you’re not an actor, then who are you?”

It had been Gray’s experience that complete honesty was not always as effective as partial honesty. “I never said I wasn’t an actor.”

“Oh, how lovely.” Her expression brightened. “I’m Miss Murdock, Edwina. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Don’t be.” She raised a shoulder in a casual shrug. “I’m not famous yet, but I will be. I intend to be as famous as Ellen Terry one day.”

“She’s a very good actress, you know.”

“As am I.” She tossed him an impudent smile. “And at the moment, I am Lady Hargate, the younger sister of Lady Lydingham.” She paused thoughtfully. “She’s supposed to be quite proper and was described to me as something of a stick in the mud, but I’m not sure I see the part that way.”

“And how do you see it?” What was going on here?

“Well, goodness, how proper can she be? She married a much older man and now she’s a wealthy widow. A very wealthy widow, apparently. And her name is Delilah,” she added pointedly. “I don’t see her as being the least bit proper, but rather”—she deepened her voice slightly—“provocative, I would think. The kind of woman who knows what she wants and does what she must to get it.” She met his gaze directly, and he wasn’t sure if she was acting or simply very dangerous.

“Well . . . um . . .”—he swallowed hard—“it’s been my observation that nothing makes a performance more realistic than when an actor plays the role the way he—or she—feels it should be performed.”

She gasped. “That’s exactly how I feel. Then you think I’m right, to play the part as I see it, that is?”

“Without question. If you think Lady Hargate is, well, something of a tart—”

“And I do. Really, how could she be anything else?”

“Then you owe it to your audience to play the role as you feel it—” He laid a hand over his heart. “Here.”

“You’re quite right. I don’t know why I hesitated. And I have always been very good at playing the tart.” She raised a shapely shoulder in an offhand shrug. “It just seems to come naturally for me.”

“I can see where it would.”

She cast him a brilliant smile. “You’re obviously very good as well, but I didn’t realize there were any more roles for men other than servants, of course, and you don’t seem suited to play a footman.”

He shrugged.