She barely refrained from gagging as she muttered, “I have varied interests.”
Yvette let out a disapproving grunt, then gathered her skirts and marched in the other direction.
“Are you feeling well this morning?” Armand asked once she was gone.
“I am, thank you. The elderberry has done its job.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Actually, I’m glad to run into you. As I concoct a plan for how best to deal with your… problem… I thought perhaps you could tell me more details about the hauntings.”
“Of course. Why don’t we go out on the terrace? My aunt always said that sunny days are not to be taken for granted.”
Mallory typically avoided anything to do with being outside—sunshine and fresh air were entirely overrated—but she nodded anyway. “Lovely.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mallory and Armand found Anaïs already on the terrace, having made herself quite comfortable on a cushioned settee, a parasol overhead and a book in hand. She beamed when she spotted Mallory, marking her page with a finger.
“Mally! I expected you to sleep until the afternoon.” She sighed dreamily as she sank into an assortment of pillows. “Good morning, Count Armand. What a very fine terrace you have. It’s positively sublime.”
“Thank you,” said Armand, a little stiffly—perhaps at being so informally addressed. “As you know, we’ve had few guests lately. I am glad to see the terrace being properly enjoyed.”
“Château life suits you well.” Mallory dove into the shade of a potted tree. The terrace stretched the full length of the back of the house, and led to symmetrical staircases that curved down toward the formal gardens.
Or what had once been formal gardens. Despite how unkemptthe gardens had become, the breathtaking intention was still apparent in the patchwork of lawn, the geometric borders, the tidy rows of topiaries.
“I hardly knew such luxury existed.” Anaïs held her book up toward Armand. “I hope you don’t mind if I borrowed a book from your library.”
Mallory read the title on the fabric cover—The Maiden and the Marquis. Typical.
“Not at all. I hope you will make yourself quite at home while you are here,” said Armand. “You and your sister have very different tastes in literature. She was fascinated by the Otellien aqueducts earlier.”
Anaïs laughed. “Usually you can’t interest her in anything other than dark fairy tales. Well, and the occasional gothic romance.”
Armand’s eyebrows rose. “Romance?”
“Oh yes,” Anaïs went on. “Haunted châteaus, dark forests, a handsome lord with a secret…”
Armand glanced at Mallory, intrigued and… blushing?
“Not to mention the angst and the pining. She’ll never admit it, but my sister is a romantic.”
“She’s lying,” Mallory deadpanned. “I would sooner impale a handsome lord on my dagger than kiss one.”
Lips twitching, Armand looked away. “I will keep that in mind.”
Mallory’s insides twisted. Why had she mentionedkissing?
She shot a glare at her sister, who ducked back behind her book.
A giggle drew their attention to the corner of the terrace, where the maid—Julie—was polishing a stout marble statue of a goat-horned satyr that stood at the edge of a raised garden bed.“I certainly don’t feel that way,” she said idly. “I’m rather fond of handsome lords myself.”
She cast a look at Armand that was part suggestive and part embarrassed, before hastily returning to her work.
Armand’s expression was nothing short of horrified as he choked back a cough.
“I did mean to ask, my lord,” the maid went on, “that these were the sculptures you wanted polished?”
