Page 8 of Marrying Bluebeard

Monsieur de Montragoux gives me the slightest hint of a smile. “Do you not believe in ghosts, Miss Brindamour?”

“I do, actually.” My gaze is fixed on the one hovering before me. Despite her stained hands and the gruesome story, I’m not getting a murderous vibe from her. In fact, something about her makes me want to give her a hug. I take a step forward, and the ghost blinks in surprise.

“He was hurting them,” she says, and my heart aches at the lingering pain in her voice. “He tried to hurt me too.” Her hand twitches. “He wasn’t expecting me to fight back.”

I can’t help it—I answer her. “I’m glad you did. May the bastard rot in hell.”

Her face breaks into a smile, and a soft glow of glittering light surrounds her. “Thank you.” Her visage fades in the light. “He is.”

And then she’s gone, and I’m alone with Monsieur de Montragoux. Worry gnaws at my gut as I wait for him to comment on my strange behavior—will it be mocking? Or scornful? What must he think of me? Talking to the air. He must think I’ve lost my wits.

When I gather the nerve to meet his gaze, however, it isn’t censure that I find there. It’s interest. Rapt, unyielding interest.

He steps forward, positioning himself in the very spot that Sister Mercy disappeared from, and holds out his arm. “Shall we head back?”

No mention of my strange words. No remark about the lights that I’m certain he saw too. I find myself hesitating, confused by his lack of response, but then he winks.

And suddenly we’re conspirators, and Sister Mercy is the secret we share, just us two.

My chest swells with anticipation as I take his arm. Perhaps this house party isn’t the worst thing in the world after all.

7

ADELAIDE

“Ican’t believe I let Lord Harrison talk us into entering those ruins. My opinion of him is rapidly decreasing.” Marguerite shivers. “Although I suppose a stunt like that would only raise him in your esteem.” I brush crimson paint across my lips, and she wrinkles her nose at me in the mirror. “Too bold.”

I purse my lips, admiring the dark hue. I think it makes me look daring. “I like it.”

Marguerite shakes her head, but she knows better than to argue. “One thing’s for sure. You and Monsieur de Montragoux looked thick as thieves coming out of the ruins arm in arm. I thought Julien would have a fit when he saw you.” She smirks. “Lord Harrison didn’t look too happy, either.”

“Oh please.” I fix a rogue smudge of paint before turning in my seat and giving her a look. “It was perfectly respectable. And besides, he dropped me as soon as we returned to the blanket. Spent the rest of the afternoon doting on Miss Dellum.”

“Someone sounds jealous.”

“Not jealous. Merely pointing out that Julien has nothing to worry about. Monsieur de Montragoux has no interest in me as a potential bride.”

“If you say so,” Marguerite sighs. “And honestly, I hope you’re right. While I’ll admit he’s polite and less intimidating in person than at first glance, there’s something about him that unsettles me. And it isn’t just his beard,” she adds, seeing the retort forming on my lips.

“Well, whatever it is, it matters not.” I stand, taking Marguerite’s hand in mine. “You’ve got your Julia, and I’ve got a brother who won’t rest until I’m engaged to a respectable gentleman. And we both have a dinner to get to, unless you fancy walking in late? I know how you love making an entrance.”

“Oh yes.” Marguerite rolls her eyes. “You know me so well.”

“Don’t I, though?” I link our arms together as we make our way to the dining room. Almost everyone has been seated, with a single notable exception—Monsieur de Montragoux has yet to arrive. He enters as I stand in the doorway, the subtle spice of his aftershave alerting me to his presence. Every nerve in my body is alive as he passes.

A pinch on my side, and I turn to find Marguerite searing me with a look. She nods toward the table, where a footman waits behind a chair. Waiting, it would seem, for me. I manage a weak smile as Marguerite and I part ways and slip into my chair, taking a quick peek to see where Monsieur de Montragoux’s been placed. Not that I care. I’m just curious.

Beside Miss Dellum. How lovely. I hope they have a delightful chat.

Honestly, I couldn’t care less.

But what could they possibly be talking about? I don’t think I’ve ever heard her utter more than a few words at a time. She’s certainly a rapt listener, though. Practically hanging onto his every word. Why does he keep leaning in like that? She’s blushing!

“Is the soup not to your liking?”

“What?” I startle at Lord Harrison’s voice, and it’s only then that I realize a bowl of gazpacho has been placed in front of me. “Oh.” I dip my spoon in the cold, red soup and take a sip. “Very nice,” I murmur, even as my gaze yearns to veer left.

“You seem distracted tonight.” Lord Harrison glances down the table where Monsieur de Montragoux is apparently wowing Miss Dellum with some thrilling tale or another, given her doe-eyed expression. “I hope our excursion through the ruins wasn’t too overwhelming. I’d hate to think I exhausted you on your second day here. Especially since we only have three left before Madame Gossard shoos us away,” he adds with a light chuckle.