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“Tell my husband there is nothing between us! I have never in my life flirted with you. I never encouraged you to come into my room. And we have never slept together.”

Mano lit up a cigarette. “You should know how stubborn Étienne is. He can’t be convinced of anything he doesn’t want to be. But me? I can be convinced of anything. Tell me, sweet girl, how much do you want your clothes?”

I hesitated. I desperately wanted my clothes. But I even more desperately wanted to clear up this mystery. And I did not want to be beholden to Mano.

I was becoming very convinced that Placidie had set this up to split Étienne and I apart.

Would Mano do what his mother said?

And could he be convinced to admit everything to my husband, so he’d let me out of this prison?

So I swallowed my anger and confusion.

“Yes, I would like my own clothes.”

Of course Étienne would be upset about hearing those lies, I told myself. Of course he would believe the paternity test, it was only normal to be angry about such things. Once I was able to show him evidence of the plot against me—he’d change his mind.

“How soon is your next doctor’s appointment?” Mano asked. “I can take you to it, if you like.”

Surprised, I blinked and looked fully at him. He was still leaning against the railing, lighting a cigarette as his eyes slid down my chest to where my breasts swelled against Hugo’s soft button-up shirt.

I wriggled my feet, uncomfortably aware suddenly that the bottom of the shirt only reached to the top of my thighs as Mano pushed off the railing and took a step toward me.

“N-no,” I said. “I’m hoping to be back at home soon. So Étienne can take me.”

Mano paused, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Up close, those Bastide eyes unnerved me, his dark stubble not hiding the silver scarmarks on his cheeks.

“My brother rejected you. Yet you still talk about him with that tone in your voice.”

“Only b-because he believes lies about me,” I said, my boldness growing. “When he knows the truth, he’ll change his mind.”

Mano frowned, and took another step toward me, forcing me to slide backward.

“And what is the truth?”

“You and someone else set this up, didn’t you? I whispered.

I took another step back. Mano was close, way too close.

“Do you know where I got these scars?”

There was something he found amusing, something to twist his lips up, but I couldn’t share his humor.

“Tell me the truth!” I insisted, staring at his face, trying to discern the truth of it in those dark eyes, the hard, scarred expression.

“Do you know where I got these scars?” he repeated.

Mano reached out and took one of my long, copper-red curls, rubbing it back and forth between his fingers in a way that made me want to vomit.

His fingers curved around my throat.

“One summer, before he had asked your Da for your hand, you were gathering ginseng and some of it fell out of your hands. I picked it up and handed it back to you, and when I did, our hands brushed together.”

“I don’t remember that⁠—”

“And Étienne thrashed me for it. Forced me to get my knife out and defend myself. And, of course, against him I could not. Told me in no uncertain terms that you were his and if I ever touched you, I would get the same. So no, beautiful Léonie, I do not want to facilitate your reconciliation.”

But before I could say anything else, Placidie called for him, and he followed her back out to the SUV.