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He looked once more to her. This was not the Millie Abbott he knew, and he had deemed himself an accurate judge of character.

Marguerite glanced between them. “But how kind of you, Andre, to care so much for the reputation of your cousin. I would not have thought you capable of such tenderness.”

He was very near to uttering an oath before two members of the gentle sex. Marguerite had never vexed him before, but he did not like that his consternation seemed to amuse her.

“Your carriage, if you please, Marguerite,” he said.

“I have no wish to leave,” Millie objected.

“She has no wish to leave,” Marguerite echoed.

“It doesn’t matter. I am taking her to safety,” he responded, ignoring Millie’s indignant gasp. “It is not that I do not esteem you, Marguerite, but you are more inclined to trust than not. And I do not trust all your guests. Especially the Viscount Devon.”

“He seemed a most agreeable man to me,” Millie said.

His friend and frequent guest of the château, the Baron Rockwell, had warned of Lord Devon. The Viscount had a keen though subtly expressed interest in virgins.

“The more a man charms you, the less you can trust him,” he told Millie.

“I suppose you would know a rogue better than anyone.”

He blinked, taken aback once more. Was she acting this way because she was cross at him for not intervening in her engagement?

“I take it you must be close cousins,” Marguerite said, “for you quarrel as easily as an old married couple.”

Millie appeared chastened. “Forgive me, Madame Follet. I fear I have given you a poor sampling of my manners. Your pardon as well, cousin. I should be flattered that you wish to preserve my honor. I ought not have responded as I did to your highhandedness. Perhaps it is best I depart.”

At last Millie had come to her senses, he thought.

But Marguerite objected. “No, no! I will not see it happen. You, my dear, will change your attire. I will send Bhadra to assist you. You, Andre, will return to the dining room and finish your dinner. It is settled. The both of you will enjoy your time here as you had initially intended.”

“Settled?” he echoed. “Nothing is settled.”

“It is. Your aunt entrusted Miss Abbott to me with the expectation that she will have a marvelous time, and I will see it done.”

She took Millie by the arm and began to guide her toward the door.

“Do you mean to say you are refusing my request for the use of your carriage?”

“C'est cela.”

He stopped her. “Marguerite, pray be reasonable. You do Miss Abbott no favors by permitting her to stay.”

“Andre, she is my guest, not yours. Your aunt—”

“Katherine is far too enamored with this place and in want of discretion.”

Marguerite arched her slender brows. “Andre, this is most unlike you. And because we are good friends, I will dare to say that I find your position rather selfish.”

She astounded him. She deemed him selfish when he was willing to sacrifice his long-awaited weekend at the château to protect his cousin?

His look of vexation did not daunt Marguerite. She continued, “Oui. You have partaken readily of the pleasures here but would deny the opportunity to another?”

He tried a different approach. “I ask you, as a friend, I beg of you to see the soundness of my actions.”

“Your aunt is my friend as well, and I am loath to disappoint her.”

They had all lost reason, he decided. All three women. Women he had hitherto thought sensible—especially Millie.

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