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Interesting.

Possibly. Perhaps his horse had just foaled and there was nothing more to it than that.

That would make for a horrible start to Clara’s undercover career. Not dramatic at all. Priya had once locked the prince himself in a privy.

But as tempting as it was to follow him again, Clara stayed where she was. If she gave herself away, being invisible would not help her. More importantly, it would not help Sybil and Heloise.

The lady with the red lips and the dark hair curling over one shoulder approached her. The others watched, hungrily. Eager for entertainment. “May I join you?” the woman asked. “My name is Selene.”

Clara had heard of her. She was a Bird of Paradise, the madam of a house called the Temple. She and her ladies were all named after the moon and stars because they allegedly only came out at night. And here she was, more welcome in a marquis’s house than Clara was as an earl’s daughter.

“Of course you may,” Clara said, as someone giggled nearby.

Selene sat next to her with her a wry smile. “Pay them no mind. I expect it’s a jab at me.”

Clara snorted—she couldn’t help herself. Selene might be scandalous, but she was also stunning and clearly very clever to be invited to the drawing room of a marquis. With a multitude of ladies present.

Ladies like Clara.

“It’s a jab at me.”

And though someone as devoted to the proper way of things would certainly be expected to look askance at a mistress and a member of the demimonde, Clara did not use her reputation to be unkind. She never had and she would not start now. They might see her disapproval and fussiness as unkindness, but they had failed to notice she did not turn it on those who could not defend themselves.

“How do you do?” Clara asked.

There was a beat of silence before Selene smiled. “Oh, they have underestimated you, haven’t they?”

Clara blushed. She actually felt her cheeks go pink. She had never received such a compliment. “Thank you.”

“I feel much less concern for your nerves now and can say that I believe you have been placed in the dower house with me.” Selene tilted her head. “They’ll want you to be shocked over that.”

“I’m sure they will.”

“But you aren’t? You shan’t march away in high dudgeon?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“How loudly do you snore?”

Selene laughed. It was a lovely, sultry sound that had most of the other guests turning their way. Even Bram smiled a little from his post by the door, but he was smiling at Clara.

Half a dozen men straightened their cravats and began to race each other in their direction. “Oh, now you’ve done it,” Clara murmured. “It will be a massacre.”

“Never mind,” Selene murmured back, her red lips curving. “Your man will save you.”

Clara blinked. “He’s not my man.”

Selene only patted her knee, as though Clara was a silly old woman who’d forgotten her spectacles were already on her nose.

Chapter Ten

The village of Montragroux was clustered around the main square with its medieval stone cross and cobbles underfoot. The blacksmith was already at his work, the steady beat of the hammer like a heartbeat. Acrid smoke wafted. A nearby horse protested with an equine sneeze and an affronted snort. It was a very pretty village, with a grocer, a dressmaker, a bakery, and a shoemaker.

It would have been like any other village were it not for the obvious preparations being made for the Devil’s Night.

Round cookies with white frosting and red raspberry nipples. Breadsticks that could only be called…suggestive.