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“I saw you were seated with my mother’sparamour at dinner,” Briony said. “I do hope it wasn’t too awkwardfor you.”
Ooh. The child came with gossip. Then, Ifelt a pang of guilt. The kid was fully aware of one of herparents’ affairs. And if she was aware of one, she was probablyalso aware of another. That was heartbreaking.Or she’s a kidand she doesn’t know what paramour is.Maybe she was thinkingof that two-thousands band. “I’m sorry, your mother’s what,sweetie?”
“Her paramour.” Her little brow crumpled inconfusion. “I’m sorry, perhaps I’m not using the word correctly. Idid only just learn it. Her lover?”
Oh god, that was an even worse word to hearcoming out of a kid’s mouth. “I—”
“That is the correct meaning, isn’t it?” sheasked. It took a few attempts to find my voice.
“Uh. Uh, yeah. That’s what it means.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought myvocabulary needed polishing.”
“It’s more polished than mine,” Imuttered.
“So, how do you know Scott?” she asked.
“Oh, he’s my brother,” I said before I madethe mental link. “Wait—”
“I’m so sorry.” Briony’s little hands cameup to cover her mouth. “You weren’t aware.”
“Aware that my brother…is yourmother’s…”
“Paramour,” she repeated. “Lover.”
“Yeah, no, I got that.” My mind raced, butmy every thought collided with a solid wall of revulsion. Mybrother was fucking Catherine? I’d overheard my brother fuckingCatherine? And he’d had the nerve to… No, that couldn’t be correct.Scott had been waiting for me in the foyer the whole time. He’dbeen there when Matt and I had returned. Unless he was the fastestgun in the East—gross—and he could have somehow teleported, it wasimpossible that he’d been the guy going at it with Catherine. “Youknow,” I began, my heart pounding in my throat as I recovered fromthe scare, “your dad was looking for you.”
“Is Father here?” Her faint brows raised.“Well, my brother has lost a bet with me. Do excuse me, won’tyou?”
“Of course.” I watched her skip off, aphysical action so incongruous with our conversation that Iwondered if my high ass had hallucinated it all.
“And maybe don’t use the word ‘paramour,’” Icalled after her. “I might not be clear on the definitioneither.”
She certainly wasn’t.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
(Matthew)
By the time Charlotte came back to thedining room, I’d already put away two pieces of cake.
“Where did you go to the bathroom? France?”I asked as she sat down and scooted her chair in.
“There was a line, so I had to go all theway back to the room.” She snorted a laugh and took the dessertplate I pushed toward her. “You’ll never believe whathappened.”
“You ran into the ghost?”
Her face fell into a deadly seriousexpression. “The more you joke about that, the more nervous youmake me.”
“I’m kidding, I promise.” I wasn’t, but Ididn’t see the harm in the white lie, if it helped her sleep atnight in my mother’s incredibly haunted mansion. “Whathappened?”
“I ran into your niece, and we had a veryfunny misunderstanding.” Charlotte pushed her fork into the sliceof cake. “Although, it wasn’t that funny until I realized it was amisunderstanding.”
“Do tell.”
Around a mouthful, which she covered withher hand, she said, “She asked me how I knew your sister’s‘paramour’ Scott.”
I barked a laugh that drew stares from a fewof the guests still lingering in the dining room. “Where did sheget that idea?”