Page 23

"Bonjour, madame."

She points me down another corridor, this one lined with completed puzzles in frames, and vanishes as efficiently as she appeared.

Her directions take me to a sunlit room overlooking the gardens, and a lot cozier than I expected despite the casual display of porcelain plates, tableware in 24-karat-gold, and fresh flowers spilling from priceless Ming vases.

"Bonjour."

I hate how my breath catches just by looking at my husband, who looks impossibly handsome in his navy blue riding jacket, tailored shirt, and jeans. But then he rises to his feet and actually pulls a chair out for me—

Oh no.

I rush toward him in concern. "Are you feeling well?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you're acting like a gentleman, and that worries me."

"Ah." Amusement gleams from the dark blue depths of his eyes. "I was wondering how long it would take you to call me out on that."

That's all he has to say, really?

I'd like to roll my eyes, but change my mind when Erin reappears, and the staff starts serving breakfast. It's one thing to provoke him in front of his security (I'm pretty sure they're the see-speak-and-hear-no-evil type), but it's another thing entirely to act like a shrew in front of the rest of his household.

"Shall we sit down?"

His courteous ways make me look at him suspiciously, but what do you know?

Monsieur Le Dernieris just as good as I am at acting like nothing's amiss, and he helps me into my seat like he's won the world's title forBest Husband Everfor consecutive years.

Too bad for him, but I'm not so easily distracted, and I wait until all the other ladies are gone, and it's just the two of us again.

Well, there's also his army of bodyguards, but they don't count.

"So..."

My husband turns to face me, and I'm momentarily distracted by the massive breadth of his shoulders. I'm suddenly reminded of how those same shoulders look naked, with water streaming down them as Sylvain rises from the pool—

"You were saying?" Sylvain prompts.

Oh, stop, you!

I clear my throat. "I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Of course."

"Who are you, and what did you do to my husband?"

His eyes gleam. "So we are back to that again."

"Well, to be fair...I was just curious. I have a feeling you're rude to everyone, any—"

"Ah, but I am not."

What did he just say?

I look at him indignantly, but my husband only shrugs. "I am the epitome of good manners with other women."

I don't even notice planting my hands on my waist as I face him with a glare, our knees bumping into each other under the table.