She shook her head.

“I did not think so. It was the other one, wasn’t it? The one more than happy to leave you alone with me.” He speared her with those eyes. “Tell me now.”

She hesitated. He really didn’t care about her. This was the first time in years that he had even really looked at her.

He was definitely doing that. Sharply. Deeply. It made her uncomfortable.

He had helped her that time when she complained. Perhaps, if she told him, he would agree to keep silent, and things could continue as before. Or perhaps, if he complained, Madame Leblanc would believe him, and Madame Oiseau would be dismissed.

There was something in his expression that indicated he would have the truth, one way or another. Something determined, even ruthless, burned in those devil eyes.

She much preferred him bored and indifferent.

“It belongs to Madame Oiseau, as you guessed,” she said. “There is a young girl, no more than fourteen, to whom she has been showing it. The girl told me about it, and how Madame Oiseau described the riches to be had for a woman who did such things. My young friend was frightened. I went to Madame’s chamber and took it. I was looking for a way to bring it down to the fire but Madame Oiseau claimed a brooch had gone missing and all the girls’ chambers were searched. The book was found in mine.”

“And the brooch never was found, was it?”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully while his gaze moved all over her, lingering on her face. He was trying to decide if she spoke the truth.

“How old are you now?”

The annual question, coming now, startled her. “Sixteen.”

“You spoke of your friend who is fourten as a young girl.”

“She acts younger than that.”

He scrutinized her. He had never looked at her so long or so thoroughly. No one ever had.

“I brought you here, what, ten years ago? Twelve? It was right after … You were a girl then, but not a little child.” His gaze met hers squarely. “How old are you?”

Her foolish plan was unfolding in spite of her cowardice.

Only she did not want it now.

“Sixteen.”

“I do not care for young women trying to make a fool of me. I think if we let down your hair from those childish braids, and see you in something besides that sack, that we will know the truth.”

“The truth is that I am sixteen.”

“Indeed? Indulge my curiosity then.” He gestured at her head. “The hair. Take it down.”

Cursing herself for having attracted his attention, she pulled the ribbons off the ends of her braids. Unplaiting, and combing with her fingers, she loosed her hair. It fell in waves around her face and down her body.

His sharp eyes warmed. That should have reassured her, but it had the opposite effect. A caution prickled her back.