Her laughter eventually trailed off. “Why don’t you pour me a drink.”

“What’s your pleasure?”

“Surprise me.”

I went to the sideboard with its dozen decanters and splashed a generous amount of brandy into two glasses. It was well past time I was away from this party. Something about her made me uneasy, and it wasn’t that she’d just one-upped me.

“A song for us, Genevieve?” Bouchard was watching from the corner where he stood with a few older gentlemen.

“Later,” she called, taking the drink from me. “If I give it up so easily, you’ll lose your appreciation.”

“Impossible,” he declared. “You are beyond compare, and there isn’t a man in this room who doesn’t know it. Or isn’t about to find out.” He winked at me and I raised my glass in response.

Genevieve took my arm, leading me closer to the fire. The room was already hot, and the flames only made it worse. A bead of sweat ran down my back, and my shirt stuck uncomfortably to my skin.

“So tell me,” she said. “Why have you come to Trianon?”

“What do the gossip mills say?” The brandy tasted foul, and I wished it were water.

“They say a great many things, but one can never be certain of their accuracy.”

I chuckled. “That’s what makes it interesting, isn’t it?”

She pursed her lips. “You’re not going to tell me?”

I shook my head. “If I reveal my true purpose, I might have to follow through with it. I’m not sure I’m ready for that much commitment.”

“And yet the rumors say you’re here looking for a wife.” She sipped at her drink. “Some people say that’s the ultimate commitment.”

“I think you are not one of them.”

She blinked. “You seem to know a great deal about me.”

“I make it my business to be informed about the mothers of the daughters who interest me,” I said. “Cécile has a lovely voice. I was entranced from the moment I first heard it.”

The glass in her hand shattered.

She stared at the blood dripping down her fingers, seemingly as astonished as I was. In an instant, we were surrounded by the other men, Bouchard taking hold of her wrist and pulling her fingers open. The rest of the glass toppled to the ground with a muffled little clink.

“What happened?” he demanded, examining the cut.

“The heat from the fire,” she said. “It must have made the glass shatter.”

Which was absolute nonsense. I’d intended to lure her in by mentioning Cécile, but I’d gotten much more than I’d bargained for. Anger? Fear? I found her difficult to read, so I wasn’t precisely sure. But what I did know for certain was that she wanted me nowhere near her daughter.

“This should be seen to by a physician; it may need to be stitched,” he said, holding her palm out for me to see. I nodded in agreement, though I knew nothing about judging the severity of a human injury.