“Mademoiselle de Troyes.” He smiled, glanced at the floor and then back up to my face. “Memory, it would seem, is a pale comparison to reality.”

“How charming he is!” My mother clapped her hands together and we both twitched. “Best be off. You don’t want to be late.”

Once we were outside, I said, “Marie’s ladies were talking about you at rehearsals today. Of a certainty, she knows you are in Trianon. And if she knows, so does Anushka.”

“Good,” he said, although it seemed as if he hadn’t really heard me. I gripped his arm above the elbow as we walked down the slippery steps, uncertain of the state of his wrists and knowing better than to ask.

“I meant what I said,” he added. “You look beautiful tonight. That dress…” he trailed off.

“I’m supposed to be trying to seduce you into giving me all your money.”

“Trying?” He laughed. “You have succeeded, and in doing so, quite driven thoughts of anything else from my mind.”

“Your focus on our task is admirable,” I said, but secretly I was pleased.

“If I am distracted, it is your fault. You have been my undoing since the day we met.”

The coachman opened the door to the carriage, and Tristan helped me inside.

“Good evening, Cécile,” Monsieur Bouchard said, his loud voice filling the small space. I’d met him several times previously, as he was a subscriber, and the nephews sitting next to him as well. “Good evening,” I replied. “I understand I have you to thank for giving Monsieur de Montigny an excuse to see me tonight.”

“Glad to oblige.” The older man winked at Tristan as the carriage started forward. “I wanted proof that he wasn’t all bluster and that you two truly were acquainted.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, smiling up at Tristan. “We met in Courville this summer. I was ever so pleased when he decided to join society in Trianon.”

“And from now on, I shall go to Cécile with all my questions,” Bouchard said. “She is far less taciturn than you, Montigny.”

I laughed. “He hoards his secrets like a miser does his coin, I’m afraid. I spent all summer trying to pry them out, and I’m quite certain I barely scratched the surface.”

“For good reason,” Tristan replied. “It gives me an air of mystery. If I told you everything, I’d risk you realizing that I’m really quite dull.”

“I doubt that,” I said, then the carriage hit a dip in the road, bouncing me sideways against Tristan.

“Steady!” Bouchard shouted, banging on the wall. “Curse these roads. Something needs to be done about them.”

Except I didn’t curse them at all. Even through the layers of my skirts, I could feel the press of Tristan’s hip against mine, the brush of his coat against my neck as he rested his arm along the back of the seat, the way his breath tickled my hair. I wanted to lean against him, but the gleam of amusement on the other men’s faces told me I was already skirting the line of what was proper. I wanted them gone so it wouldn’t matter, and from the burn of the heat in the back of my head, I knew the same thought had crossed Tristan’s mind.