She pulled her hand from my grasp, and then surprised me by running one finger along my jaw, the familiarity of the gesture unnerving. “Do you always run so hot?”

“It’s in the blood,” I replied. “We Montignys have our curses, but clammy feet isn’t one of them.”

One tawny eyebrow rose. “I suppose that has its advantages on a cold winter’s night.”

The room burst into whistles and catcalls. I coughed, reaching blindly behind me for my drink, nearly knocking it over in the process. Genevieve laughed, the sound loud and clear as a clarion bell, and every man in the room echoed her as though on cue. My ears buzzed and my spine crawled with discomfort, which I hid behind my glass as I downed my brandy in a long gulp. Any doubt that Genevieve possessed a witch’s powers vanished from my mind, but I remained uncertain of whether she was aware. Cécile had used magic unknowingly, and her mother might well be doing the same.

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.

“Nonsense.” She retrieved a handkerchief and wrapped up her hand. “I’ll be fine. But I’ll need another glass.” She waved away the onlookers, and then set her replacement beverage on top of the mantel. “Cécile has been quite reticent about revealing the details of where she was during the months of her absence.”

“And you thought in seeking me out that I might divulge some of those details?”

“What sort of mother would I be if I didn’t take an interest in my daughter’s comings and goings. And disappearances.”

“An absent one, I suppose,” I said with a smile, not sure why I was provoking her when my aim was to win her over. “But that is neither here nor there. I’m afraid I’ll not reveal Cécile’s secrets. If you wish answers, you’ll have to ask her yourself.”

Her jaw tightened. “What of your intentions toward her? Will you divulge those?”

“You’re forward.”

“She’s young and naive. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

“Ah.” I handed my empty glass to a passing servant. “Well, rest assured, Madame de Troyes, I’d sooner harm myself than your daughter. Nothing would please me more than to see her onstage unencumbered by such trivial concerns as finances.”

“You wish to offer her patronage?” Her eyes narrowed. “In exchange for what?”

“Is not the pleasure of seeing her perform payment enough?”