“Don’t think for a second I won’t pry your secrets from you later. But right now, we have an important meeting. Shall we?”
I nod quickly.
“Good.”
The young man from a minute ago escorts us through the huge château and then down a couple of flights of stairs, leading us deep underground and informing us that we can now remove our masks.
Armed guards wave us through two sets of heavy wooden doors set into stone walls. Finally, we step into a sumptuous lounge with smooth granite walls and an ancient floor, luxurious Persian rugs, and buttery leather chairs and sofas arranged in front of a huge, crackling fireplace that looks vaguely medieval.
There are four men and a woman already sitting—all dressed as if they’ve also just come from the ball upstairs—and they stand as we step into the room.
“Monsieur le Marquis.”
It’s the taller man in the middle of this group—obviously Xavier d’Auvrelle—who speaks, his accented voice low as his blue eyes glint. His tuxedo fits his trim, athletic build perfectly, showcasing his broad shoulders and muscled arms, despite obviously being in his forties. He smiles a pristine white smile as he shakes Vaughn’s hand.
“Welcome, friend,” he murmurs. “I trust you’re enjoying the party upstairs?”
“You’re a most gracious host,” Vaughn says crisply.
“I believe you know my advisors,” Xavier says, turning to the three men who look his age or slightly older. “Bertrand, Jean, and Pierre.”
Vaughn dips his chin, firmly shaking each of the men’s hands in turn.
“And this beautiful lady…” Xavier smiles as he turns to indicate the young woman who's about my age with gorgeous long red hair that tumbles elegantly over one shoulder and down her stunning blue gown. “Is my daughter, Cerise.”
Then Xavier's attention settles onto me.
“And who might this lovely creature be?”
Vaughn bows. “Allow me to introduce Evelina Nikitin,” he murmurs. “My…”
I brace myself for “assistant” or “Acolyte”.
“My date for the evening…forallevenings, actually.”
Heat tingles over my skin, creeping up my neck and face as I quickly glance up at him. But Vaughn is just looking right back at me, one brow slightly cocked and a smug expression on his face.
“Enchanté,” Xavier murmurs, bringing my hand to his lips and kissing the back of it softly.
Vaughn growls under his breath.
“Please, let us sit,” Xavier says. A man in a black suit quickly appears at his side, presenting a dusty, extremely old looking bottle of wine.
“I trust a ’64 Château Lafite Rothschild is adequate to wet our throats?” Xavier says smugly.
“Pity you don’t have the ’61,” Vaughn growls mildly.
Xavier grins widely as he takes the bottle from the waiter and turns the label to Vaughn and me.
1961.
He chuckles as he passes theludicrouslyexpensive bottle back to the waiter, who starts to open it carefully.
“This is what I like about you, Monsieur Bancroft,”Xavier smiles, wagging a finger. “You are achameleon. You are whatever color you need to be to blend in. For your predecessor, you learned about classic literature and ballroom dancing. For me, you've brushed up on fine wines.”
“And vintage firearms,” Vaughn adds. “Shall we talk about those next?”
Xavier chuckles deeply as the waiter pours wine for everyone present and then takes his leave. “I do enjoy talking about my guns. I have a growing collection of pistols owned by various former United States presidents, and I’ve recently managed to acquire the Colt Single Action Army revolver owned by Sheriff Pat Garrett which slew the one and only Billy the Kid.”
