“You have a new guest,” he remarked to see the startled jerk of shoulders, the frown of confusion as the Marquis studied the newcomer’s lean and tanned form. That more than the carefully graceful, rolling walk should have told the Marquis he faced a man who knew the sea. But doubtless the man had no knowledge of anything beyond his home, and would see only the many hues of light-coloured hair and the eyes that tended to green. They spoke of England, those eyes, and Etienne lifted his chin as they rose to find his, even in the glass.

It was not the first gaze to challenge him, and Etienne did not bother to answer it, regarding the man without even a smile, not turning to face him.

“You let anyone attend your parties, I see.” He spoke to the side, watching annoyance flicker across the man’s face before it was hidden away. Only then he did let his lips curve into something colder than a smile. He ignored the Marquis, as did the newcomer, but unlike the Englishman, he could guess at the Marquis’ reaction to his smoothly-voiced criticism. The man had, after all, allowed an unknown peasant to enter his home.

“It is time I was leaving,” Etienne added with a sideways glance, watching the Marquis’ chin wobble as he fought to control his tongue. It was very likely his servants would be beaten in the morning for their carelessness, feeling all of the Marquis’ dismay at such a false step in front of so infamous a guest. If Etienne had mentioned that it was probable that the peasant before them had not in fact, entered through the front door—or any door at all—it would not have made any difference.

Nonetheless, he pulled delicately at the lace on his cuffs one last time before turning to face the intruder, raising his nose as though the air around them were rancid. The heavy perfume the Marquis had chosen nearly made it true.