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convince him.
    Or perhaps not. “You’re an interesting child, Miss Harriman.”
    â€œI’m not a child. I’m twenty-three.”
    â€œSuch a great age,” he said, mocking. “From my viewpoint you are very young indeed.” He started forward, and she wanted to pull back, but he was too strong, drawing her into the next room.
    This one was overheated. The sounds were muffled and still—the sound of cards being dealt, the roll of dice. They’d found the room for serious gaming, at last.
    She reached up for the neck cloth again, but this time he stopped her, wrapping his hand around her wrists and imprisoning them. “St. Philippe,” he said, his voice barely raised. And suddenly the overheated room felt cold and still.
    â€œMonseigneur?” Came the answer, the voice slurred, drunken.
    â€œI’ve been informed you’ve brought an unwanted guest into our midst. Where is she?”
    â€œI don’t know what you—”
    â€œWhere is she?” He didn’t raise his voice, but the room grew colder still, and for a brief moment Elinor wondered how Rohan’s control of his followers was so absolute.
    â€œGone,” St. Philippe said, his voice sulky. “She had barely enough money to game, and once that was gone no one was willing to advance her credit. I expect she’s out in the stables, trying to earn enough on her back.”
    Elinor couldn’t help her instinctive flinch, both at the thought of her mother and at the loss of their only money. It was a disaster, total and complete, and she tried to yank her hands out of Rohan’s grip. He tightened his hand, and it hurt enough to make her stop struggling.
    â€œYou’ve displeased me, Justin,” he said calmly. “May I suggest you get dressed and come see me in the anteroom? In a few minutes, shall we say?”
    â€œOf course, monseigneur,” he stammered, sounding terrified.
    Rohan released her wrists, snaking an arm around her waist, his grip unbreakable. “Then I will take my prize back with me,” he said, his voice more pleasant. “The rest of you may continue.”
    â€œI don’t…” Elinor began, but he moved her so swiftly her words died away. She expected him to move her back through the series of rooms he’d brought her, but a moment later they were in the pitch darkness, someplace enclosed and silent, and he pulled the neck cloth off her face.
    They were in a hallway, lit only by torches, and he no longer touched her. She found that for the first time she could breathe normally. “The problem is solved,” he said. “Your mother is here after all. It won’t take long to locate her—my servants are very good. I’ll take you somewhere to await her.”
    She looked at him doubtfully. “I could accompany your servants…”
    â€œNo, you could not. You heard St. Philippe. There’s no telling what kind of condition she’s in. I only hope she hasn’t infected half the servants—it’s hard to get a decent coachman.”
    Elinor drew in her breath swiftly. “Don’t be absurd!”
    â€œYour mother has the French disease, child. Or as we call it over here, the Spanish disease.” He shrugged. “Perhaps even the English disease. She’sgoing to die raving, and I suspect you know that as well as I do. If you want, I can do you a favor and have her tossed off the nearest cliff.”
    â€œJoking about such matters is in very poor taste,” she said stiffly.
    â€œWhy in the world would you assume I’m joking?”
    She could barely see his face in the dimly lit corridor. In such an enclosed space he seemed even larger, and she was uncomfortably aware of the fact that his white linen shirt was open. He wasn’t joking about anything, she realized.
    â€œI made the mistake of assuming you were a responsible human being,” she said stiffly.
    â€œOh,