If he hadn’t been so obnoxiously virtuous, I think he would’ve sworn. After reaching an arm through to unlock the door, he scrambled inside to collect the journal.

“Take it.” I nearly cracked a rib from trying not to laugh. “I’ve already read enough. Quite touching stuff, really. If possible, her letters were even worse.”

He snarled and advanced on me. “You—you read my personal—my private—”

“How else could I get to know you?” I asked sweetly, dancing around the tub as he approached. His nostrils flared, and he looked closer to breathing fire than anyone I’d ever known. And I’d known quite a few dragonesque characters.

“You—you—”

Words seemed to be failing him. I braced myself, waiting for the inevitable.

“—you devil.”

And there it was. The worst someone like my upstanding husband could invent. The devil. I failed to hide my grin.

“See? You’ve gotten to know me all by yourself.” I winked at him as we circled the tub. “You’re much cleverer than you look.” I tilted my head, pursing my lips in consideration. “Though you were stupid enough to leave your most intimate correspondences lying around for anyone to read—and you keep a journal. Perhaps you aren’t so clever after all.”

He glared at me, chest heaving with each breath. After a few more seconds, his eyes closed. I watched in fascination as his lips subconsciously formed the words one, two, three . . .

Oh my god.

I couldn’t help it. Truly, I couldn’t. I burst out laughing.

His eyes snapped open, and he gripped the journal so hard he nearly tore it in half. Spinning on his heel, he stormed back into the bedroom. “Ansel will be here any moment. He’ll fix the door.”

“Wait—what?” My laughter ceased abruptly, and I hurried after him, careful of the splintered wood. “You still want to leave me with a guard? I’ll corrupt him!”

He grabbed his coat and stuffed his arms inside. “I told you,” he snarled. “You broke trust. I can’t watch you all the time. Ansel will do it for me.” Jerking open the door to the corridor, he shouted, “Ansel!”

Within seconds, a young Chasseur poked his head in. Wildly curly brown hair fell in his eyes, and his body had the appearance of being stretched somehow, like he’d grown too much in too little time. Beyond his gangly frame, however, he was actually quite handsome—almost androgynous with his smooth olive skin and long, curling eyelashes. Curiously, he wore a coat of pale blue rather than the deep royal blue typical of Chasseurs. “Yes, Captain?”

“You’re on guard duty now.” My infuriating husband’s gaze was knifelike as he looked back at me. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Ansel’s eyes turned pleading. “But what about the interrogations?”

“You’re needed here.” His words held no room for argument. I almost felt sorry for the boy—or I would have, if his presence hadn’t foiled my entire evening. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t listen to a word she says, and make sure she stays put.”

We watched him close the door in sullen silence.

Right. This was fine. I was nothing if not adaptable. Sinking back onto the bed, I groaned theatrically and muttered, “This should be fun.”

At my words, Ansel straightened his shoulders. “Don’t talk to me.”

I snorted. “This is going to be quite boring if I’m not allowed to talk.”

“Well, you’re not, so . . . stop.”

Charming.

Silence descended between us. I kicked my feet against the bed frame. He looked anywhere but at me. After a few long moments, I asked, “Is there anything to do here?”

His mouth thinned. “I said stop talking.”

“Maybe a library?”

“Stop talking!”

“I’d love to go outside. Bit of fresh air, bit of sunshine.” I motioned to his pretty skin. “You might want to wear a hat though.”

“As if I’d take you outside,” he sneered. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

I sat up earnestly. “And neither am I. Look, I know I could never get past you. You’re much too, er, tall. Great long legs like yours would run me down in an instant.” He frowned, but I flashed him a winning smile. “If you don’t want to take me outside, why don’t you give me a tour of the Tower instead—”

But he was already shaking his head. “Reid told me you were tricky.”

“Asking for a tour is hardly tricky, Ansel—”

“No,” he said firmly. “We’re not going anywhere. And you will address me as Initiate Diggory.”

My grin vanished. “Are we long-lost cousins, then?”

His brows furrowed. “No.”

“You just said your surname is Diggory. That’s also my unfortunate husband’s surname. Are the two of you related?”

“No.” He looked away quickly to stare at his boots. “That’s the surname all the unwanted children are given.”

“Unwanted?” I asked, curious despite myself.

He scowled at me. “Orphans.”

For some unfathomable reason, my chest constricted. “Oh.” I paused in search of the right words, but found none—none except . . . “Would it help if I told you I don’t have the best relationship with my own mother?”

His scowl only deepened. “At least you have a mother.”

“I wish I didn’t.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do.” Truer words had never been spoken. Every day of the last two years—every moment, every second—I’d wished her away. Wished I’d been born someone else. Anyone else. I offered him a small smile. “I’d trade places with you in an instant, Ansel—just the parentage, not the dreadful outfit. That shade of blue really isn’t my color.”

He straightened his coat defensively. “I told you to stop talking.”

I fell back on the bed in resignation. Now that I’d heard his confession, the next part of my plan—the, uh, guileful part—left a sour taste in my mouth. But it didn’t matter.

To Ansel’s annoyance, I began to hum.

“No humming either.”

I ignored him. “‘Big Titty Liddy was not very pretty, but her bosom was big as a barn,’” I sang. “‘Her creamery knockers drove men off their rockers, but she was blind to their charms—’”

“Stop!” His face burned so vivid a scarlet it rivaled my husband’s. “What are you doing? That—that’s indecent!”

“Of course it is. It’s a pub song!”

“You’ve been in a pub?” he asked, flabbergasted. “But you’re a woman.”

It took every drop of my willpower not to roll my eyes. Whoever had taught these men about women had been heinously out of touch with reality. It was almost as if they’d never met a woman. A real woman—not a ludicrous pipe dream like Célie.

I had a duty to this poor boy.

“There are lots of women in pubs, Ansel. We aren’t like you think. We can do anything you can do—and probably better. There’s a whole world outside this church, you know. I could show you, if you wanted.”

His expression hardened, though pink still bloomed in his cheeks. “No. No more talking. No more humming. No more singing. Just—just stop being you for a little while, eh?”

“I can’t make any promises,” I said seriously. “But if you gave me a tour . . .”

“Not happening.”

Fine.

“‘Big Willy Billy talked sort of silly,’” I bellowed, “‘but his knob was long as his—’”

“Stop, STOP.” Ansel waved his hands, cheeks flaming anew. “I’ll take you on a tour—just, please, please stop singing about . . . that!”

I rose to my feet, clasping my hands together and beaming.

Voilà.

Unfortunately, Ansel started our tour with the vast halls of Saint-Cécile. More unfortunate—he knew an absurd amount about each architectural feature of the cathedral, as well as the history of each relic and effigy and stained-glass window. After listening to his intellectual prowess for the first fifteen minutes, I’d been mildly impressed. The boy was clearly intelligent. After listening to him for the next four hours, however, I’d longed to shatter the monstrance over his head. It’d been a reprieve when he’d concluded the tour for dinner, promising to continue tomorrow.

But he’d almost looked . . . hopeful. As if at some point during our tour, he’d started enjoying himself. As if he weren’t used to having anyone’s undivided attention, or perhaps having anyone listen to him at all. That hope in his doe-like eyes had quashed my urge to inflict bodily harm.

I couldn’t, however, be distracted from my purpose.

When Ansel knocked on my door the next morning, my husband left us without a word, disappearing to wherever it was he went during the day. After the rest of my wardrobe had been delivered, we’d suffered a tense, silent evening together before I’d retired to the bathtub. His journal—and Célie’s letters—had both mysteriously disappeared.

Ansel turned to me hesitantly. “Do you still want to finish your tour?”

“About that.” I squared my shoulders, determined not to waste another day learning about a bone that might once have belonged to Saint Constantin. “As thrilling as our excursion was yesterday, I want to see the Tower.”

“The Tower?” He blinked in confusion. “But there’s nothing here you haven’t already seen. The dormitories, dungeon, commissary—”

“Nonsense. I’m sure I haven’t seen everything.”