His lips moved, and after going uselessly through three or four incomprehensible sentences he managed to say: ‘Do you happen to know a man called Chanteraine?’
‘No,’ said De Courcey shortly. ‘Save that you have mentioned him before.’
But Nynevarre’s eyes widened, and she clutched suddenly at Florian’s arm, so hard as to bruise his skin. ‘Chanteraine?’ she breathed. ‘Pharamond?’
‘Yes,’ said Florian, satisfied.
‘Chanteraine!’ she repeated, and now she seemed angry. ‘Tell me where you encountered a man of that name! And tell me, at once, where he may be found!’
‘Who is he to you, ma’am, if I may ask?’
Her lips tightened. ‘My disgraceful truant of a brother.’
Florian nodded, and tucked that information away. Then, watching De Courcey closely, he added: ‘And Margot De Courcey? Do you kno
