20
Trevor gave a measuring look at the delicate-looking maid he had reluctantly allowed to escort him into the room Laura had referred to as the gallery. Her shiny cap of black hair made her skin seem pale by comparison. Large brown, doe-like eyes dominated her features. She had said nothing since accompanying Trevor inside, but she radiated nervousness.
“Are you OK—Monique, isn’t it?” he asked, giving her one of his most dazzling smiles to put her at ease.
She nodded, but didn’t smile back. “I’m fine,” she said in a soft, accented voice Trevor could barely make out. “Mademoiselle Laura asked me to give you a tour, but...” she made a helpless gesture toward the paintings and flushed.
“You don’t know what to say about them,” Trevor said. She nodded again.
Mademoiselle Laura. That’s int
