arm. When he met Celine’s gaze, he pressed his lips together, a hint of irritation pushing them forward, squaring his jaw. Annoyance riddled his handsome face. Not a trace of surprise nor a drop of pleasure at finding her here.
It emboldened Celine. Urged her to dismiss him as summarily as he’d dismissed her.
“Are you finished?” he said quietly to Odette, though his eyes were trained on Celine.
“For now,” Odette sniffed. “Just don’t do it again. You know how much I despise being taken off guard. No doubt that’s the reason you enjoy doing it, you malquisto.”
Though her tone had lightened to one of jest, Bastien did not smile. “Responde mi pregunta. ¿Por qué está ella aquí?”
“No.” Odette crossed her arms. “I’m not answering your question. C’est impoli. These ladies are my guests, and I do not owe you an explanation for why they are here.”
The edges of Bastien’s eyes tightened, his expression darkening. Under normal circumstances, Celine suspected this icy glower engendered fear in others. Moved them to obey, without question.
She met him eye for eye, glare for glare, her heart thudding behind her ribs. Celine waited for him to ask them to leave. After all, this building belonged to his family. And no matter what anyone might say otherwise, it was clear Bastien ruled La Cour des Lions, from its coffered ceiling to the snake slithering across its plush carpets.
Lucifer in his den of lions.
Instead, Bastien remained silent. The bronze skin around his eyes and forehead softened, the set of his shoulders unwinding. Before Celine could take a breath, charm oozed from him with the kind of natural grace reserved for nobility.
It was an unnerving sight to behold.
Bastien bowed to Pippa. “Welcome to Jacques’, mademoiselle. I am Sébastien Saint Germain. C’est un plaisir de faire votre connaissance.” The consummate chameleon, he reached for her hand, bending to place a kiss on it.
Though Pippa’s cheeks pinked at his touch, she cleared her throat. Extricated her fingers. “We’ve met already, sir.”
Celine smothered a grin.
“Quel charlatan!” Odette snorted as she sipped her wine. “They know who you are.”
Bastien did not appear the least bit perturbed by her mockery. “But I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.”
“Then permettez-moi.” A devious light glimmered in Odette’s eyes. “The stunning young lady to your right, with the raven hair and the eyes like Egyptian emeralds, is Celine—” She stopped short. Laughed. “I just realized I don’t know your proper name, mon amie.”
Celine put out her hand, channeling indifference. “My name is Celine Rousseau.”
Bastien took it. She sensed a hint of hesitation the moment his long fingers wrapped around hers. The slightest twinge, like he’d made an error in judgment and realized it far too late. A current of fire spread into her arm, moving slowly, as though the creature in her blood wished to savor the experience. Before Bastien could bend to kiss her hand, Celine tugged her palm from his grasp.
Something unreadable passed across his features, there and gone before Celine could take in a breath. Then his smile turned savage in its amusement. An unspoken challenge.
It emboldened Celine further. If he was going to play a game, she would simply play it better. She looked at Pippa and tilted her head, allowing a knowing twinkle to shine in her eye. Just the sort of look she’d seen countless young women of Parisian society share among themselves, as if they alone were privy to a delicious secret. “This is my dear friend, Miss Philippa Montrose.”
Bastien bowed again to Pippa. “Enchanté, Mademoiselle Montrose.”
Pippa nodded, her unease obvious. Though Odette tried to appear indifferent to the unfolding scene, her attention flitted between Celine and Bastien as if she were witnessing a thread start to unravel. When she caught Celine staring at her, she diverted her gaze, focusing on Pippa’s wine-stained skirt.
“Merde!” Odette swore. “I’m an absolute wretch. I completely forgot about your gown. Come with me.” She began walking with purpose toward the staircase.
Pippa shook her head. “Don’t trouble yourself. It’s not—”
“Nonsense.” Odette pivoted in place. “I’m certain Kassamir will have some—what was it?” Her fingertips snapped together, the sound crackling through the air. “Tonic water to remove the stain, as Celine suggested.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I insist.” Odette took Pippa by the hand. “If you don’t allow me to fix it, then at the very least you must permit me to replace your gown. The fabric is such a lovely . . . voile, isn’t it?” Her features brightened, an idea already taking shape in her mind. “We