His smile grew. “Careful now, mon fille, if Adam sees you looking at me in that manner, he shall become quite jealous.” Lucien’s expression said he would not mind that consequence one bit.

“How could he blame me?” she replied with sauce. “It is like gazing upon a piece of art.”

A laugh burst from him, and he slapped his be-ringed hand upon the table. “Ah, but you are delightful.” A fine rose tint rode along his cheeks. “I cannot remember the last time a woman had me blushing.”

Eliza had hoped her honesty would deter him from his study of her, but it did not. Glowing green eyes watched her once more. Though the humor remained, his voice was smooth cream. “I did not allow myself to fully look upon you before. He would not allow it.”

“But now you may?” she asked, not understanding why he would bother.

He gave a lazy shrug. “You are no longer attached to him by means of a chain. And as he is not around at the moment, I may look my fill.”

She spread her arms in an exaggerated fashion. “By all means.”

Lucien made a hum of amusement. “He knows not what you are, that much is clear.”

His statement drew the air from the room, replacing it with ice. Eliza struggled to breathe, to not jump up and run. How did he know? She wanted to shout the question. Worse, she wanted to beg him to give her answers. What was she truly? What did he see in her? The darkness? The dread?

Somehow her mouth formed words. “And what do you believe me to be, Mr. Stone?”

His eyes gleamed, a mesmerizing brilliant peridot. “Quarteron. Gens de couleur.”

Though his remark was the last thing she expected, the tension along Eliza’s neck released.

“Your golden fae hair makes it harder to detect,” Lucien observed. “Then again, les quarteron are as varied as they are beautiful.”

“I’ve never tried to hide it, if that is what you were implying.” Eliza was proud of her parentage, but to use it for sympathy or gain she would never do.

“No, I do not suppose that you have. Nor would I.” Again that wry smile. “Birds of a feather, are we not, fille?”

Eliza had known Lucien was quarteron as soon as she’d laid eyes upon him. “I’d say you were more of a peacock to my plain plumage.”

Lucien chuckled. “You are exquisite. And this?” He waved an elegant hand along his frame. “Is stolen. Long ago, my body and that of my lover were destroyed. Murdered for being blights against God and nature.” For once, Lucien’s expression was stone. “I chose to inhabit my lover’s body instead of my own.”

A pulse of surprise went through Eliza’s middle. He saw it, but merely blinked, as if bracing himself for her censure. She did not blame him for that assumption; by English law, what he’d revealed to her could land him in prison. It most certainly would have him spurned by society. Eliza gathered he cared little for either the law or society. As to why he felt the need to tell her, she did not know.

“And your lover?” she asked.

“He chose to move on.” Another negligent shrug. Then his gaze pinned hers. “Do I shock you?”

“A bit.” She too shrugged. “That you chose his body instead of your own. It is… odd.”

Lucien’s lips twitched. She’d surprised him again, it seemed. But his tone was insouciant. “His was far more beautiful. And it was quite an effective reminder of… many things,” he finished quietly. “It was Adam who suggested I go to London, away from the oppression of America.” For a moment, he looked lost in the past; then his expression grew thoughtful. “Had Adam understood your family history, he might have treated you differently. Most certainly he would have not kept you in chains.”

Eliza had her doubts about that. “My familial origins ought not matter. No person ought to be enslaved.”

The gems on Lucien’s rings flashed as he slowly drummed his fingers. “You sought to test him.”

“Hardly. He ought to have released me from those chains because I asked. And for no other reason.”

“This is true, and yet I’m thinking you have not experienced the ribald fear of losing your heart’s desire. You do not understand how such fear can shatter logic and make a man do what he might not otherwise consider.” With unexpected tenderness, he reached out and cupped her cheek. Eliza stared back, unable to move as the glow in his eyes intensified. “Tell him, ma chère.”

“Tell me what?” Adam’s deep voice sliced through the air like a scythe, and Eliza jumped within her skin. But she was slow to turn her head. His expression was dark; his eyes copper bright in the dim light and fixated on Lucien’s hand upon her cheek. A muscle along his jaw twitched. “I assume you are referring to me. Or are there other men you’ve kept secrets from?”

Lucien, sly devil that he was, did not let go of her, nor look away from her face. “We were referring to you, mon commandant. As to what?” He raised a dark brow, giving Eliza a pointed look, and waited.

Eliza glared, not taking her gaze from Lucien either. “I was telling Lucien that he was as pretty as a peacock.”

The room fell to heavy silence, Lucien grinning wide and pleased, and the weight of Adam’s displeasure pressed against her back.

“Oh,” whispered Lucien, “you shall do nicely.”

The pocket watch Lucien had given her ticked along with a tiny click, click, click, and then Adam’s voice, hard and rough, crashed over her. “Are you going to tell me the truth?”