Veiled Truth
When the uniformed butler opened the oak doors of the LeNoir estate in Nouveau-Monde, Lyra Magice tried not to be impressed. But she was—big-time. If the gated estate with the winding, stately, tree-lined driveway didn't astound, then the two-story stone castle would have.
The butler inclined his head. "Bonsoir, mademoiselle."
"Bonsoir." Lyra loved speaking French; the sounds were so musical.
"Monsieur LeNoir would like you to wait for him in the parlor." He swept his arm toward an arched doorway to the right. "May I take your jacket?"
She shrugged out of her brown wool coat and handed it to the butler. He slung it over his arm and directed her to the parlor.
The moment she stepped over the threshold, Lyra felt like she was in a Sherlock Holmes book. The room boasted a huge fireplace with an ornate mantel over top. An old-style sofa and two chairs with end tables sat in front of the crackling flames. Exquisite artwork adorned the walls. Cherrywood floors were stylishly covered with oriental throw rugs. By the look of them, they were probably worth thousands of dollars apiece. Even the faint sweet smell of pipe tobacco laced the air.
She'd heard that The ... read full excerpt from: Veiled Truth ebook
