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 Theron LeNoir was wealthy but truly she had no idea of the extent of it before now.

Lyra turned to ask the butler something, but he was already gone. Theron LeNoir stood in the doorway instead.

Looking the part of the wealthy homeowner, he wore dark wool trousers and a button-down shirt with gold cuff links flashing at the wrists. His dark hair was slicked back from his high forehead but unbound. The ends fell over his ears and brushed the collar of his shirt. At the seminar today he had tied it back, giving him a look of elegance and refinement. With