To her the Abbey had a scent that was a mixture of the fragrance of flowers, of beeswax and cigar smoke and the cleanness of the fresh air that came from the land outside.
It was all associated in her mind with the Marquis and, as he sat down opposite her, he looked so handsome and so irresistibly attractive that she felt her whole body vibrate with love.
“Mirabelle, since her father died, has been living in Rome,” he was saying, “and finishing her studies at a very good school. But I expect you will find that you know quite as much as she does and perhaps, because you have experienced a very different life, in many ways more.”
“I don’t – speak Italian.”
“No, but your French is coming along,” the Marquis replied, “and I think it is very unlikely that the Earl speaks any foreign languag
