As if he sensed her sudden stiffness and withdrawal into herself, the Marquis leaned back in a corner of the carriage and regarded her with twinkling eyes.
“What is upsetting you?”
“How do you know there is anything?” Yola enquired coldly.
“You have very expressive eyes,” he answered. “I have always been told that the eyes mirror the soul, but yours reveal your thoughts, your feelings and the impulses of your heart.”
“If you are trying to make me afraid that you are reading my thoughts,” Yola replied, “let me inform you, monsieur, that nevertheless I shall keep my secrets.”
“I refuse to allow you to call me monsieur,” the Marquis retorted. “I am Leo to you, as you are Yola to me. Shall I tell you why?”
“Yes,” Yola replied, trying not to sound curious.
“Because we are starting out on
