“Tell us a story, do.” Another female broke into the silence, encouraging.
Ignatius swallowed. He couldn’t decide if the smell of the roasted meat so close to his face was making him hungry or nauseous. Or was it the musk of the man who held him so tightly against the wall causing him to salivate and wish to vomit by turn? If someone came into the room, what would he or she think? What was Jacques thinking?
If someone entered, he would think Jacques was tormenting the tutor, and he would have a good laugh over it. No, Jacques had nothing to fear, but what did he have to gain by this act of intimidation?
“Open your mouth,” Jacques said.
Ignatius blinked. Pardon?
“Though not wishing to encourage the local population in their uneducated ways, far be it from me to deny the ladies,” Gregoire Delacroix’s rich baritone rang out.
“Tell us the most famous ghost story of all,” Desiree teased the gentlemen.