Vintage Pride by Eilzabeth Lapthorne Page A

entity.”
    “I won’t.” Ethan sounded firm on the matter. “I’ve worked on almost forty episodes of the show and I haven’t conducted a single investigation yet which has convinced me ghosts, poltergeists or anything like them exist, and I’m damn sure that’s not going to change here.”
    He shut the door firmly behind him, leaving Jean-Luc to shake his head. Ethan’s certainty—his arrogance, even—deserved to be challenged. Jean-Luc could provide him with all the proof of the paranormal he could ever need. But doing so would surely bring about the ruin of him and his family. He thumped the wall hard in frustration and cursed the circumstances that had brought Ethan Wayne under his roof.
     

Chapter Seven
     
     
     
    Ethan had slept badly, his dreams a confused jumble in which Jean-Luc LeBlanc had chased him down a dark, twisting stone passageway, yelling at him to get out of his home and never return.
    It took him a moment or two after he woke to gather his bearings. Leon sat on the opposite edge of the big double bed wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs.
    “What time is it?” Ethan asked.
    “Just gone five in the afternoon,” Leon replied. “I was about to go take a shower, unless you wanna use the bathroom.”
    Ethan shook his head. When they’d been talking downstairs earlier, Marcus White had told them dinner would be at eight o’clock, so he didn’t need to think about getting ready for a while.
    “No, that’s okay. I might try and get a little more sleep. Jet lag doesn’t usually hit me like this, but man, am I bushed…”
    “Kim said she brought some melatonin tablets with her. They’re supposed to be pretty good at sorting out your body clock if it’s screwed up. I could go scrounge a couple from her if you want.”
    “Thanks, but I’ll see if I can get over it the old-fashioned way first.”
    “Okay, if you’re sure.” Leon hunted out a fresh T-shirt from the chest of drawers then left the room.
    Ethan pulled the covers back up over his head. The dream still lingered. Thoughts of Jean-Luc filled his mind. He pictured the man in the moment he’d appeared in the hallway, his long, blond hair tousled and a faint growth of fair stubble on his chin. He’d looked roguish, wild. And those eyes… Ethan had never seen a color quite like them. Amber flecked with brown. But it was the sadness within them, rather than their unusual shade, that had drawn his attention most. Jean-Luc had suffered—clearly, was still suffering. But it seemed he hugged his torment to himself, unwilling to share it with anyone.
    He found it hard to understand why a man he’d only spoken to for a couple of minutes and who’d been so openly hostile to him, could affect him so deeply. Maybe Jean-Luc’s reaction had something to do with it. Ethan had become used to people who welcomed them in, hoping the Spirit Seekers team would be able to find an explanation for the strange phenomena plaguing them. Or maybe the aristocratic Frenchman was simply aware the legends surrounding the château had no substance to them and didn’t want to be involved in keeping up the charade.
    Surrounded as he was by people who believed in the existence of the paranormal, it was nice to think that for once he might have met a fellow sceptic. Still considering the possibility, Ethan dozed off once more.
     
    * * * *
     
    He was the last to arrive downstairs. The rest of the Spirit Seekers crew waited in the drawing room, along with Marcus and a pretty, heavily pregnant woman who Ethan took to be Marcus’ wife, Thérèse. Apart from Thérèse, who nursed a glass of sparkling water, everyone had an aperitif in their hand.
    “And here he is now,” Marcus said. “What can I get you to drink, Ethan? A drop of vermouth, perhaps?”
    Ethan shook his head, still groggy from too much sleep. “I’m fine, thank you.”
    From behind him, he heard Agathe announce, “Dinner is served,” and turned to see her standing in the