The Lady Travelers Guide To Larceny With A Dashing Stranger

CHAPTER FOUR

“WELL?” DANTE SAID in an aside to his sister, his gaze on Lady Bascombe at the far end of the car. She sat at a table studying a large map and papers that no doubt had to do with the tour, looking shockingly efficient. If there was one word that was not in the dossier he had been given on Wilhelmina Bascombe it was efficient. “How was that for charming?”

“Quite good, Dante. I scarcely recognized you.” Roz directed her words to him but kept her gaze on the ladies’ magazine she paged through. “Not the least bit stuffy. One would think you’d been practicing.”

He bit back a grin. He hadn’t attempted to flirt in longer than he could remember, and he was never especially accomplished at it as he’d always thought it rather silly. But it was somewhat like riding a horse again when one hadn’t ridden for some time. And oddly enough, it was surprisingly enjoyable.

The rest of their party was scattered about the spacious car, having divided according to age. Mrs. Corby and Mrs. Henderson had settled near the midsection of the car apparently ascertaining mutual acquaintances although Mrs. Corby didn’t seem to be saying nearly as much as Mrs. Henderson. The four girls were seated as far away from their mothers as possible and appeared to have already forged a friendship. Or more likely an alliance against a common enemy.

“Do you intend to marry her?” Roz said coolly.

“What?”

“Do keep your voice down, brother, if you don’t wish for everyone to hear.”

“Shock will do that to a man,” he said sharply but lowered his voice nonetheless. “No, of course I don’t intend to marry her. Don’t be absurd. We’ve just met.”

“You are protesting entirely too much, Dante.” She turned a page. “I was only going to note that the level of your charm might be entirely too, oh, extreme if your purpose is anything short of marriage or seduction.”

“Good Lord, Roz.” He stared. “My purpose is neither seduction nor marriage. My sole purpose is reclaiming the Portinari. And you are the one who told me to be charming.”

“I did not suggest you sweep her off her feet.”

“I’m not trying to sweep her off her feet.” Admittedly, he was making an effort beyond anything he had done in recent years. Nor was it the least bit difficult. He imagined any number of men found flirtation with the lovely Lady Bascombe to be easy if not natural. He’d been intrigued before but in person she was, well, more than he had anticipated. There was something about the unexpected look of intelligence in her blue eyes coupled with a delightful smile, a fine figure and an air of utter confidence that belied everything he had learned about the irresponsible, impulsive, madcap Willie Bascombe. It was very nearly irresistible. Not to him, of course. He was not—nor could be ever be—interested in her as anything other than a means to the Portinari. But he could certainly understand why other men might find her compelling.

“No?” Roz turned another page.

“No,” he said firmly. “I am trying to do nothing more than forge a friendship with her. A cordial companionship if you will. After all, we have a full two weeks before we reach Venice.”

“A lot can happen in two weeks,” Roz murmured.

“Indeed it can.” He bent his head closer to his sister’s. “If Lady Bascombe and I are on firm, affable footing, if we are indeed friends, by the time she retrieves the painting, it will be that much easier to tell her of our claim of ownership. She will be far more willing to listen to reason with a friend she trusts than with an enemy.”

“And that is your plan?”

“And an excellent one it is too.” Admittedly, it had only just occurred to him when he’d realized he wouldn’t at all mind being friends with Lady Bascombe. Anything beyond that was absurd, of course. But friends, yes, friends would be good.

“And to think, I have always thought you were so much more intelligent than I.” She set her magazine on her lap, folded her hands on top of it and met his gaze. “That is the most absurd plan I have ever heard. Although I hesitate to use the word plan as it sounds more like an ill-conceived disaster in the making.”

“Rubbish,” he said staunchly. “If she knows me, if she likes me, she’ll be much more amenable to my position. I’ve found that to be an excellent business practice. One that rarely fails.”

“Now, there’s the overly methodical and somewhat stodgy brother that I know and love.”

He ignored her. “It makes perfect sense.”

“In business perhaps. But when it comes to women, my poor, sweet, deluded brother—”

“She’ll understand.”

Roz scoffed. “More likely she’ll hate you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His gazed strayed back to Lady Bascombe—Willie. He’d never been one for masculine names on women—he considered them inappropriate and absurd. But Willie suited Lady Bascombe, who was at once independent and uniquely feminine. A woman who would surely listen to reason when he presented his claim. Especially if they were on a friendly basis. “She’s entirely too intelligent to hate me.”

“Ah yes, that will certainly make a difference. A woman’s intelligence always comes to the forefront when she discovers a man has deceived her.”

“I’m not going to deceive her.” Confidence surged through him. It really was an excellent plan. “I am genuinely going to win her friendship.”

“This explains so much.” Roz cast him a pitying look, set aside her magazine and rose to her feet. “I believe I will make a few friends myself. I suspect I am going to need them. This is going to be a far longer trip than I imagined,” she added under her breath and moved to join the other ladies.

In many ways—his sister was right. No time like the present to begin. He stood and casually made his way to Lady Bascombe’s table. “Lady Bascombe?”

She looked up. “Yes, Mr. Montague?”

“May I join you?”

She hesitated then smiled. “Of course.”

“Are you sure?” He settled in the closest chair. “I hate to interrupt.”

“No, that’s quite all right. I am simply going over our itinerary and travel documents.” She settled back in her seat and looked at him expectantly. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, I just...” Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought after all. He adopted his most winning smile. “I simply thought it would help pass the time until we arrive in Dover to engage in interesting conversation with the loveliest woman here.”

“The loveliest?” Her brow rose. “As well as legendary?”

He winced. “A bit too much?”

“A bit.” She smiled. “However, like most women I am not immune to flattery. You will quite turn my head with such talk, Mr. Montague.”

He chuckled. “I do hope so.”

“And if that doesn’t work surely your belief that our conversation will be interesting will have much the same effect.”

“And yet I was most sincere.”

“Very well then.” She studied him curiously. “What interesting topic did you wish to discuss?”

“Oh, there are any number of things we could talk about, I suppose.” He thought for a moment. “Politics, literature—”

“I’m not certain I’m prepared to discuss the Divine Comedy at the moment.” She waved at the papers in front of her. “My head is entirely too filled with the assorted and sundry details of transporting this group from one point to the next to dwell on the various types of sin and indulgence portrayed in the Inferno. I daresay the details of simply moving a party of nine from one country to another is complicated enough without considering whether any missteps taken in this life will have to be paid for in the next. Surely you understand.”

“Completely.” He chuckled. “And I would not wish to discuss as substantial a topic as one of the world’s great literary efforts in the brief time we have before Dover but we could consider a different work perhaps. I recently read Mr. Haggard’s Cleopatra and I found it quite enjoyable. Have you read it?”

“Not yet but I do enjoy Mr. Haggard’s work. I quite liked She and King Solomon’s Mines.”

“Then you like adventure and dashing heroes and sultry heroines?”

“I can’t imagine anyone who doesn’t, especially with heroes like Allan Quatermain.”

“Some might think such stories are rather frivolous.”

“And yet some of the most enjoyable moments in life are completely frivolous.” She shrugged.

“As well as unexpected.”

“I believe unexpected is the very definition of adventure.”

“Then one can’t plan adventure?”

“Goodness, Mr. Montague.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Where would be the fun in that?”

He leaned forward and gazed into her eyes. “You don’t think one can set out to seek adventure?”

“Ah, seeking adventure is a far cry from planning it. One can expect for adventure to arise or hope for it but I suspect exactly what form that adventure might take would always be unanticipated.”

He grinned. “Agreed.”

She laughed.

He settled back in his seat and studied her. “Why did a woman like you agree to host an excursion like this?”

“As you just noted, I like adventure.”

“Shepherding a group of women and their daughters on an abbreviated tour to a handful of countries scarcely strikes me as adventure.”

“Adventure, Mr. Montague, is where you find it. Who knows what might happen between here and there.” She thought for a moment. “We could encounter famous personages—someone like Mr. Haggard himself—on the boat crossing the channel.”

“Which might not be an adventure so much as an interesting moment I would say.”

“Oh, then you’re hoping for grand adventure.” Amusement underscored her words. “Well then, instead of a famous author we might encounter a...a princess. Yes, that’s good. A princess in disguise fleeing England and marriage to a horrible beast of a man, who might throw herself on your mercy and beg for you to help her. That would certainly constitute adventure.”

He laughed. “Now, I think you’ve gone a bit too far.”

“Goodness, Mr. Montague.” She sighed. “You are a difficult man to please. First, you think my suggestion of an adventure isn’t truly an adventure and then you think my next idea is entirely too much. Let me think.” She tapped her forefinger on the table thoughtfully. “You must agree, travel itself is fraught with adventure.”

He nodded. “I do.”

“Simply setting foot in a place one has never been before is exciting and exhilarating. Even when difficulties arise, there is an element of adventure. Why, any one of the trains we will be taking could break down and we could be stranded. And perhaps forced to survive by our wits alone. Which would be something of a problem but would certainly be an adventure nonetheless. One never knows what is around the next corner.”

“Indeed.” He nodded. “Still, this tour does seem a bit, oh, tame for you.”

“Ah.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “My reputation precedes me, I see. And here I was hoping legendary was the worst of it.”

“Come now, Lady Bascombe, you can’t expect me to entrust my dear sister and niece into the hands of anyone whose background I have not thoroughly checked.”

“Then you no doubt know all there is to know about me.”

“I doubt if there is anyone who knows all there is to know about you, Lady Bascombe.”

“With any luck at all, Mr. Montague.” A knowing smile played on her lips.

“But I confess I am still puzzled as to why you agreed to host this tour.”

“It’s really quite simple,” she said smoothly. “One of the founders of the Lady Travelers Society—Mrs. Persephone Fitzhew-Wellmore—is my godmother. This trip was in danger of falling apart and, as American lady travelers are seen as a lucrative prospective clientele, my godmother was quite eager to see it proceed as planned. Apparently, one thing that appeals to Americans is the presence of a fellow traveler with a title.”

“True enough.” He nodded. It really was an excellent business strategy and quite perceptive given his own business dealings with Americans. There was nothing more impressive to them than a lady or lord attached to someone’s name.

“One thing led to another and here I am.” She paused. “As fate would have it, I was planning to travel to Venice in the near future so this was not the least bit inconvenient.”

“Still, leading a tour is not the sort of thing that comes to mind for a woman like yourself.”

“Hosting a tour, Mr. Montague,” she said and frowned. “And I do wish you would stop saying that. That ‘woman like you’ nonsense. I am not a stock character in a drawing room comedy.”

“I do apologize. I didn’t mean—”

“I would do anything for my godmother. She has been a rock of support for me in recent years. More so than anyone else I can name.”

“Fair-weather friends I suspect?”

She heaved a sigh. “Mr. Montague—”

“Why Venice?”

“Why not?”

“Have you ever been to Venice?”

“Goodness, Mr. Montague. Hasn’t everyone?”

He chuckled. “You’re evading my question. And it was a remarkably innocent question. Not one I would imagine anyone would ignore.”

“I’m not ignoring it. I simply find it curious that someone who has had my background thoroughly checked would not know the answer to that. And I think it’s my turn in this fascinating conversation of ours to ask you a question.”

“My life is an open book.”

“No one’s life is an open book, Mr. Montague.” The slightest hard note edged her words. “We all have secrets. Even those closest to you have secrets. Only a fool thinks they don’t.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t quite sure what to say, given he did indeed have a secret of sorts. “Perhaps you’re right. Although I can assure you whatever secrets I harbor are minimal and barely worth the effort to keep.”

“Your sister said you’re financing her trip as a bribe.” She propped her elbow on the table, rested her chin in her hand and smiled into his eyes. “What is said bribe for?”

“My sister was just being annoying.” He drew his brows together. “Roz takes great joy in annoying me. She is five years my senior and has always delighted in doing whatever she can to set my teeth on edge.”

“So it’s not a bribe?”

“No,” he said firmly. “It’s simply in gratitude for a favor. Saying it was a bribe was her convoluted idea of a joke. And not especially amusing either.” He shook his head. “One would think as an adult with a grown daughter she would set such childish pursuits aside.”

“Some of us never quite grow up.” She smiled in a manner that struck him as a touch wistful. It did the oddest things to his stomach. “Have you?”

“Now, that is an interesting question.”

“You wished for interesting conversation, Mr. Montague. I can think of no more interesting question. Or answer. Of course, if you prefer not to answer...”

He laughed. “I’m not quite sure why you asked the question.”

“Because, Mr. Montague.” Her gaze met his. “I have known any number of charming, handsome men with their slightly wicked manners, the suggestion in the tone of their voices that indicates what they are saying goes far beyond their words and the look in their eyes not unlike a connoisseur evaluating his next morsel. I am neither fooled by them, nor am I the least bit interested.”

He stared at her. Roz was right—his concerted effort to be charming had perhaps gone further than he intended. Why, she didn’t think he was at all the serious, responsible man that he was but rather some kind of rake or rogue or scoundrel. This was not the way to earn her trust. Still, he rather liked it.

He tried and failed to keep a smile from his face. “I shall keep that in mind, Lady Bascombe.”

“Furthermore, Mr. Montague—” she met his gaze directly “—most men of that nature are not quite as obvious about it.”

“I wasn’t...” He chuckled in a wry manner. “I simply thought a woman like...a woman who has had an exciting life would be more inclined to—” he shrugged helplessly “—like a man who was more...likable than I usually am.”

Her eyes widened and she straightened. “You wanted me to like you?”

He nodded.

“Why?” Suspicion sounded in her voice.

“Because you may well be the most interesting woman I have ever met.” Even as he said the words he realized he had indeed been fascinated by her ever since he’d first read the dossier. Regardless, his goal was not to win her affections, simply her friendship. And that was a means to an end, nothing more. “And I hope to be friends.”

She sat back in her seat and stared at him. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“You must admit this confession of mine is extremely charming.”

“Nor am I sure what I believe.”

He arched a brow. “You don’t trust me?”

“Trust needs to be earned. And I don’t know you well enough to trust you.”

“Perhaps by the time we reach Venice you will.”

“And will I like you, as well?”

“Without question.” He grinned and rose to his feet. That would do for now. It was an excellent start. “If you’ll excuse me, I shall leave you to your consideration of our journey.”

“Thank you.” Her gaze returned to the papers on the table. “I am determined to make certain nothing goes awry,” she said, and it struck Dante her words were more for herself than for him. Perhaps she was not as confident as she appeared.

“Please feel free to call on me at any time should you need my assistance in any way.”

“Your offer is most appreciated but I doubt your assistance will be necessary.”

“As you pointed out—one never knows what might be around the next corner.” He paused. Nothing in her dossier had indicated she was a well-seasoned traveler in spite of her current facade of competence, although admittedly that was not the kind of information he had requested. Still, something had struck him a few minutes ago that he had paid no attention. Perhaps the delightful Willie Bascombe was not as she appeared. “One more thing.” He leaned forward, braced his hands on the table and gazed into her eyes.

Her eyes widened but she did not shrink from his direct gaze. “And what might that be?”

“The map you are so dutifully studying.” He lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “It’s upside down.”

CHAPTER FIVE

THERE WAS NOTHING like maneuvering nine people through the complexities of claiming luggage upon arrival in Paris at the salle des bagages and the subsequent annoying inspection by customs agents to make a woman feel not merely efficient but supremely confident. It was not easy, especially as everyone rudely insisted on speaking in French. Perhaps language barriers were among the reasons why she and George had never traveled beyond England’s shores. Although it was more likely attributable to finances. No doubt they would have traveled someday—if only to escape their creditors.

Still, if asked, Willie would have said she did indeed speak French, more or less. Why, she had studied the language for years in school, as did everyone else she knew, and could say la plume de ma tante as well as anyone. But apparently when one was actually in France, one’s French was decidedly more less than more.

Regardless, with her Baedeker’s guide in one hand, her notebook in the other and the wherewithal to hire a small army of porters, Willie had managed to dispatch their group via three separate cabs to the Grand Hotel. Her charges had heeded Miss Granville’s advice on limiting the amount of their luggage given the brief length of time they would stay in any one place. They had also forgone the inclusion of ladies’ maids in their party, apparently standard guidance from the Lady Travelers Society. It made a great deal of sense in terms of expenditures and practicality. Every hotel they would stay in provided maids for their first-class guests. The Grand Hotel was no exception.

Upon their arrival nearly an hour ago, all the members of their party had been seen to their respective suites with assurances their every need would be met. Willie’s admiration of Miss Granville’s efficiency reluctantly notched upward. Who would have imagined Willie Bascombe would ever be impressed by efficiency? Apparently, Miss Granville, and her employer, were skilled in making the impossible possible. Willie had been aware, of course, of the Paris Exposition—why, everyone in the world was talking about the massive iron tower symbol of the fair—but she had never considered what that might mean to the availability of hotel rooms in the city. Indeed, she was fairly certain if she were not traveling under the auspices of Mr. Forge’s Lady Travelers Society, she would be hard pressed to find any available rooms at all let alone suites in the luxurious Grand Hotel.

They had arrived at an appropriate hour for a civilized dinner but everyone agreed—given that the proper tea service on the train from Calais had been surprisingly good in both quality and quantity—that no more than a light supper was required. Furthermore, they would all much rather spend their first night in Paris viewing the illumination of the Eiffel Tower.

Willie now awaited the others, resisting the urge to tap her foot impatiently on the highly polished floor of the opulent crystal, marble and gilded lobby and trying very hard to look serene and unconcerned instead of annoyed by their tardiness. They did have a schedule to maintain after all. Willie could not remember a point in her life before now when she was not perpetually late but if she could manage to appear promptly—so could everyone else. Apparently, a desire for punctuality went hand in hand with the acceptance of responsibility. Besides, as the idea for viewing the illumination had been embraced with wholehearted American enthusiasm, one did have to wonder where on earth everyone was. If they didn’t leave soon, they would miss the initial lighting, which was reportedly quite a spectacular moment.