“Do you?” She considered him thoughtfully. “And I assumed you were in business of some sort. Or you were perhaps a solicitor.”
“Why would you think that?”
“You carried a valise with you on the train. The sort men of business tend to have.” She shrugged. “Men who do nothing but rely on their family’s position and wealth for support rarely carry anything that sensible.”
“While I am indeed engaged in business, my position as head of my grandfather’s museum is a temporary one as the museum’s future is uncertain at the moment.” His tone hardened. “I intend to remedy that.”
“London is full of museums. Which one is yours?”
“Montague House.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“Precisely the problem,” he said under his breath and turned his attention back to da Vinci’s work. “Now then, tell me what you see when you look at this.”
“There really is no time for this sort of nonsense—”
“We are making time.”
“I am not interested in a lesson on art.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “We have a schedule to maintain and—”
“I have always been a firm believer in schedules, Willie. Indeed, much of my life adheres to a schedule.”
“Then you understand.”
“Under other circumstances perhaps. However, I am on holiday at the moment and I have left my schedules behind.”
“I have not.” She glared. “Nor am I the type of person who has ever followed a schedule of any sort.”
“Ah, that explains it.” He shook his head. “The newly converted are always more dedicated than those who have long followed a doctrine.”
“I have not come to believe in the sanctity of schedules for the most part. But I will admit, as you have ferreted out my secret and uncovered the distressing truth about my lack of travel experience, I am clinging to the schedule as if it were salvation and I was the worst sort of sinner.” She paused. “Which I’m not, of course. Gossip is never nearly as accurate as one might think. And even a colorful reputation may not be as legendary as might be imagined.”
And wasn’t that interesting? “I assure you, Willie, I am a man who makes up his own mind based on his own observances.”
“I don’t know why I said any of that.” She shook her head. “Obviously I am more concerned about the schedule than even I suspected.”
“I shall make you a promise. Indulge me in sharing my love of great art for a few minutes and then I will do whatever is necessary to resume your schedule.”
“You are a stubborn man, Mr. Montague.”
“In that we are evenly matched, Lady Bascombe.” He nodded, tried not to grin with triumph, then clasped his hands behind his back and considered the painting. “Once again, please tell me what you see.”
“Very well.” She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I see an old painting, somewhat dark, of a rather plain woman with no eyebrows and a slight smile.”
“That’s what you see?”
She gestured at the work. “That’s exactly what I see.”
“Do you want to know what I see?”
“Not especially but as I have little choice, tell me, Mr. Montague, what do you see?”
“I see a remarkable work a man poured his heart and his talent into for four long years with his brushes and his paint. I see endless effort, long hours of labor and toil. And flirtation.”
“Flirtation?” She looked at the painting then back at him. “I don’t see so much as a hint of flirtation.”
“How do you think he managed that enigmatic expression?” Dante cast her what he hoped was a mysterious smile of his own then continued. “Da Vinci surrounded her with musicians and singers and clowns, simply to keep her amused and content while he labored.”
“It was the least he could do if it was going to take him four years,” she murmured.
He ignored her. “I see a face so finely wrought it could be a photograph, lit by a soft, ethereal illumination. I see eyes that bewitch and compel and hold the merest suggestion of laughter. I see hands so lovingly crafted one can almost feel the softness of them. I see the world depicted behind her, her world, a lush landscape of rich vineyards and surging rivers and nature as yet untouched. I see light captured so expertly it seems to glow from the painting itself, as if you could hold your hand in front of it and see the light reflected on your palm. And of course, I see her smile, subtle and secret on lips that she holds barely in check. As if da Vinci caught her in the very moment before she would lose all control and laugh aloud with a laugh that would reach into your very soul.”
“Do you really see all that?” Willie stared at him.
He nodded and turned to her. “I do.”
She glanced at the painting. “I must say, Dante, the picture you paint with words is every bit as impressive as anything hanging on these walls.”
“I am not the first to be moved by this work but I do thank you.” He chuckled. “Now, look at the painting again and tell me your thoughts.”
“All right.” She squared her shoulders as if preparing for battle, braced her hands on the brass railing in front of the painting and studied da Vinci’s work.
“Well?” he said at last, failing to keep the eagerness from his voice. “What do you see?”
“Well...” She winced. “I see a darkened portrait of a woman with no eyebrows whose hands are either too small for her head or her head is too large for her hands.”
Surely she didn’t just say that? “That’s what you still see?”
“I thought her dress was nice,” she said weakly. “For that period of time, of course.”
“All these paintings—” he waved in a grand gesture “—you don’t appreciate any of them?”
“I’m certain they’re worth a great deal.” She cast an assessing gaze around the walls. “They are old after all.”
“They are priceless!” How could she not understand this? “And not just in monetary value but in what they do to a man’s soul. Just look around you. These magnificent works are the very expression of emotion—of love and hate and passion. Art, Willie, is man’s soul made manifest.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you saying I have no soul because I do not appreciate art?”
“No, of course not.”
“It certainly sounded like that.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That I am a philistine?” Her voice rose. “An uncultured barbarian?”
“Oh, I absolutely did not say that.”
“A creature who is too frivolous to appreciate man’s soul made manifest?”
“There’s no need for sarcasm, Willie.” He tried to stop himself but the words seemed to have a life of their own. “Your failure to appreciate these extraordinary works is obviously due to your lack of education and not any deficiency on your part. You just said you didn’t pay attention during your school days to lessons about art.”
“Because I found it dull,” she snapped. “And I had no interest in it.”
“What does interest you?” he said in a sharper tone than he had intended.
“I have no idea!” Her defiant gaze locked with his. “But at the moment, I find Paris to be extremely interesting.”
“Then I would be honored if you would allow me to help you discover the city.”
“I’m certain you can be of great help to all of us in that regard. The schedule—”
“Have dinner with me tonight,” he said without thinking.
“We are to attend a musical evening at the American ambassador’s residence tonight, a gathering of those Americans attending the exposition, I understand, but we are all invited. It was arranged before we left London.”
“Beg off.”
>
“Very well,” she said without hesitation. “We can discuss the schedule. Your knowledge of Paris will be most beneficial.”
“I look forward to it.”
“A late supper, after everyone has gone to the ambassador’s.”
“You would prefer not to let my sister and the others know we are dining together?”
“Exactly.” She huffed. “Goodness, Dante. I am not prepared to answer questions when I don’t know the answers myself.”
“That makes no sense at all.”
“Nonetheless, it will have to do.” She glanced down the gallery. “Now, if you would please return my guidebook, we can find the others.”
He handed her the guidebook then offered his arm. “They probably enjoyed a respite from your constant readings from Baedekers.”
“I know I did.” She took his arm and they made their way toward the next gallery. “You may well be extraordinarily nice, Mr. Montague, but you can also be incredibly annoying.”
“Thank you, Lady Bascombe.”
They walked on in silence. How could she possibly find all this—Raphael and Titian and Correggio and, God help her, da Vinci—dull? For this reason alone he needed to rescue the Portinari.
“If there is some work you think particularly worthy of notice,” she began in an offhand manner, “you may feel free to mention it to me.”
“Everything in this room in worthy of notice.” He glanced at her. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“As apparently there has been an enormous lack in my education, I would be most receptive to hearing your thoughts about—” she sighed “—all this.”
He chuckled. “It’s not a punishment, you know. You might well like it.”
“I wouldn’t wager on that, Dante.” She summoned a weak smile. “But I am not completely opposed to the acquisition of knowledge as long as you refrain from being superior about it.”
“I would never—”
“A moment ago you came perilously close to it.” She shook her head. “I do not like to be thought a fool. But I am hopefully wiser than I once was and can possibly see where, in certain areas, I could use some improvement.”
“Very few,” he said gallantly but it was the truth. At least as far as he could see. Oh, it was disconcerting that something as big a part of his life as the enjoyment of art had no appeal for her whatsoever. Not that it mattered really. He might well never see her again after they resolved the matter of the Portinari. He brushed aside the oddly unsettling thought. “No doubt there are any number of things you enjoy that hold no appeal for me whatsoever. In fact, I understand raiding the shops of Paris is on the schedule for tomorrow.”
“That’s right, it is.” She brightened. “I am quite looking forward to watching your sister and the Americans spend money with rapt abandon.”
“And you do not intend to spend with rapt abandon?”
“Oh, I think not on this trip.” She slanted him a quick glance. “Do you plan to accompany us?”
“I daresay I can find something else to occupy my day.”
“Pity really. If done correctly, with enthusiasm and passion—” she smiled in an entirely wicked manner “—shopping too is an art.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I HAVE NEVER had dinner with a man in a hotel room before,” Willie said lightly, glancing around Dante’s suite.
Calling it a mere room was a disservice. The suite was elegantly decorated in muted shades of green and gold. Far larger than her accommodations, it had the added benefit of a parlor separated by a closed door from what was probably a bedroom. Her own suite—which was indeed more of a room—had only a separate sitting area in an alcove. But then he was paying for his lodgings whereas she was not.
“I hope you don’t mind.” He grimaced. “By the time we returned to the hotel, it was too late to reserve a table anywhere of note, except possibly the hotel dining room. At least according to the front desk.”
“So it was the hotel’s suggestion we eat in your rooms?”
“Well, yes. They assured me both the meal and the service would be above reproach,” he added quickly as if he wanted to dispel any suspicions she might have.
A cloth-covered table sat in the middle of the room set with fine crystal, china and silver illuminated by an ornate candelabra. A waiter stood beside the table, doing his best not to be noticed. It was an elegant setting for a meal. Or whatever else Dante might have in mind. A tiny shiver of excitement ran up her spine.
“We could still try for a spot in the dining room if you prefer.”
“Not at all,” she said with a pleasant smile. “The privacy and convenience here will serve us well.”
Caution flickered in his eyes. “It will?”
“Of course. We are to discuss the schedule for the rest of our stay in Paris. And perhaps the itinerary for the next few weeks, as well. Why, there are maps to peruse and guidebooks to consult. It would be terribly awkward in a restaurant.” She widened her eyes. “Unless you had something entirely different in mind?”
“No, no. Not at all.” He shook his head somewhat more adamantly than necessary. She bit back a smile. “Although, I will admit, I do intend to take this opportunity to know you better.”
“Do you?” She wandered around the perimeter of the room, pausing at the open doors leading to a small balcony. She didn’t have a balcony either. Behind her, he said something to the waiter in a low tone. A moment later, she heard the door quietly open and close. It was most discreet.
“You should know, I have never before had a lady join me for dinner in my hotel room. Although I do often take meals in my rooms when I travel.”
“Why?”
“Convenience, I suppose. My travel is nearly always for business purposes and my meal time is better spent studying documents or figures and preparing for my next meeting.”
“My, that does sound efficient.”
“Well, I do usually have a schedule.” A grin sounded in his voice.
She stepped onto the balcony. A slight chill was in the air—more refreshing than cold really. To be expected, it was October after all. Stars twinkled overhead and Willie gazed out over the lights of Paris. “I thought you already knew all there was to know about me.”
He chuckled. “I believe we have established that my inquiry was sadly lacking. I dare not assume anything more about you but I was hoping you liked champagne.”
“Goodness, Dante, who doesn’t?” She turned toward him. “Champagne is probably my very favorite beverage.”
“Then my information was not entirely incorrect.” He crossed the room and handed her a glass. “You look exceptionally lovely tonight.”
“Thank you.” It was the first time she’d worn an evening dress that wasn’t black since George’s death. Admittedly, she’d had nowhere to wear such a gown since she’d returned to London and a life sadly devoid of social invitations. The dress was the tiniest bit out of date but it had long been a favorite with its off-the-shoulder sleeves, mauve satin bodice and tiers of lace on the overskirt. She’d always felt quite fetching in it and, regardless of whether it was the latest style or not, it worked its magic again tonight. There was nothing like feeling one looked one’s best to give one confidence. “It’s terribly improper, you know, to be alone with a man in his room. Even in Paris, I suspect.”
Dante returned to the table for his own glass. “We won’t be alone for long. The waiter will return with our first course in a few minutes.”
The tiniest twinge of regret stabbed her. Best to ignore it. “Admittedly, in the past, propriety has not been of great concern to me. Or did you already know that?”
“The tales of your misbehavior are indeed legendary.”
The oddest wave of heat washed up her face. What on earth was wrong with her? She couldn’t remem
ber the last time a man had made her blush.
“I’m not sure legendary is accurate although it is flattering in an odd sort of way.” She offered him a wry smile. “I suppose if one is going to have a reputation it should at least be interesting.”
“Excellent point.” He chuckled. “You regret it, then?”
“That’s rather futile really, isn’t it? What’s done is done. There is no going back. And George and I did have a marvelous time.”
“There is something to be said for a marvelous time.” He joined her on the balcony.
“Perhaps you should tell me exactly what you did learn in your thorough check of my background.” She sipped her wine and savored the fresh taste of it and the sparkling feel on her tongue. There was nothing in the world as wonderful as champagne and this was an excellent vintage. And no doubt quite expensive. She’d never paid the least bit of attention to the cost of anything before George died. She did so miss not having to be conscious of every price and every penny. “I assume you paid some sort of investigator and did not simply rely on rumor and gossip?”
He nodded. “I did.”
“As we have already discovered one area in which your information was lacking, there might be others, as well. If so, you might wish to request reimbursement.”
He laughed. “I might at that.”
“You did say you wanted to know me better.” She raised her shoulder in a casual shrug. “How can I possibly reveal anything of interest to you unless I know what you already know?”
“Excellent point.” He grinned. “You are insatiably curious, aren’t you?”
“Apparently, when it comes to this.” She thought for a moment. “I will admit to many faults but I don’t believe I am overly curious.”
“Then you’re the first woman I’ve met who isn’t.”
The Lady Travelers Guide to Larceny With a Dashing Stranger Page 10
