The Lady Travelers Guide to Larceny With a Dashing Stranger

by Victoria Alexander

  “You missed the bells, Dante.” Willie stepped up beside him. “They were quite impressive. Pity we have no time to see them now. We really should follow the others. We do have a schedule to keep and a train to catch.” She paused. “But your sister said you wished to speak with me?”

  “I do.” This wasn’t the moment he would have picked but his sister had made that decision for him. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “A confession?” She grinned.

  “Well, yes, you could call it a confession.”

  “I love confessions.” She hooked her arm through his and they started toward the stairs. “But there’s really no need for it.”

  “There isn’t?” he said slowly.

  “Of course not.” She cast him a look that made his breath catch. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “You do?” How on earth did she know?

  “I do.” She nodded. “It’s what you started to say the other night when Rosalind interrupted us.”

  “It is?” Bloody hell he couldn’t remember exactly what he had started to say but it certainly wasn’t about the Portinari.

  “And there’s no need.” She shrugged. “I know.”

  “You do?” If there’s one thing he had learned in business it was not to show his hand too soon.

  “Of course I do.” They reached the stairs and she turned to him, a brilliant smile on her face. “I have a confession to make, as well.”

  “Do you?”

  “I do.” She drew a deep breath. “I suspect I am feeling very much the same way about you.”

  “Oh?” This was not what he expected.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  Any thoughts of telling her about the painting flew in the wake of her revelation. “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Goodness, Dante.” She huffed. “When a woman admits she might well share your feelings, she might care for you, rather a lot really, against all good sense mind you, the appropriate response is to do something a bit more—”

  Before she could finish, he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment she hesitated then her arms wrapped around him and she met his kiss with her own. Her lips were warm and welcoming beneath his and he pulled her tighter against him. Her scent surrounded him, floral and slightly exotic. It was absurd, ridiculous but she tasted of sunlight and Paris and adventures not yet had. And tomorrow.

  Dante had no idea what came over him but for the first time in his life he acted without giving his actions a second thought. Obviously he should try it more often.

  At last he raised his head and smiled down at her. “Is that a more appropriate response?”

  “Why, yes.” There was a delightfully breathless note in her voice. “I believe that was most appropriate. Surprising but...” She smiled up at him. “I have always adored surprises. Good ones anyway.”

  “I’ve been wanting to do that from the moment we met at Victoria Station.” The moment the words left his lips he realized they were true.

  “Kissing in public at Victoria Station? Goodness, Dante, it’s named for the queen. She would not look fondly on such an indiscretion. It would have been terribly inappropriate and quite scandalous.”

  “But worth it I think.”

  “I daresay I would have felt compelled to slap your face.”

  “Still.” He grinned. “Worth it.”

  She laughed. “We really should go down now.”

  “Well, we do have a schedule.”

  “And if we are to keep it, you should probably release me.”

  “Probably but I rather like being here, with Paris spread out beneath us, rooftops sparkling in the sun and you in my arms.” He brushed his lips across hers then reluctantly released her and again they moved toward the stairs.

  “Your sister is wrong, you know.” She cast him a wicked smile. “I don’t think you’re the least bit stuffy or overly proper.”

  He laughed. “Well, I am on holiday.”

  “There is that,” she said lightly and started down the narrow spiral stairs.

  The descent was no easier than the climb and Dante was glad Willie was in front of him. He couldn’t stop grinning like a man possessed. Or a man in love.

  The thought pulled him up short and he nearly tripped on the steps. Was he in love? He’d never been in love before, not really. He’d had a certain affection for Juliet and had indeed considered marriage as she would have been most appropriate but in spite of the claims of his sister and niece, his heart was not the least bit damaged when she ended it. In truth, he’d felt more relieved than anything aside from a bit of humiliation. This was different.

  Still, it was absurd to think this was love. Why, he’d scarcely known her any time at all. Admittedly, with every day spent in Willie’s company, he liked her more and more. And certainly she lingered in his thoughts even when he wasn’t with her. And, yes, kissing her had been rather remarkable and he would like to do it again and again and...

  And the idea of not seeing her, not being with her, not having her in his life twisted something deep inside him. Bloody hell, it did indeed feel like love. And she’d said she might well feel the same. But if he wanted to win her heart, he was going to have to tread carefully.

  Dante had never questioned his intelligence or his honesty. One could argue that he hadn’t been dishonest with her. He had simply failed to mention his true purpose in accompanying her to Venice. Given his feelings now, that was obviously a mistake. An enormous mistake. But one he could certainly rectify. He would simply have to think of some way to confess everything about her—his—painting that wouldn’t destroy what might very likely be his—their—future. Surely he’d learned something about subtle deceit from Juliet.

  Regardless, this was entirely different. His heart hadn’t been so much as bent when Juliet broke it off.

  If he lost Willie, he was fairly certain it would break.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Itinerary.

  Monaco.

  After a night on board the Calais-Mediterranée Express, considered one of the most luxurious trains in all of Europe, we arrive in Monte Carlo early in the evening. By virtue of climate, breathtaking scenery and cosmopolitan nature, the Principality of Monaco is known as the gem of the Riviera.

  “WELL, THIS IS IT.” Willie waved in a broad gesture at the building in front of them and adopted her brightest smile. “Our home for tonight.”

  Her band of weary travelers studied the ancient stone building with varying expressions of dismay or disgust.

  “But it’s so...” Emma stared at the structure. “Old.”

  “And falling down,” Tillie added.

  “Everything is old in Europe, dear.” Jane too could not take her eyes off the building. “And I’m sure, if it’s stood this long, it will stand a few more nights.”

  “As long as one of us is sure,” Rosalind said under her breath.

  “Come now, Mother.” Harriet huffed. “Surely we’re not really going to stay here? In a convent?”

  “It’s only two nights,” Dante said in a manner intending to reassure and failing. Even so, it wasn’t the first time he’d come to Willie’s assistance. It was most endearing of him. “We don’t have any other choice.”

  “It is rather picturesque,” Geneva offered.

  “Isn’t it though?” Willie said brightly and vowed to do something very nice for Geneva in the future. “And quite an unexpected adventure.”

  “I’m not sure adventure is the word I’d use.” Rosalind glanced at Marian. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “Apparently,” Marian said slowly, “I am at a loss for words.”

  Geneva snorted, Jane coughed, Emma giggled and at once the entire group broke into tired
laughter. Willie breathed a sigh of relief and mentally ripped up the strongly worded telegraph to the Lady Travelers Society she had composed in her head.

  The ever-efficient Miss Charlotte Granville had failed. Admittedly, it couldn’t be blamed on her entirely. Or at all probably but it was rather nice to believe there might be a chink in the American’s perfect armor. When Willie and her charges had arrived at the elegant Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo, they had been informed they did not have reservations for tonight but for the day after tomorrow. Even though Willie indignantly waved their telegram of confirmation and flaunted her title, the desk clerk did nothing more than apologize in a snippy manner, inform her there were no rooms available and unfortunately all the hotels in Monte Carlo were filled to capacity. It wasn’t until Dante stepped up, once again coming to her aid, and discreetly handed the clerk a number of francs that he said a convent just outside the city took in guests and offered to send a messenger to the mother superior in advance of their arrival. He also said the hotel looked forward to welcoming them the day after tomorrow. Willie was fairly certain he smirked as he said it but if they were indeed to have rooms the day after tomorrow, she thought it wise not to say anything that might annoy the man. Although it was difficult to leave their fate in the hands of a condescending desk clerk.

  “It really doesn’t look that bad.” Willie forced an optimistic note to her voice. The convent was similar in design to any number of large country houses in England she could name. The style of stonework was different and the grounds were not entirely tidy but the structure did look sturdy enough and well kept. One could see a large vegetable garden toward the back of the building. Still, as amenable as the house appeared, Willie couldn’t dismiss the odd feeling of guilt the house gave her. Ridiculous, of course. At the moment, her conscience was clear. For the most part.

  She probably should have followed her initial impulse to go to each and every hotel in Monte Carlo to make certain there were no rooms available. But Jane and Marian had stopped her and pointed out the futility of such a quest. If there were no rooms, there was nothing to be done about it and they simply had to make the best of a difficult situation. It had taken two carriages for passengers and a third for baggage to reach the convent and really a quiet night of serenity and contemplation was not altogether a bad idea. Willie had a great deal to think about.

  She and Dante hadn’t had a moment alone since yesterday when he had kissed her on the top of Notre Dame. When her toes had curled and her heart had thudded in her chest. He had taken her breath away and she wanted nothing more than, well, more. But apparently when one was thirty years of age and has embraced the necessity of using one’s mind as well as accepting responsibility for one’s life and one’s future, one wasn’t quite as willing to ignore offhand comments as one once was. And as much as she couldn’t banish his kiss from her thoughts neither could she ignore his comment about being on holiday. His sister had said Dante was usually quite proper and even stuffy. And according to the gossip surrounding the Juliet affair—as Willie now thought of it—he had been portrayed as both unquestionably proper and extremely honorable. While he did indeed seem most honorable, there was nothing the least bit stuffy and not at all proper about the way he took her in his arms. Still, even though he continued to prove he was extraordinarily nice, she couldn’t ignore the unpleasant idea that perhaps she was nothing more than a passing amorous adventure to be put aside the moment his feet were back on England’s shores. The very thought made her stomach clench. Lady Wilhelmina Bascombe may have a past reputation for impulse and fun and frivolity but she had never been—nor would she ever be—any man’s holiday plaything. Not bloody likely.

  They had left Paris late in the evening and had spent the night in an elegant sleeping car on the Calais-Mediterranée Express, arriving in Monte Carlo by late afternoon. It was now nearly evening and while Willie assumed the accommodations at the convent would not be comparable to the Hotel de Paris, they would certainly be preferable to nothing at all.

  The huge wooden door of the convent creaked open and a trio of women clad in black habits and veils with starched white wimples stepped out of the building. Willie had never been a religious sort and knew nothing about Catholics but there did seem to be a distinctly forbidding air about them. As if they could immediately see every one of her past sins and were taking note of them. Silly, of course, but it was difficult not to be apprehensive. In that she was not alone. Each of the girls subtly edged backward to stand slightly behind their mothers. One really couldn’t blame them. Pity, Willie didn’t have a mother here to stand behind.

  “Bonjour, bonjour, mes amis!” The tallest nun on the right stepped forward, a welcoming smile on her face. Willie’s tension eased. “The Sisters of Perpetual Devotion welcome you to our home. I am Sister Celestine,” she said in heavily accented English. She nodded at the woman on the left. “This is Sister Laudine.” Sister Laudine offered a sweet smile. “And this is the Reverend Mother, Mother Emmanuelle.” The nun in the middle, the smallest of the three, nodded, her smile reserved but pleasant enough. Still, Willie did feel as if she had just been judged and found wanting.

  She drew a deep breath and stepped forward. “I cannot tell you how grateful we are. I’m not sure what we would have done if not for your hospitality.”

  The nuns traded glances.

  “I do apologize,” Sister Celestine said with obvious reluctance. “My cousin, Ferrand, is the desk clerk at the hotel and he assumed—”

  “Ferrand Chirac is an idiot,” Reverend Mother said in perfect English with a decidedly Yorkshire accent. She was of an indeterminate age—somewhere between forty and infinity. “He always has been, he always will be.”

  Sister Celestine nodded reluctantly. “One could say that.”

  “I just did say that.” Reverend Mother rolled her gaze toward the sky as if asking for heavenly guidance. “Which of you is Lady Bascombe?”

  “I am—” Willie had no idea how to address the mother superior of a convent “—your holiness.”

  “That’s for the pope, dear,” Reverend Mother said. “You may address me as Reverend Mother or Mother Emmanuelle, whichever you prefer.”

  “Thank you,” Willie said weakly and resisted the urge to bob a curtsy.

  “Our order was formed centuries ago to assist weary travelers on their way to the Holy Land. Today, we offer rooms primarily to those who can least afford to stay elsewhere.” Reverend Mother’s lips thinned in disapproval. “Usually those who have lost their money in that wretched casino. Unfortunately, the casino is extremely busy, which means at the moment we have no rooms available.”

  Willie’s heart sank. What on earth were they going to do now? “I see.”

  “Don’t look so downhearted, dear. There is always hope. Perhaps if you prayed a bit more, you would know that,” Reverend Mother said pointedly.

  Willie nodded. “I shall keep that in mind.”

  The older woman cast her a skeptical look. Apparently, she knew a sinner, reformed or otherwise, when she saw one. “However, there is a villa a short drive from here owned by an English marquess. A good man who has long been our benefactor. As he is rarely at the villa, he has instructed his staff to offer shelter to English travelers when we have requested assistance. The moment we received that idiot’s—” Sister Celestine winced “—message, I dispatched a note to the villa.” Reverend Mother smiled a distinctly satisfied smile. “The staff is expecting you.”

  Audible sighs of relief sounded behind Willie. “Thank you, Reverend Mother.”

  “We’re not all English,” Marian said staunchly, moving to Willie’s side. “My daughters and I are American as is Mrs. Corby and her daughters.”

  “Are you?” Reverend Mother studied Marian closely. “It can’t be helped, I suppose.” She returned her attention to Willie. “I suspect you could all use a bite to eat. While our other guests wil
l be provided sustenance later in the evening, we are about to sit down to our evening meal and we would be most pleased if you would join us.”

  Behind her, Willie heard one of the girls whisper, “But it’s barely five o’clock.”

  Reverend Mother craned her neck and peered around Willie. “Vespers is at sunset and we retire shortly thereafter as we rise at dawn.”

  “While we are most grateful for the offer,” Dante said with a charming smile, “we would hate to inconvenience you.”

  “But we really are hungry,” another girl murmured.

  “I would not have offered if it would be an inconvenience. And it is our duty to assist travelers, even those of means.” Reverend Mother paused. “Furthermore, it has been some time since I’ve had the pleasure of dinner conversation in the king’s English. I admit, there are times when I miss it.”

  “Then by all means, Reverend Mother,” Dante said gallantly, “we would be honored to join you and the other sisters.”

  Dinner was excellent if a bit simple with a chicken and vegetable ragout flavored with wine and herbs accompanied by loaves of crusty bread and prayer. The sisters said very little but the Reverend Mother was eager for conversation from home as she was born Emily Waters, a subject of Her Majesty. She did not explain what path had led her to her current position as the mother superior of a convent in Monaco. Nor did anyone have the courage to ask.

  Conversation at their end of the long table was lighthearted. The Reverend Mother did seem to be enjoying it a great deal and found the very idea of a lady travelers society intriguing. Although she pointed out women of God had long traveled the world on their own without having to rely on men at all.

  “But you have God to protect you,” Harriet said, a distinct challenge in her voice. Rosalind sighed quietly. “Most of us have to depend on men.”

  “God protects us all, Harriet,” Rosalind said through clenched teeth.

  “Of course he does, Mother.” Harriet huffed. “I didn’t mean that he doesn’t.”