“You certainly haven’t,” she said sharply. “And he has not been not been fawning over me. Val is an old and dear friend.”
He snorted.
“Clever answer, Mr. Montague. Why use words when you can simply grunt in disdain. And why do you care who fawns over me?”
“You know why I care,” he said through clenched teeth.
“On the contrary, I don’t believe I do. I thought I did. I thought were we both quite clear as to our...feelings in Paris. Now...”
“Now the dashing Lord Brookings is here and you have bigger fish to fry.” He regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth.
“I beg your pardon.” She stared. “Do you really think that?”
“I don’t know what to think.” He knew better than to continue but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Ever since we’ve been in Monte Carlo, you have shown little interest in being in anyone else’s company.”
“That not the least bit true.” Her voice rose. “What is true is that you have made absolutely no effort to be in mine.”
“I had no desire to be used by yet another woman!”
“And you think that’s what I’m doing?” Fire sparked in her eyes. “How dare you!”
“I have been down this path before. I recognize it when I see it.”
“You see absolutely nothing!”
There were any number of things he could say, any number he should say, but anger and betrayal and humiliation and all those other feelings Juliet had provoked rushed through him even as that tiny voice—now sounding suspiciously like his sister’s—pointed out Willie Bascombe was not Juliet Pauling.
The music drew to a close before he could summon a response. At once Willie moved out of his arms and stepped back as if she couldn’t wait to put distance between them.
“We leave for Italy in the morning.” Her voice quivered with anger. “Good evening, Mr. Montague.” With that she nodded and made her way out of the ballroom.
For a moment he could only stare after her. What on earth had just happened? What had he done? Regret lodged in his throat. How could he have said any of that to her? He turned and stalked off the floor barely noticing Marian and Jane approach.
“That did not go well, did it, Mr. Montague?” Jane pinned him with a hard look.
Marian shook her head. “We expected better from you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said evenly.
“Come now.” Jane gave him the same kind of look his sister had. Pity mixed with disbelief. “We watched the two of you.”
“We were hoping you would do something about the terrible way you’ve been acting.” Marian studied him as if he were a disappointing child. “Silly of us but we did assume that would take the form of an apology or an explanation or something of that nature. But given the looks on your faces, you did not come up to our expectations.”
“Forgive me, ladies, for pointing this out,” he said in a hard tone, “but this is none of your concern.”
“Willie is our friend.” Marian raised her chin. “Which makes this our concern.”
Jane glared. “We will not stand idly by and watch you break her heart.”
There was no point in arguing with them. It was obvious this was a fight he could not win. Especially since they were right.
“What did you do?” Jane demanded.
“I may have said some things that were, well, not what I intended to say.” He blew a long breath.
“Then your sister is right.” Marian flicked a disgusted gaze over him. “You are an idiot.”
“No one knows that better than I.” He rubbed his hand over his forehead.
“Let me ask you one thing.” Jane considered him closely. “Do you have feelings for her?”
“Do you love her?” Marian said bluntly.
Dante’s gaze shifted between the women. Apparently, not only were they Willie’s friends but they had, as well, taken on the role of older sisters. His.
“Yes.” He threw up his hands in surrender. “Yes, I do. I admit it. And I further admit I was wrong. About everything.” Why wasn’t it as clear to him a few moments ago as it seemed to be now? Perhaps his sister and the Americans were right. Maybe he really was an idiot. “I will apologize to her. I’ll do so first thing in the morning. I’ll tell her what a fool I’ve been. I’ll beg her forgiveness. Even grovel if I must.”
The ladies traded glances.
“That will not do.” Jane shook her head. “Morning will be too late.”
“The more she thinks about what you said, the worse it will be for you. The last thing you want is for her to retire with the vile things you said on her mind.” Marian arched a brow. “And judging from the way she left, I assume they were vile?”
He winced. “I’m afraid so.”
Marian huffed. “Then you need to go after her.”
He hesitated.
“Go.” Jane waved toward the door.
“Very well.” He turned to go then turned back. “Thank you both for your help.”
“Now!” Jane snapped.
Dante headed for the grand lobby and the lifts. Willie was probably back in her room by now. He had no idea exactly what he was going to say to her. He would apologize, of course, and beg her forgiveness. He would indeed grovel and do whatever else was necessary, which probably included explaining why he had acted as he had. He’d thought he had put that business with Juliet behind him. He hadn’t been in love with her after all. But apparently, aside from damaging his pride and holding him up to public ridicule, she had destroyed his ability to trust. At least when it came to women.
He hadn’t been the least bit fair to Willie. He should have known better. Roz had pointed out that Willie wasn’t Juliet and he knew that. Logically and rationally and indeed until Brookings’s arrival he wouldn’t have thought she was. Willie was a woman he could trust. With his life. With his heart. But would she be willing to trust him? After everything he had said?
Dante reached her door and summoned his courage. He’d never been one to jump to conclusions and rarely made errors in judgment of any kind. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to admit he was wrong. But apparently love played havoc not only with one’s heart but one’s head, as well. He’d never been in this situation before, never played for stakes this high, and was under no illusion it would be easy. But it was the price one paid for utter and complete stupidity. And a small price to pay to keep Willie in his life. For now and forever.
He drew a deep breath, braced himself and knocked.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HOW COULD SHE have been such a fool? To have thought for so much as a moment that she might be in love with that beast of a man! That arrogant, smug, infuriating swine!
Willie paced the width of her spacious room, arms folded across her chest, eyes burning unshed tears. Although she suspected she would weep uncontrollably at any moment. Her grandmother had said proper English women were made of sterner stuff than to cry without just cause—usually death. Willie had cried when her mother died, when her grandmother died and, of course, when George had died. She’d cried when she’d realized her father would never particularly care for her—which did feel very much like death—and she had shed a few tears when she’d discovered she was very nearly penniless. Although those were tears more of anger and outrage and betrayal than heartache. The moment she stopped pacing—the moment she stopped moving—she feared anger and outrage in potent combination with the horrible ache around her heart would rip through her and once she shed the first tear she might never be able to stop.
How could he have thought such a thing of her? Admittedly, they hadn’t known each other for long but surely it was long enough for him to know what kind of person she was. She certainly knew what kind of person h
e was. Or at least she’d thought she had known.
A knock sounded at the door and she considered whether or not to ignore it. She had no desire to talk to anyone at the moment. Especially anyone who might have observed her argument with Dante. Fortunately, no one could have heard them over the music and as furious as each of them was, they had somehow managed to keep fairly polite expressions on their faces. Even so, her new friends had proved surprisingly observant and perceptive.
The knock sounded again harder. Obviously whoever it was was not going to accept being ignored. Fine!
She strode to the door and flung it open. “What—”
Dante stood, hand raised to knock again, apprehension mixed with regret on his face.
“What do you want?”
“Nothing more than a few minutes,” he said in a conciliatory manner. “I thought we should talk. Or rather I should talk.”
“I think you’ve said quite enough! Go away!”
“I owe you an apology.” He shook his head. “Please, I just want to talk.”
“Well, I have no desire to talk. Not to you. Not now. Not ever.” She slammed the door, turned on her heel and stalked across the room.
There was nothing more satisfying than slamming a door in a man’s face. Not that she had ever done so before but it did seem to carry a great deal of gratification. Perhaps as much as slapping a man’s face, which she had never done either but she should have. Right there on the dance floor in front of his sister and the Americans and Val and a room full of strangers.
How dare he think a simple apology would negate the terrible things he had said. Although he hadn’t actually apologized. She hadn’t given him the chance. Nor did he deserve the chance. Still, it might be interesting to hear what he could possibly say in his defense. Perhaps she should have given him a moment after all.
And weren’t there things she wished to say, as well? Things she deserved to say. After all, she was the wounded party here. Why should she deprive herself of the opportunity to tell him exactly what she wished? And what better time than right now when it was all fresh in her mind. Without another thought, Willie flung her door open, slammed it behind her then marched down the hall to his door and knocked sharply. It was his turn to listen to what she had to say.
The door opened and Dante stared at her in surprise, his expression at once hopeful and uneasy. “Willie?”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said slowly. He had taken off his coat, his collar was loose, his tie missing and his waistcoat was partially unbuttoned. Was there anything more wickedly exciting than a handsome man in disheveled formal attire?
She forced the thought from her mind and nodded. “You were right. We should talk.”
Dante continued to stare. What was wrong with the man? He acted as if he’d been struck speechless by her presence.
“May I come in or shall we talk here in the hallway?” She huffed. “What on earth is the matter with you?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Please, come in.” He stepped aside and waved her into the room.
She swept past him and stopped short in the middle of the room. Good Lord. This was a perfectly appointed parlor decorated in soothing shades of cream and pale blue with a sofa and chairs facing a fireplace and a desk with his open valise sitting on it. Her room was charming enough but he had a suite. A door next to the desk probably led to a bedroom. “Why is it your rooms are always so much larger than mine?”
“I don’t know. But I am sorry,” he added quickly.
“This—” she gestured at their surroundings “—is not what you have to be sorry about.”
“I am aware of that. And you have my apologies for that too. I am so sorry for what I said and what I thought.” He hesitated. “You should know I had no intention of leaving your room until we had a chance to speak.”
She shrugged. “And yet you did.”
“I debated whether to pound on your door until you let me in.”
“And yet you didn’t.”
“You told me to go.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I did not want to make things worse. So I left.”
“Rather cowardly of you, don’t you think?”
“You told me to go,” he said again.
“You didn’t protest.”
“You slammed the door in my face.”
“Indeed I did,” she said in a smug manner. “It was the very least you deserved.”
“You’re right. I deserve far worse. I am terribly sorry, Willie.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You said that already.”
“I don’t think I can say it enough.”
“No, you can’t. Is that all?”
“Actually, there’s a great deal more.” He drew a deep breath. “I should—”
“Not so fast, Mr. Montague.” She was here in his far-better-than-he-deserved room to give him a piece of her mind, not to let him have his say. “I have a few things I wish to say first.”
“By all means,” he said cautiously. “Go on.”
“I intend to. First—what were you thinking? Or were you thinking at all?”
“I’m not sure I—”
“No!” She thrust out her hand to stop him. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“Then you should refrain from asking me questions.”
“It was rhetorical,” she snapped.
“Actually, I don’t believe it was. A rhetorical question is one to which an answer is really not expected. It’s used to make a point, so rhetorical would be...” His voice trailed off, no doubt at the look in her eye.
“I am in no mood for a lesson in vocabulary.”
“Of course not. But you were wrong and I thought you might wish to know. But probably not,” he finished weakly. “Please continue.”
“I will!” Even so, she wasn’t entirely sure where to begin. She considered his crimes for a moment. “First of all, Lord Brookings is my friend. He is an unapologetic flirt and a great deal of fun but he is my friend. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“I really think—”
“I strongly suggest, Mr. Montague, that you keep whatever thoughts you may have to yourself for the moment.”
“I simply—”
She aimed a pointed finger at him and he stopped midsentence. “Much better. As I was saying, Lord Brookings is nothing more than a friend. And, as my circle of friends is sadly diminished, I cannot afford to lose one. Nor do I wish to. Furthermore—” she paused “—he did indicate to me that he would be interested in something more between us and I informed him that was not something I would be amenable to.”
Dante started to respond but she stabbed her finger at him again and his mouth snapped shut.
“Second, I would never use one man to encourage the affection of another. And even if I were inclined to do such a thing, knowing your past experience, I would never employ you in such a manner. The fact that you thought—even for a moment—that I am the kind of person who would so callously do something of that nature is both insulting and horribly unkind.” She glared at him. “You hurt me deeply, Dante.”
Genuine remorse shone in his eyes. She’d never seen a man look quite so helpless before. It was rather endearing. And almost enough to make her relent and forgive him. Almost but not quite.
“Now, I will concede that perhaps, in the back of his mind, Lord Brookings might have thought his overly enthusiastic flirtation could benefit me by making you a bit more forthcoming with your feelings. And I will further admit, I might not have been completely unaware of his efforts but I assure you it was neither my idea nor was I complicit in it. If anything, you, by your stuffy, remote, standoffish attitude, only served to encourage his attentions.”
He took a step toward her.
“Not one more step, Mr. Montague,” she said in a hard tone. “I am not finished yet.” She drew a deep breath. “You led me to believe you harbored a certain affection for me. I confess, I was—at that time—feeling much the same about you. And you kissed me. Quite thoroughly, I might add. I have been kissed before, of course. But I have never—” she swallowed hard “—been quite as affected by a kiss. One could argue it was nothing more than a mere kiss and yet to me it felt like a great deal more. Which is why your behavior toward me these past few days has been so hurtful. It does seem to me that a man who has feelings for a woman would make some sort of attempt to win her heart.” She met his gaze coolly. “You have made no attempt whatsoever.”
He winced.
“Which leads me to wonder if something you said at Notre Dame might be noteworthy.”
He had the distinct look of a fox run to ground, not certain in which direction lay escape and in which certain doom. Although she did have to give him credit for keeping his mouth shut.
“You said you were on holiday. Is this, whatever it is between you and me, nothing more than a holiday affair? Something with no more meaning than a souvenir? Or is it something...more? Significant if you will. Important. Because I assure you, I am not the kind of woman to have amorous adventures. I never have been and apparently it is not in my nature.”
Again, he looked as if he wasn’t sure which way to go.
“Well? What’s it to be?”
“Did you want an answer?” he said carefully.
“Of course I want an answer.” She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling.
“I have no desire for a holiday liaison.” He chose his words with care, his gaze locked on hers. “I’m not a temporary sort of man. I—”
“That’s enough for now. However, it was an excellent answer. But I have more I wish to say.” In fact, she wasn’t nearly as angry at him as she had been only a few minutes ago. Perhaps the simple act of saying everything she had to say without interruption defused her ire. She would have to remember that. It did seem she was more rational now, no thanks to him. Willie clasped her hands together in front of her. “I have been giving this a great deal of thought—”
The Lady Travelers Guide to Larceny With a Dashing Stranger Page 20
