The Lady Travelers Guide to Larceny With a Dashing Stranger

by Victoria Alexander

  “Yes, well, the idea of daughters someday sounds delightful when someday is very far off. But then someday arrives and you’re living with this clever, subtly deceitful creature whose greatest joy in life is outwitting you because she thinks you are the enemy of all she wants in life. Oh, and she’s certain you’re stupid, as well,” Lady Richfield added wryly.

  Willie grinned. “Surely not.”

  “Life with a daughter is a challenge.” Lady Richfield straightened her shoulders. “Fortunately, I quite enjoy a challenge.”

  Willie laughed.

  Lady Richfield chuckled. “And you must call me Rosalind. After all, we are going to be spending a great deal of time in one another’s company.”

  “Excellent. And I am Wilhelmina but most people call me Willie as Wilhelmina is rather a mouthful.” She wrinkled her nose. “And, as I have been told by the younger members of our party, a bit antiquated, as well.”

  “They are nothing if not painfully blunt,” Rosalind observed.

  “I remember all too well.” Willie frowned and glanced at her list again. “I do wish your D. Montague would appear. Am I to assume she is English, as well?”

  “Oh, definitely English.”

  “I would hate to leave her behind. And while we do have a private car, the train will leave when expected.”

  “Yes, well...” Rosalind drew a deep breath. “About D. Montague. You should know—”

  “That I am quite looking forward to this.” A tall, dashing gentleman with dark hair, equally dark eyes and an impressive air of refined elegance about him—no doubt assisted by excellent, quality tailoring—stepped up beside Rosalind. He carried a black leather traveling valise, the kind used for documents by solicitors and men of business. “You must be Lady Bascombe.”

  Surely she’d met a man with shoulders that delightfully broad before? And certainly she knew any number who had dimples bracketing the corners of their perfectly shaped lips beneath a sharp straight nose that was just a touch Roman. Without thinking, Willie extended her hand. “I am.”

  He took her hand and gazed into her eyes. The oddest shiver ran through her. “I am delighted to meet you.”

  She mustered a weak smile. “And you are?”

  “Forgive me. Where was my head? Roz?” He directed his words to Rosalind but kept his gaze locked on Willie’s. “Do be so kind as to introduce me.”

  Good Lord. The most unnerving thought flashed through her mind. Was this intriguing specimen of the male gender here to accompany Rosalind? Was this trip to be some sort of romantic liaison on their part? And in front of her daughter? Not to mention the other girls. While Americans were reputed to be less unyielding about any number of things, Willie was fairly certain Jane and Marian would both be shocked by this. As free-spirited as Willie had always considered herself, this she could not allow.

  “Yes, of course. Allow me to introduce Mr. Dante Montague.” Rosalind cleared her throat. “My brother.”

  “Your what?” Relief swept through her. Only because she would not have to take the moral high ground—which she wasn’t sure anyone would believe—and not because of the wicked sparkle dancing in his eyes. And the way he looked at her as if she were something rather remarkable. Men had looked at her in similar ways before, of course, but it had always been much more lascivious. And she had been married. And it had been a very long time since.

  “Her brother.” He grinned. “We’ve been told there’s a certain family resemblance.”

  “When we were children perhaps.” Rosalind scoffed. “Fortunately, we have grown out of it.”

  “And your name is Dante?” For whatever reason she couldn’t seem to pull her gaze from his. Nor did she want to. “As in the nine circles of hell?”

  He chuckled. “My mother had a passion for literary names. You’re familiar with Dante’s Divine Comedy, then?”

  An endless, fourteenth-century epic poem that was forced down the throats of unsuspecting schoolgirls in the name of classics while they did their best to avoid it? The sort of thing a girl might only skim in order to answer the most basic questions about it? She forced a light laugh. “Who isn’t?”

  “Excellent. I look forward to discussing it with you.”

  “You can let go of her hand now,” Rosalind said pointedly.

  Willie pulled her hand from his. “That does sound like fun.”

  “I expect this tour to be a great deal of fun, as well.” Mr. Montague continued to study her as if he couldn’t bear to take his eyes away. It was at once flattering and a bit unnerving.

  “I’m curious, Mr. Montague.”

  “Dante, please.” There were those dimples again. “We’re going to be together every day for the next month after all.”

  “Regardless, we have only just met. It would be far too improper and not at all the way to begin an adventure like this.” Oh Lord. Why couldn’t the man have had a name like Horacio or Ebenezer. Why did he have to have the name of an Italian poet?

  And where on earth had this voice of propriety of hers come from? Why, she had never been the least bit concerned about rules before. It was no doubt his fault. This man, this Dante, might be very, very dangerous. Or he could be a great deal of fun. She wasn’t sure she was ready for fun and certainly not for danger. Her previous life had had entirely too much of both—or the illusion of both—and had, in hindsight, been exhausting. Although she would admit there were frequent moments when she missed it.

  “Might I ask why you decided to join a tour directed at ladies and their daughters?”

  “Well, I—”

  “In truth, this whole thing was my brother’s idea,” Rosalind answered. “He is paying for our entire trip. The dear man.”

  “It was a gift,” Dante said quickly. “And most deserved.”

  “It was a bribe.” Rosalind smirked. “Also most deserved.”

  “And as I was at loose ends, with nothing pressing to keep me in London at the moment—”

  “Alas my dear brother has not yet found himself a wife.” Rosalind heaved a long-suffering sigh.

  Dante shot her a sharp look then continued. “I thought it might be nice to accompany my dear, dear sister and her charming daughter.”

  “How very...thoughtful of you.” And indeed it did appear quite thoughtful although one couldn’t help but wonder at the undercurrents ebbing between brother and sister and exactly what Dante’s bribe was for. And wouldn’t that be interesting to find out?

  “And then when I discovered you were to be one of the travelers, well, how could I possibly pass up the opportunity to make the acquaintance of the legendary Wilhelmina Bascombe.”

  “How indeed.” She forced a light laugh. Legendary? What utter rubbish. She did have a certain reputation—at least she used to—but it had been two years since she’d done anything at all let alone anything legendary.

  “I believe we should probably get on board,” Mr. Montague said to his sister then turned to Willie. “Don’t you agree, Lady Bascombe?”

  “Yes, of course,” she murmured.

  Dante assisted his sister up the steps. She said something quietly into his ear then glanced back at Willie and smiled. He turned to Willie and took her hand to help her into the car. It wasn’t really necessary. But it was quite nice.

  “I cannot tell you how delighted I am that I decided to come along,” he said in a low voice behind her.

  A frisson of something that might have been delight—or worse, anticipation—ran up her spine. She ignored it.

  It had been a long time since she’d felt any sort of attraction to a man. Certainly it was not unexpected that she would do so at some point. She had been a widow for two years after all and even at the age of thirty she did not consider herself old. Nor did she have any desire to spend the rest of her life alone.

 
But Willie had met any number of dashing, charming, handsome men before. George was dashing and handsome and charming. Her next husband was going to be sensible and rational and practical. A man who had more on his mind than the next ball or rout or hunt. At the very least, a man who was aware of his responsibilities and lived up to them. A man who paid his bills.

  No, she was finished with men who were impulsive and wanted nothing more than to enjoy everything life had to offer. The next time she married she wanted a bit of moderation.

  A man who put entirely too much effort into charming a woman—even if he was nice to his sister—was not to be trusted. Legendary indeed. Besides, a man who had the name and the charm of an Italian poet and the looks of a Roman god was the last thing she needed or wanted.

  Even if she suspected he might well be irresistible.

  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.”