The Lady Travelers Guide to Scoundrels and Other Gentlemen

Embark on the breathtaking romantic adventures of The Lady Travelers Society in the brand-new series by #1 New York Times bestselling author Victoria Alexander

Really, it’s too much to expect any normal man to behave like a staid accountant in order to inherit the fortune he deserves to support the lifestyle of an earl. So when Derek Saunders’s favorite elderly aunt and her ill-conceived—and possibly fraudulent—Lady Travelers Society loses one of their members, what’s a man to do but step up to the challenge? Now he’s escorting the world’s most maddening woman to the world’s most romantic city to find her missing relative.

While India Prendergast only suspects his organization defrauds gullible travelers, she’s certain a man with as scandalous a reputation as Derek Saunders cannot be trusted any farther than the distance around his very broad shoulders. As she struggles not to be distracted by his wicked smile and the allure of Paris, instead of finding a lost lady traveler, India just may lose her head, her luggage and her heart.

VICTORIA

ALEXANDER

Table of Contents

THE LADY TRAVELERS GUIDE TO SCOUNDRELS & OTHER GENTLEMEN

THE PROPER WAY TO STOP A WEDDING (IN SEVEN DAYS OR LESS)

This book and the Lady Travelers Society is dedicated to those friends and readers who know there is grand adventure to be found in picking up a suitcase and heading out the door or in opening a new book.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

When deciding upon an agency to assist in one’s travel preparations, always ask for references from at least three satisfied clients. Without this precautionary step, a lady traveler never knows what might happen and, worse, where it might happen.

—The Lady Travelers Society Guide

London 1889

IT CERTAINLY DID not look like the type of place where genteel, older ladies were bilked out of their life savings. Nonetheless—India Prendergast narrowed her eyes—it was.

India resisted the urge to tap her foot impatiently. She stood second in queue to reach a table set up near the door of one of the smaller lecture rooms in the grand mansion in Bloomsbury that housed the Explorers Club. A number of women chatted near a table bearing refreshments positioned along the wall. Several others had taken seats among the rows of chairs facing a lectern. The stout lady in front of her wore a tall beribboned hat entirely inappropriate for her age and did not seem inclined to hurry, even though a lecture on “What No Lady Traveler Should Leave Home Without” was scheduled to begin shortly. No, the lady ahead of her showed no consideration for the time constraints and chatted blithely with the woman sitting at the table as if there were no one waiting in line behind her.

India wouldn’t be here at all if anyone had responded to her letters demanding information as to the whereabouts of her dear cousin, Lady Heloise Snuggs. In spite of the exotic nature of her name—a cross India had long ago learned to bear—she had no desire for travel and did not find the promise of adventure to be found in foreign lands the least bit enticing. She didn’t understand why any otherwise sane and sensible woman would want to pursue such foolishness. No, the only thing that had brought her here today was concern verging perilously close to abject fear.

It had been nearly six weeks since India had received so much as a brief note from Heloise, and, even given the inefficiency of postal service outside the empire, it was not at all like her. Indeed, until then, India had received a letter at least twice a week, overflowing with her cousin’s delight at the exploration of those places she’d only read about in books. It had long been Heloise’s dream to travel the world. When she’d discovered the existence of the Lady Travelers Society and Assistance Agency—far less imposing than anything run by men—it had appeared that dream was now within reach.

The room filled slowly with other ladies, most of whom had obviously passed the age of fifty, just as Heloise had. And, exactly like Heloise, India suspected they all had dreams of exciting exploits in exotic places, no doubt with a handsome, virile stranger by their side. What utter nonsense.

While India had been uneasy about Heloise sallying forth three months ago to discover the world beyond England’s shores, she couldn’t bring herself to express her concerns and dampen her cousin’s enthusiasm. She’d never seen Heloise quite that excited. Nonetheless, anything could happen to a lady traveling alone, even if Heloise was accompanied by her maid—the competent, no-nonsense Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle Marquette. Perhaps if India had expressed her concerns...

India firmly pushed the thought aside but failed to dismiss the dreadful apprehension that had weighed on her soul in the last few weeks. She was fairly certain Heloise would not have listened to her anyway. Regardless, she would never forgive herself if anything happened to the older woman. India was not one for frivolous emotion, but Heloise had claimed a place in India’s heart from very nearly the moment they’d met.

Some twenty years older than India, Heloise was India’s mother’s cousin and the only family India had left in the world. She’d given her a home when India’s parents had died—taking up the responsibilities of raising an eleven-year-old girl. Heloise had helped fund her continued schooling at the prestigious Miss Bicklesham’s Academy for Accomplished Young Ladies, setting aside enough for a respectable dowry for India, should that become necessary. (It hadn’t, which did seem for the best.) Very little of what India had observed about men inclined her at all toward chaining herself to one for the rest of her days.

Heloise had come to India’s rescue when she was needed, and India would do no less for her now. Besides, the thought of losing her was entirely too much to bear.

At last, the lady in front of her moved off to take a seat, and India stepped forward.

“How may I help you, miss?” The blonde woman sitting at the table smiled up at her.

“I should like to join the Lady Travelers Society,” India said firmly. It had been the suggestion of her employer, Sir Martin Luckthorne, that the best way to find out the whereabouts of Cousin Heloise might well be to join the society herself.

“How delightful.” The blonde beamed. India’s distrust wavered slightly in the wake of the woman’s genuine smile, which did seem the best part of her. Oh, she was not unattractive, but neither was she especially pretty. Not a woman one would notice on the street one way or another. In that she and India were similar, and the tiniest pang of regret stabbed India at her deception. Still, it couldn’t be helped. India returned her smile. The woman appeared close in age to India, as well, something else they had in common. At not quite thirty it was clear they were the youngest in the room. “Do you plan to travel then?”

India hesitated. “My plans are uncertain at the moment.”

“Oh.” The blonde drew her brows together. “Most of our members join precisely because they wish to plan their future travel.”

“I do wish to plan my future travel,” India lied. “I’m simply not sure exactly when the future might arrive.”

“That’s something else then, isn’t it?” The blonde nodded in sympathy. “I understand completely. Some of us do not have the means to wander the world simply because we wish to do so.” A determined note sounded in her voice. “However, making preparations for the future is exactly why the Lady Travelers Society was started.”

“By experienced travelers I assume?” India asked although she knew full well who the alleged founders of the organization were.

“Oh my, yes.” Pride glowed in the other woman’s eyes. “Surely you’ve heard of Sir Charles Blodgett?”

“I’m not certain...”

“He was quite famous for his travels and expeditions and explorations. One of the premier members of the Explorers Club itself. Lady Blodgett lost him ten years ago now I think.”

India nodded, not entirely sure if Sir Blodgett had died or had simply been lost in the jungles of some hot, horrid, uncivilized country.

“Let me think, where was I?” The woman’s brow furrowed. “Oh yes, I was telling you about the founders of the society—Lady Guinevere Blodgett and her dearest friends, Mrs. Persephone Fitzhew-Wellmore and Mrs. Ophelia Higginbotham. Well, more like sisters really than friends. They were all married to men of adventure and travel, although Sir Charles was the most famous of the lot. The poor dears are all widows now, but they do indeed know a great deal about the rigors of travel and the adventures to be found on a tramp steamer traversing the globe or sailing the Nile in a felucca or—”

“So Lady Blodgett and her friends are the ones arranging tours and travel for members?” India interrupted, trying to hide her impatience.

“That would stand to reason, wouldn’t it? They are all so knowledgeable.” The woman paused. “Although I must confess, I’m not well versed in the running of the society, even though I did join shortly after it was formed. I only began to lend my assistance here last week—as a favor to Mrs. Higginbotham and the others—until someone is hired to manage the organization. The society has grown far faster than anyone ever expected.”

“The society is relatively new, isn’t it?” Yet another question India already had the answer to, but one never knew what further information one might uncover by pretending to be less informed than one was.

“It began about eight months ago and was sorely needed if you ask me.” The woman’s lips pressed together in a firm line. “In this day and age there is no reason why a woman cannot travel the world if she so desires.”

“No reason except...finances.” India studied the other woman closely.

“There is that, of course. And fear of the unknown I suppose.” She shook her head. “It’s rather sad when we don’t pursue our heart’s desire because we’re afraid that it might not be as wonderful as we had hoped.”

India tried not to stare, but it was obvious this woman was the worst sort of unrealistic dreamer. “About the charges? For membership?”

“Yes, of course. One pound for a month-to-month membership or ten for a full year membership.”

“And that provides?”

“The lectures on travel—lectures are usually once a week—along with the meetings with like-minded women such as yourself. However, the majority of the monthly dues is set aside to provide future payment for arranging the details of a travel itinerary.”

“So when I decide to actually travel—” India chose her words with care “—I have already paid for any charges for the arrangement of transportation, hotels, tour guides, that sort of thing?”

“For the most part, although I believe there is also another, relatively insignificant fee. To pay for additional expenses incurred in the arranging of itineraries. To be expected, of course.” The woman picked up a printed form from a stack of papers. “Now then, if you would fill this out, you may bring it, along with payment, if you decide to return. There is no charge for your first lecture.”

“How very generous.” Or clever.

“Not at all,” the blonde said, rising to her feet and handing India the paper. “You can’t fail to delight in Lady Blodgett’s tales and sage words. If you have even the tiniest flicker of yearning for the excitement of travel, Lady Blodgett will fan it to a full blaze.” She smiled. “I should introduce myself. I’m Miss Honeywell and I have no doubt you’ll be joining us.”

“I am Miss Prendergast—” India nodded curtly “—and I suspect you’re right.” Again that annoying sense of guilt stabbed her. She simply wasn’t used to deception. “How many members do you have?”

“We’re up to more than ninety, I believe.”

“That’s most impressive.”

“It is indeed. The society first met in Lady Blodgett’s parlor, but now there are entirely too many of us for that. Because of the ladies’ husbands’ long association with the Explorers Club, the society was allocated an office here and permitted to use this room for meetings and lectures three days a week.”

“How very generous.”

The other woman scoffed. “They couldn’t very well turn down the request of the widow of Sir Charles Blodgett.”

“I would think not.” India forced a note of indignation to her voice. Not at all difficult as indignant was the very least of her feelings. If the society had been more forthright and responsive to India’s inquiries about Heloise in the first place, she never would have suspected the questionable nature of the organization. Nor would she have begun asking questions, the answers to which were less than satisfactory. “Do tell me about Lady Blodgett and the others. They sound lovely.”

“Well, I have known Mrs. Higginbotham for a number of years. She and the others knew my...”

Either Miss Honeywell was the most sincere woman India had ever met or she was an accomplished actress. The more the blonde waxed on about the virtuous Lady Blodgett and her cohorts, the more India suspected Miss Honeywell was a total innocent. And India had always trusted her ability to assess character.

If the three ladies were as guiltless as they seemed to Miss Honeywell, perhaps there was indeed a man behind the scenes manipulating the old dears like a master puppeteer. That was the speculation of Inspector Cooper of Scotland Yard. He had spoken to India at the request of Sir Martin. But as dashing as he was with his slightly unkempt fair hair and his air of solid authority, he was most annoying in his refusal to understand that Heloise’s disappearance was a matter of grave concern. The man pointed out that her cousin’s lack of communication was no doubt due to the inferior mail services in other countries. He had added, in a vaguely chastising manner, that aside from all else, Heloise was an adult, accompanied by another adult, and was more than likely having such a grand time she’d simply forgotten about writing home. Nor would he acknowledge there was anything at all suspicious about the Lady Travelers Society. And, given there had been no complaints about the society, there was nothing the authorities could do. India had certainly complained quite loudly but apparently the complaints of one lone woman were insufficient. As he had made his pronouncements with such an amused, condescending gleam in his eye, it was all India could do not to smack the smirk from his face.

“I must introduce you to some of our members.” Miss Honeywell directed India toward a group gathered by the refreshment table. “You will notice that most of them are substantially older than you or I, but you’ll find we have a great deal in common.”

A lifetime of savings, no doubt, and little resistance to the lure of far-off destinations. “I would imagine.”

“Mrs. Vanderkellen.” Miss Honeywell addressed the lady India had stood behind. “Do allow me to present...”

Miss Honeywell introduced her to several more ladies, all of whom were in the throes of anticipation about today’s lecture. Without exception, those India met were either widows or spinsters. A few minutes later, India and Miss Honeywell took two of the few remaining seats left for the lecture. The room had filled nearly to capacity since India’s arrival. Obviously, the society was doing quite well.

An elderly woman strode to the front of the room with a sprightly step. Two other equally enthusiastic older ladies trailed behind, pausing here and there to greet the women already seated in a charming and gracious manner, as if they were all the oldest and very best of friends and not shepherds leading unsuspecting sheep to a financial fleecing.

“Lady Blodgett is the speaker today,” Miss Honeywell said in a quiet voice that nonetheless failed to hide her enthusiasm. “The other ladies are Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore and Mrs. Higginbotham. You’ll like them, Miss Prendergast. They are all quite wonderful and extremely nice.”

“I look forward to meeting them,” India said with a touch of feigned eagerness.

Before her arrival, she hadn’t been certain if the wisest course was to confront those in charge of the society and demand assistance in finding Heloise or to follow Sir Martin’s advice to bide her time until she could determine where Heloise was. And determine, as well, if this was a legitimate endeavor or a fraudulent enterprise designed to siphon money from older women. Which had oddly become nearly as important as recovering her cousin.

Lady Blodgett took her place at the lectern; the other two seated themselves in chairs behind her and off to the right. Regardless of whether or not the ladies’ endeavor was aboveboard they certainly weren’t the least bit disciplined. Lady Blodgett continued to talk with a woman seated in the front row; the two others on the podium waved to another woman, then exchanged animated comments. Why, the entire room was still filled with feminine chatter. Clearly, with this sort of disorganization, it was entirely possible they weren’t fleecing susceptible females but were simply too scattered to keep track of them.

“I suspect members are always going on trips abroad?”

“Not at all,” Miss Honeywell said. “At least not yet. I’m not sure more than one member that I know of has actually traveled beyond England. It takes a great deal of time and preparation to arrange a trip to the Orient or the Grecian isles or the deserts of Egypt.”

“A great deal of time and dues?”

“Well, one does want to be prepared.” Miss Honeywell nodded. “And the ladies’ lectures do precisely that.”

“I see.” And the longer a woman stayed in London paying monthly dues, the richer the coffers of the Lady Travelers Society became. And wasn’t that an interesting thought?

India wasn’t sure if it was Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore or Mrs. Higginbotham, but one of them abruptly stood, stepped to Lady Blodgett’s side and spoke quietly in her ear. Lady Blodgett winced and glanced toward the back of the room, then sighed and smiled in a resigned manner. India’s gaze followed hers.

A gentleman with a grim expression on his face and a leather satchel in his hand glared at the older lady. He was admittedly handsome with dark hair and broad shoulders, and appeared exceptionally tall. But then everyone seemed tall to India as she was somewhat shorter than she would have preferred.

“Who is that?” she asked Miss Honeywell.

“Lord Charming.” Miss Honeywell fairly sighed the answer.

There was certainly something about the man, an air of confidence perhaps, or something in the assurance of his stride and the set of his chin that, in spite of his serious expression, did seem to scream charming. “His name is Charming?”

The other woman snapped her gaze away from the gentleman, her eyes wide. “I didn’t...oh dear.” A blush washed up her face. “Did I really say that aloud?”

“I’m afraid so.” While India had little patience with women who mooned over men, no matter how attractive they may be, she couldn’t help but feel a touch of sympathy. Gentlemen who looked like Lord Charming rarely preferred more ordinary creatures like Miss Honeywell, or, for that matter, India.

“I don’t know what came over me,” she said under her breath, “I should have said dashing.” She grinned. “No, his name isn’t Charming or Dashing, of course, and he isn’t a lord, at least not yet. But he is the heir to the Earl of Danby. That’s Mr. Saunders. He’s the son of Lady Blodgett’s niece.”

“My apologies but it seems there will be a slight delay,” Lady Blodgett announced. “We should only be a few minutes, but until we return please avail yourselves of the refreshment table. Oh, and—” her gaze flitted over those seated “—where is Miss Honeywell?”

“Yes?” Miss Honeywell stood.

“Be a dear, Sidney, and hand out this week’s pamphlets.” Lady Blodgett smiled and followed her friends to the back of the room. All three ladies kept smiling but India would have wagered all three would have preferred to be anywhere but here at the moment. Mr. Saunders opened the door, and the three women filed through.

India rose to her feet. “Is he here often?”

“I really couldn’t say.” Miss Honeywell frowned. “He was here last week. That was the first time I’d seen him, but, as I said, I am new in this position.”

“Lady Blodgett and the others don’t seem especially happy to see him.” India’s gaze lingered on the door.

“No, I’m afraid not.” A thoughtful note sounded in Miss Honeywell’s voice. “Lady Blodgett seemed quite pleased to see him at first. But no one appeared especially happy after Mr. Saunders and the ladies met privately. They haven’t been quite their usual, cheery selves since.”

“I see,” India murmured. Still, while Mr. Saunders’s connection to the ladies did seem important, she wasn’t entirely sure of its significance.

Part of her hoped that this Lady Travelers Society was legitimate. But if so, why hadn’t anyone here responded to her concerns about Heloise? If the ladies who managed the society weren’t simply taking money for services they were not really providing, why wouldn’t they want to do everything possible to recover one of their own? No, there was something decidedly wrong here.

As much as she hated to admit it, Inspector Cooper might well be right. There might be a man behind it all.

And it was becoming fairly obvious exactly who that man was.

Still, at the moment, it was nothing more than speculation. Far better to face the inspector’s smug, superior attitude when she had found Heloise and was, as well, able to present actual proof that someone had set up an organization for the sole purpose of taking money from those who could least afford it. Worse yet—stealing their long-held dreams of adventures on foreign shores.

India’s resolve hardened. The overly attractive Mr. Saunders might well be able to fool three unsuspecting elderly ladies into being the face of his nefarious scheme, but India Prendergast was made of sterner stuff. She absolutely would not rest until Heloise was safely home. And if one hair on the dear woman’s head was so much as ruffled, India would see to it Mr. Saunders spent the rest of his days in prison.

No matter how dashing and charming he might be.

CHAPTER TWO

“LADIES, IF YOU would be so good as to be seated,” Derek Saunders said in his firmest, no-nonsense voice. Up until a few days ago, Derek had been unaware he had a firm, no-nonsense voice. But then, up until a few days ago, he hadn’t needed one.

“I do hope you intend to be brief.” Aunt Guinevere cast him a chastising look and seated herself in one of the surprisingly comfortable leather chairs at the far end of the unoccupied room the Lady Travelers Society had appropriated for its use. Derek still had no idea how his great-aunt and her cohorts had managed to convince the Explorers Club to give them the use of not only a room to serve as an office but a lecture hall, as well, for a fee that was little more than a token. He suspected the elderly ladies wielded their late husbands’ prominence in the men-only club with the unflinching hand of an expert marksman.

“We have members eagerly anticipating Gwen’s lecture, Mr. Saunders,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore pointed out.

“And it’s rude to keep them waiting.” Mrs. Higginbotham pressed her lips together in a disapproving line. “Extremely rude.”

“And we wouldn’t want to be rude, would we?” Derek opened the satchel his uncle had given him in the hopes it would encourage the pursuit of something other than a good time, removed a stack of papers and placed it on the desk. He settled in the chair behind the desk and narrowed his eyes, which did seem to go along with a firm, no-nonsense voice. “Particularly not as you are taking their money under the falsest of pretenses.”

All three ladies gasped. It struck him as both insincere and overly rehearsed. Since his first visit here last week they had no doubt decided exactly how to respond to what he had discovered. Obviously, their intention was to act as innocent and guileless as possible.

“My dear boy, we have no idea what you mean.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s eyes widened in feigned bewilderment.

“And I for one find your comment more than a little insulting.” Mrs. Higginbotham sniffed. “False pretenses indeed.”

“I’m certain, Derek, that this is no more than a bit of confusion on your part. Probably a simple misunderstanding.” Aunt Guinevere favored him with the sort of placating smile one would give a small boy, as if he were still six years old. “I’m confident it’s easily cleared up.”

“I doubt that.” He shuffled through the papers that detailed the workings of the Lady Travelers Society to give himself, and them, a moment to prepare. The impressive stack included the membership roster, membership applications, proposed itineraries for members, the agreement with the Explorers Club and several of the society’s brochures. Not that he hadn’t rehearsed exactly what he planned to say, but practice was one thing, coming face-to-face with these deceptively virtuous-looking creatures was something else altogether. Still, it couldn’t be helped.

Before his mother had left to travel the continent with his current stepfather—her third husband—more than a month ago, she had asked him to keep an eye on Great-Aunt Guinevere, her mother’s sister, as the poor dear was getting on in years and, aside from her two lifelong friends, was quite alone in the world. Derek was one of Lady Guinevere’s few living relations, and wasn’t it his duty to make certain she was well? A duty, Mother had pointed out, that was not at all difficult and would go a long way toward showing he was at last accepting responsibility. And, at this particular juncture in his life, wouldn’t he hate to appear irresponsible in any way? Given that Uncle Edward, the Earl of Danby, had taken the occasion of Derek’s thirty-second birthday six months ago to threaten him with loss of his current income and much of his expected inheritance if he did not change his carefree, frivolous existence and begin acting a bit more like the next Earl of Danby should, appearing irresponsible was the last thing Derek needed.

Under other circumstances, it might well have been unfair for Mother to have played that particular card, but there was no denying she was right. Besides, how difficult could it be to make certain a sweet, elderly relative was well and comfortable? Derek rarely saw the older lady, and the depiction Mother had painted of a feeble, eccentric widow in failing health and mind had played on every sense of guilt he’d ever had.

Mother had lied.

When Derek had finally called on Aunt Guinevere, he’d been informed by her butler that she was not at home but could be found in her offices at the Explorers Club. That in itself struck him as odd, but he attributed it to some sort of benefit for widows of prominent members, which, in hindsight, was stupid of him. When he’d arrived at that hallowed shrine to adventure, he discovered Aunt Guinevere was anything but feeble, at least in mind and spirit. Indeed, the old lady and her equally aged companions were engaged in what, to him, appeared very much like some sort of scheme to extort funds from other older ladies.

He drew a deep breath. “I have studied in great detail all the paperwork you gave me last week. However, I do have some questions. Explain to me, if you will, exactly what is entailed in the operation of the Lady Travelers Society and Assistance Agency.”

“In the operation?” Aunt Guinevere furrowed her brow. “Why, we operate right here at the Explorers Club. Three days a week.”

“And we do have one hired staff member,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore added.

“Although Sidney is more borrowed than hired,” Mrs. Higginbotham said thoughtfully. “We’re not actually paying her, after all. She is more in the manner of a volunteer.”

“And a dear, dear girl.” Aunt Guinevere studied him in an assessing manner. “You should meet her, Derek.”

“You’re not yet married—are you, Mr. Saunders?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said with a calculating look in her eyes. Derek had seen that look before, although he wasn’t sure if the ladies weren’t more interested in distracting him than marrying him off.

“No, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore, I am not. And I did meet her the last time I was here, Aunt Guinevere.”

Miss Honeywell was one of those deceptive creatures that at first appeared entirely nondescript but was oddly engaging upon further inspection and might well be quite lovely with minimal effort and clothing designed to flatter the feminine form rather than disguise it. Not that his opinion of Miss Honeywell mattered one way or the other. Women—even those who appeared quite proper and eminently suitable for marriage—were among the pursuits he was currently avoiding in his efforts to convince his uncle of his reformation. In his experience, women in general tended to be a great deal of trouble. Often enjoyable trouble but trouble nonetheless. Still, he couldn’t help but notice that Miss Honeywell, and a stern-looking woman sitting beside her with exceptionally rigid posture, were the only two in the lecture hall under the age of fifty.

Derek forced a pleasant note to his voice. “And while I am aware my marital status might be a topic of some interest, right now we are discussing the operation—”

“Derek,” Aunt Guinevere began.

He held up his hand to quiet her. “Although operation may not be the appropriate term. So let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”

“I suppose if we must.” Mrs. Higginbotham plucked an invisible thread from her sleeve.

“The beginning is always an appropriate place to start, Effie, dear.” Aunt Guinevere nodded in a gracious manner. “Do proceed, Derek.”

“Thank you.” He considered the ladies for a moment. He wasn’t entirely sure of Aunt Guinevere’s age, nearing her eighties he thought, but it was difficult to determine. She and her friends were certainly not decrepit in any apparent way. Spry was the word that came to mind. And, from the look in their overly innocent eyes, crafty, as well. It struck him that he would be wise not to underestimate this trio. “Now then, the three of you began this enterprise six months ago?”

“Closer to nine, I think,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said. “We met for the first two months in Gwen’s parlor. But it soon became obvious that would not do.”

“For the purposes of?”

“Why, acquainting women with the benefits of travel, of course.” Aunt Guinevere beamed. “And providing expert assistance and guidance through lectures and brochures and touring services to fulfill their dreams of adventure through travel.”

“And for this expert assistance—” He glanced down at the paper in front of him. “You charge your membership a full one pound sterling every month.” He looked up at the ladies. “Is that correct?”

“It’s really quite reasonable,” Aunt Guinevere chided.

“And if you pay for an entire year at once, we give you a discount. A mere ten pounds.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smiled. “We are a bargain.”

Mrs. Higginbotham nodded. “There is a great deal to take into account when one is traveling beyond England’s shores, you know, Mr. Saunders.”

“Yes, I can imagine,” he said. “And for these alleged benefits—”

“I would dispute the word alleged,” Mrs. Higginbotham said under her breath.

“You now have—” Derek sifted through the papers “—some ninety members. Is that right?”

“Actually, we’re approaching one hundred.” Pride curved Aunt Guinevere’s lips. “We had no idea we’d grow so quickly.”

“You can see why we could no longer meet in Gwen’s parlor.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore leaned forward in a confidential manner. “You’d be surprised at how many women are longing to throw off the shackles of everyday existence and live an adventurous life of travel. It’s quite remarkable.”

“No doubt.” Derek’s gaze shifted from one lady to the next. “So, the society brings in nearly one hundred pounds a month. And for their dues your members receive?”

The ladies exchanged resigned glances.

“Our expert advice on traveling the world,” Aunt Guinevere said in a well-rehearsed manner.

“The companionship and camaraderie of like-minded women,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore added.

“As well as knowledgeable guidance and, for a minor additional fee, the providing of arranged travel services,” Mrs. Higginbotham finished with a flourish.

“And that, dear ladies, is where we have a problem.” Derek folded his hands together on the stack of papers and studied the women. All three had adopted blameless expressions, and all three had nearly identical glints of cunning in their eyes. “I shall grant you that the society does indeed provide a convivial atmosphere for ladies with similar interests in travel.”

“That was mine.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore smirked.

“However.” Derek’s tone hardened.

Mrs. Higginbotham sighed. “I do so hate it when men use the word however in that forbidding tone. Nothing good ever came of a man starting a sentence with however.”

Derek’s jaw tightened. “Nonetheless—”

“Nonetheless is just as bad.” Mrs. Higginbotham huffed.

He ignored her. “According to your membership brochure—”

“Isn’t it lovely?” Aunt Guinevere said. “Poppy designed it herself. Don’t you think it’s fetching with her drawing of the pyramids in Egypt and the Colosseum in Rome and those charming American natives? Poppy is quite an accomplished artist.”

“Goodness, I wouldn’t say I was accomplished. I am scarcely more than an amateur.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore blushed and waved off the comment in a modest manner. “I had hoped to be an artist when I was young, but that was one of those silly, girlish dreams and best forgotten.”

“Nevertheless,” Mrs. Higginbotham said staunchly. “You’re very good.”

“The brochure is indeed extremely well done.” Derek struggled to keep the impatience from his voice. “However—”

Mrs. Higginbotham grimaced.

“Aunt Guinevere, it’s my understanding that you rarely, if ever, traveled with Uncle Charles, which would seem to negate the claim of expert in regard to your knowledge of travel.”

“I suppose...” Aunt Guinevere hedged. “If one goes strictly by personal travel...”

“I suspect as well—” his gaze shifted between his great-aunt’s coconspirators “—neither Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore or Mrs. Higginbotham have substantially more travel experience than you do.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Saunders.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore sniffed. “I resided for nearly six weeks in Paris as a girl.”

“And the late Colonel Higginbotham and myself spent several summers in the Lake District.” Mrs. Higginbotham paused. “Admittedly, that does not equate to foreign travel but it is some distance from here.”

“Domestic travel as it were,” Aunt Guinevere said helpfully.

“And yet I imagine when your members speak of their dreams of adventure through travel, Lake Windermere is not the first destination that comes to mind.”

“Lovely spot, though,” Mrs. Higginbotham murmured.

“There is no need to raise your voice, dear.” Aunt Guinevere cast him a disapproving frown.

“I did not raise my voice. In fact, I have been doing my very best not to raise my voice.” He drew a steadying breath. “Correct me if I’m in error, ladies, but by no stretch of the most fertile imagination could any of you be considered experts in travel or the arrangement of travel.”

Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose if one wanted to base judgment on actual experience alone, that might be considered inaccurate.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Higginbotham said. “I lived with the colonel for thirty-seven years, and he traveled continuously to the most interesting and exotic places. I would think the years spent in his company listening to his endless tales would negate the minor detail that I did not actually accompany him.”

Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore nodded. “Nor did I accompany my dear Malcolm, but he did keep me apprised of his adventures and very often asked my opinion when he was planning one expedition or another.”

“As did your uncle Charles,” Aunt Guinevere added. “Why, he frequently said he could not step a foot off English shores without the benefit of my advice.”

Derek stared in stunned disbelief.

“So you see...” Aunt Guinevere smiled pleasantly, but triumph glittered in her eyes. “Even though we have not traveled extensively, we do have extensive travel knowledge.”

All three ladies shared equally smug looks.

“Let me put it this way.” Derek struggled to keep his voice level. “While it could possibly be argued that you have a certain level of expertise as it relates to travel, most rational individuals would think your claim ridiculous. As would a magistrate or any court of law. What you are engaged in here, ladies, is fraud.”

“Don’t be absurd, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere scoffed.

“I’m not being absurd, I only wish I were. At the very least, the consequences of your activities are scandal. At the worst—prison.” He fixed them with a firm look. “You are falsely representing yourselves as being able to supply a service you are not qualified to provide. And for that you are taking money from women who trust you.”

“Well, we had to do something,” Mrs. Higginbotham snapped. “Minimal pensions and minor inheritances are simply not enough to survive on even with the most frugal manner of living.”

Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore nodded. “It’s not easy getting on in years. It would be one thing if our dear husbands were still with us, but as they are not, we have each found ourselves tottering precipitously on the very edge of financial despair.”

“To be blunt, Derek,” Aunt Guinevere said coolly, “we have outlived our financial resources. We were very nearly penniless.”

“But you all have families,” he said before he thought better of it. He tried to ignore a fresh wave of guilt. He’d had no idea of his great-aunt’s circumstances, and he doubted his mother did, either. Aunt Guinevere had not seen fit to inform them, although, admittedly, they had not taken it upon themselves to inquire after her, either.

“Distant and disinterested.” Mrs. Higginbotham sniffed.

“None of us were fortunate enough to have had children.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore shrugged. “Nothing can be done about that now, although I suppose, in hindsight, breeding like rabbits would have provided some sort of insurance against being left alone in dismal financial circumstances. Still, I daresay poor Eleanor Dorsey has not found it so and she had nine children.”

The other ladies murmured in agreement.

“Even so,” Derek began.

“We have all lived relatively independent lives, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere raised her chin a notch and met his gaze firmly. “We took care of ourselves and each other when our husbands were off doing all those things men so enjoy and do not for a moment think women would appreciate, as well. We do not, at this point in our lives, relish the thought of throwing ourselves on the mercy of relations who barely acknowledge our existence. Nor do we intend to.”

Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore squared her shoulders. “I will not be relegated to the category of poor relation.”

“And if it came to that, we would much prefer, all three of us...” Mrs. Higginbotham’s eyes blazed with determination. “Prison.”

“I doubt that,” he said sharply, then drew a deep breath. “Forgive me, ladies. I do see your position. Truly I do, and I promise you I shall do everything I can to help alleviate your financial woes, but you must understand you cannot continue this endeavor.”

“I don’t see why not.” Mrs. Higginbotham crossed her arms over her chest. “Our members flock to our meetings and lectures and are quite content with our services. Thus far, we have not had one resign her membership. Why, we’ve had no complaints whatsoever from our members.”

“Not from members perhaps.” He leaned forward in his chair. “But do you recall a Miss India Prendergast?”

“India Prendergast?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “A lovely name but if I’ve heard it before I simply can’t remember.” She heaved a wistful sigh. “I fear my memory is not what it once was.”

“She’s written the society a number of times,” Derek said. “Now do you remember?”

“Effie handles most of the correspondence,” Aunt Guinevere offered.

Derek turned to the other woman. “Mrs. Higginbotham?”

“Prendergast you say?” Mrs. Higginbotham asked.

Derek nodded.

“Let me think.” She pursed her lips and considered the question then shrugged. “No, it doesn’t sound the least bit familiar, but then my memory is no better than Poppy’s.” She cast him a helpless smile he didn’t believe for a moment.

“That is odd.” He laid his palm on the stack of papers on the desk. “As she has written you at least five letters demanding to know the whereabouts of her cousin.”

Aunt Guinevere’s eyes widened. “And who is her cousin, dear?”

Oh, they were good, this trio of septuagenarians. He would wager a considerable amount their minds and their memories were as sharp or sharper than his own. Still, he was not going to be outwitted by the pretense of elderly virtue or incompetence.

“Lady Heloise Snuggs.”

“Of course.” Aunt Guinevere beamed as if she was proud merely to have recognized the name. “Dear Heloise.”

“Dear, dear Heloise,” the other ladies murmured.

He resisted the urge to raise his voice. “Do you know where Lady Heloise is at the moment?”

Aunt Guinevere shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”

“She could be anywhere, I would think,” Mrs. Higginbotham said.

“Although I suspect she’s somewhere between Paris and Constantinople.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore thought for a minute. “Or perhaps Hamburg and Athens. It’s impossible to say with any certainty.”

Derek stared. “Did you or did you not arrange Lady Heloise’s travel?”

The trio shifted uneasily in their chairs.

“An answer if you please, ladies.”

“Certainly, we arranged Lady Heloise’s travel.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore chose her words with obvious care.

“There is a possibility,” Mrs. Higginbotham said slowly, “that we did not arrange it as efficiently as one might hope.”

“That is to say, while we did write to hotels and other establishments across the path Lady Heloise wished to take requesting accommodations...” Mrs. Higginbotham began.

“We didn’t actually receive any definitive confirmations,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore finished. “You see, once Lady Heloise decided to embark upon a life of travel, she was impatient to be off. She assured us our assistance had been invaluable.”

“We did our best, Derek, to send her off with all the information she might possibly need, brochures, tourist guides, train and ship timetables. She couldn’t possibly be more prepared,” Aunt Guinevere said staunchly.

“Unless, of course, you had actually confirmed her travel and accommodations.”

“There is that,” one of the ladies conceded.

Derek pressed his fingers to his temples in hopes of forestalling the kind of headache he used to experience only after a night of drunken merriment. He hadn’t the slightest doubt his great-aunt and her friends were well aware of Miss Prendergast’s letters and her valid charge that their society had mislaid her cousin through incompetency and chicanery, as well as her threats to involve the police in the matter if something was not done to locate Lady Heloise and ensure her safety. Aside from the fact that he didn’t want Aunt Guinevere incarcerated, his mother’s request for Derek to keep an eye on her would certainly place the responsibility for any kind of scandal squarely on his shoulders. Especially in Uncle Edward’s eyes. Besides, if he and his mother had paid more attention to the needs of an elderly relative, perhaps she wouldn’t have turned to this scheme in the first place.

Now it was up to him to get Aunt Guinevere out of it. No, he amended the thought, it was up to him to extricate all three old friends from this mess. He suspected if one was drowning, the other two would do whatever was necessary to save her even if it meant they would all sink beneath the waves together.

He drew a steadying breath. “Well, it appears Lady Heloise has vanished. I do not want to think of the consequences if she is not found unharmed. In the letters you claim to be unaware of—” the ladies traded guilty looks “—Miss Prendergast threatens legal action.” He met his aunt’s gaze directly. “She has already contacted Scotland Yard.”

Aunt Guinevere gasped.

“I made inquiries at a private investigation agency about efforts to locate Lady Heloise.”

“How brilliant of you, Mr. Saunders.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore beamed.

“I told you he was clever.” Aunt Guinevere’s smile matched her friend’s. “I knew he would find a way to determine the whereabouts of Lady Heloise.”

“I doubt that she’s truly missing,” Mrs. Higginbotham said. “Why, I myself am quite awful at keeping up with correspondence.”

“Although making certain she has come to no harm is probably a good idea,” Aunt Guinevere pointed out. “We would hate for the membership to be concerned—”

“The membership is now closed,” Derek said firmly. “You will accept no new members until the matter of Lady Heloise is resolved. Nor will you plan trips for any of your current members, and, for God’s sake, should a trip already be in the works, do not let any of them embark upon it. Once Lady Heloise is located, we will then decide the future of your Lady Travelers Society and whether or not it can become something more legitimate than it now appears.”

Mrs. Higginbotham sucked in a short breath, but Aunt Guinevere laid a hand on her arm and the other woman’s mouth snapped shut.

“Unfortunately, the agency I contacted warned me it would take some time and considerable resources to locate a woman missing outside England. Given the increasing level of concern, as well as the growing outrage in Miss Prendergast’s correspondence, time is not on our side.” He ran his hand through his hair. As much as he hated to admit it, his latest discussion with the agency that morning had left him with one inescapable conclusion. “I’m afraid at this juncture, leaving the tracing of Lady Heloise in the hands of even the best of professionals may not be enough.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.” A hard feminine voice sounded from the doorway. “That is not nearly enough.”

CHAPTER THREE

While travel is the dream of many ladies, the first step in setting forth from one’s native land should not be taken lightly. Without planning and preparation—the keys to successful travel—one might find oneself in unexpected difficulties far from home. Which is not at all the kind of adventure even the most intrepid among us seek.

—The Lady Travelers Society Guide

THE WOMAN HE’D noticed sitting beside Miss Honeywell stood in the now open doorway, a leather lady’s traveling handbag on her arm, an umbrella in her hand. Derek could have sworn he had closed the door, but perhaps she had been listening on the other side. He wouldn’t be surprised. There was an air of determination about her, from the top of her sensible hat perched firmly on nondescript brown hair to the tips of her sturdy, practical shoes. She was at least a head shorter than he, yet managed to convey an impression of towering indignation and barely suppressed ire. This was a woman who would let nothing stand in her path.

“Well, that’s that, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere rose to her feet, Derek a beat behind her. He could almost see the tiny gears and flywheels of her mind working. The woman was planning her escape. “As much as I would love to continue our discussion—” she cast a brilliant smile at the stranger “—it seems we have the needs of a member to attend to.”

“The needs of the membership must come first,” Mrs. Higginbotham said firmly and stood. Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore followed suit.

“I am most certainly not a member,” the intruder said.

“Then you must be here to join.” Enthusiasm rang in Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s voice. “How delightful.”

“I am not here—” the young woman began.

“I beg your pardon, miss, but you are intruding on a private meeting,” Derek said in a harder tone than he might otherwise have taken, but she struck him as the kind of woman who would respond to nothing less than a firm, resolute manner. “However, as it’s obvious you are not going to let a little thing like a closed door dissuade you, please do me the courtesy of allowing me a moment.”

“My apologies for the interruption, but the door was not closed.” She glared at him. “Do go on.”

“Thank you.” Derek breathed a bit easier. He had long prided himself on being an excellent judge of character—especially when it came to the fairer sex—although it did not take any particular skill to see this woman was both irate and indomitable. Nor was it especially far-fetched to assume this was Miss India Prendergast, as he was fairly certain Miss Prendergast’s cousin was the only traveler the society had lost thus far. At least he had bought himself a minute, maybe two.

He turned to his great-aunt. “Sit down, Aunt Guinevere.”

She opened her mouth as if she was about to refuse, then sighed and retook her seat.

He directed a hard gaze at her coconspirators. Both Mrs. Higginbotham and Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore looked as if they were about to sprint for the door. Under other circumstances, Derek would have paid a great deal to have seen that. “All of you.”

The ladies sat, and Derek’s attention shifted back to the newcomer. He’d been expecting Miss Prendergast to make an appearance ever since he’d discovered her letters to the society and realized they’d been ignored. From her increasingly adamant correspondence, he did not think she was a woman who took well to being ignored. What he did not expect was the eyes flashing with suspicion and accusation to be so vividly green. Or that the lips now pressed together in disapproval would be so full and appealing—ripe was the word that came to mind. Nor did he expect the figure encased in eminently sensible, practical and unflattering clothing to be quite so provocative. And he did not anticipate she would be so young—no more than thirty he guessed. Derek had always had the knack of noticing a woman’s good points well before her flaws. It was part of his nature, and he considered it a gift he employed well. Ladies did seem to appreciate it. Even so, it was obvious no amount of charm would endear him to Miss India Prendergast.

Still, nothing ventured, as they said. He adopted his most pleasant smile. “Thank you for your patience, Miss Prendergast?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Have we met?”

“I have not had that pleasure.”

“I assure you, I do not intend for it to be a pleasure,” she said in a curt manner.

No, charm would not work with Miss Prendergast. Regardless, it was all he had.

“Nor do I expect it to be, Miss Prendergast, as we have a situation of some difficulty to address. But first, I am Mr. Derek Saunders—”

“I know who you are.”

“Then an introduction is not necessary.” He gestured toward the older ladies. “But allow me to introduce my great-aunt Guinevere, Lady Blodgett, and her friends—Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore and Mrs. Higginbotham.”

“It’s a very great pleasure to meet you, Miss Prendergast,” Aunt Guinevere began, “even under such trying circumstances. I can assure you it was never our intention—”

“Not to respond to your letters of concern,” Derek cut in smoothly. God knows what Aunt Guinevere was about to confess, but he was sure it would do more harm than good. Far better to move on to finding Lady Heloise than acknowledge the incompetence of his aunt and her friends. “We understand how difficult this must be. I assure you, we are doing all in our power to locate Lady Heloise.”

“Are you?” Her brows rose. “It did not sound that way to me.”

“One never hears anything good when one is engaged in eavesdropping,” Mrs. Higginbotham chided.

“I was not eavesdropping,” Miss Prendergast said coolly. “As I said, the door was open.”

“And yet I could have sworn I had closed it.” Derek adopted a polite smile.

“Which is entirely beside the point.” Miss Prendergast squared her shoulders. “What are you doing to find my cousin?”

“Please, have a seat, Miss Prendergast, so that we may discuss this in a civilized manner.” Derek indicated another chair.

“Yes, indeed, Miss Prendergast,” Aunt Guinevere said. “It’s most awkward with all of us seated and you standing there like an avenging angel. Why, you’ve quite frightened poor Poppy nearly to death.”

“I am easily terrified.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore widened her eyes. Derek wished she would look a little more frightened and a little less like a stage actress in a bad play.

“I have no desire to sit, and I am unfailingly civilized,” Miss Prendergast stated but sat in the empty chair nonetheless.

“Derek.” Aunt Guinevere turned to him. “Perhaps you would be so good as to ask Sidney to bring us some tea.” She glanced at the others. “I think a spot of tea would serve us all well right now.”

“Brilliant idea, Gwen,” Mrs. Higginbotham agreed. “I think tea is exactly what poor Poppy needs to calm her nerves.”

“Oh, I do.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore fanned her face with her hand. “I truly do.”

Derek closed his eyes and prayed for patience.

“Come now, Derek.” Aunt Guinevere sighed. “You needn’t look quite so long-suffering. Even the most insurmountable problem can be worked out over a steaming cup of tea.” She directed Miss Prendergast her most gracious smile. “Don’t you agree, dear?”

“Well...” For a moment, the formidable Miss Prendergast looked somewhat taken aback. While Derek’s charms would obviously get nowhere with the woman, perhaps his great-aunt’s would. “Yes, thank you.”

Oh no. The last thing he needed was to fortify Miss Prendergast with tea. Nor did it seem wise to leave the older ladies alone with her.

“I don’t think tea is necessary right now,” he said firmly. “Perhaps later.” He turned to Miss Prendergast. “We have a great deal to discuss and a number of decisions to make.”

“Indeed.” She shook her head as if to clear whatever spell his aunt had cast on her, then sat up straighter if possible. Derek didn’t think he’d ever seen posture quite so rigid.

“I demand to know what steps you are taking to find my cousin.” The avenging angel was back.

“No tea then?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said in an aside to Mrs. Higginbotham, who simply shrugged.

“As you no doubt heard, I have contacted a private agency in regard to locating the missing Lady Heloise.”

“I also heard this agency said it would take time and considerable resources, which I take to mean funding.” Miss Prendergast glared at him. “Am I correct?”

“I’m afraid so. Therefore, it seems to me there is only one thing to do.” He braced himself. “I shall have to go after Lady Heloise myself.”

“Excellent suggestion, dear boy. Now that we have that settled...” Aunt Guinevere started to rise, caught sight of the look on Derek’s face, then sank back into her chair. “Although I am certain there is still much to discuss.”

Her friends exchanged resigned looks.

“And what investigative skills do you have, Mr. Saunders?” Miss Prendergast crossed her arms over her chest. “What qualifies you for this kind of undertaking?”

“Admittedly, I have no investigative skills as such.” Derek adopted a businesslike manner. “However, I am well educated, I have traveled extensively on the continent, I speak three languages and I am more than capable of following the trail of a woman who has somehow become misplaced.”

“You are the one who misplaced her!”

“That, Miss Prendergast, is a question of some debate,” he said sharply.

Her eyes widened in outrage. “Do you deny it then?”

“We do not escort our members on their journeys—we do not take them by the hand and accompany them. Therefore, we cannot be held responsible if they choose to wander off course.” As much as his argument did have a nice, rational ring to it, given what he’d seen of the unconfirmed arrangements his great-aunt and the other ladies had made for Lady Heloise, he was fairly certain the authorities might see the situation differently.

“I daresay the police might disagree as to your responsibility for your members.” Her eyes narrowed. “As would the newspapers.”

“That would be awkward,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore murmured.

“Scandal always is, dear.” Aunt Guinevere grimaced.

“I contend that the legal responsibility for your missing cousin is uncertain.” Derek chose his words with care. “But I will concede to a possible moral obligation.”

“Possible?” She snorted in disdain.

“And I will not allow the reputation of this organization to be put at risk.” He stood, braced his hands on the desk and leaned forward, his gaze locked on hers. “We do our best at the Lady Travelers Society and Assistance Agency to serve our members with expert aid and guidance in the planning and implementation of itineraries in their quest to fulfill their dreams of adventure through travel.” He couldn’t believe he had just said that, and without wincing.

Mrs. Higginbotham snickered, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore choked and Aunt Guinevere stared.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Saunders.” Miss Prendergast stood, her angry gaze never slipping from his. “My cousin is not the type of woman to fail in her correspondence when she knows such a failure would cause a great deal of alarm.” Concern flashed through Miss Prendergast’s eyes so quickly he might have been mistaken. Obviously this was not a woman who allowed her emotions to show. “Nor is she the type of woman to wander off her predetermined course. Therefore, something has happened to her.” She leaned closer, her manner mirroring his. “I will not rest until I am assured of her safety. Failing that, I will make certain those responsible pay for shirking their obligations, moral or otherwise.”

For a long moment he stared at her, a voice in the back of his head warning him not to be the first one to look away. Backing down from Miss India Prendergast would be a mistake that could never be corrected.

Aunt Guinevere cleared her throat. “When do you intend to leave, Derek?”

“As soon as possible. I will need a day to make certain my affairs are in order, but I anticipate leaving no later than the day after tomorrow.”

“Excellent.” Miss Prendergast’s eyes flashed. “That will give me time to arrange for a leave of absence from my position.”

Her position? Was she a governess? Or a teacher of some sort? Surely not. She didn’t strike him as having the temperament needed to be patient with children. Although an unruly child would surely meet his match in Miss Prendergast.

“And what kind of position would that be, Miss Prendergast?” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore asked brightly.

At last Miss Prendergast pulled her gaze from his, and the most ridiculous sense of triumph and relief washed through him.

“I hold the position of secretarial assistant to Sir Martin Luckthorne,” she said, retaking her seat. “He understands my concern about my cousin and will grant me the time required to find her.”

“The time required?” Derek stared. At once he realized her intentions. “Surely I misunderstand what you are saying.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” she said coolly. “I daresay there are any number of things you misunderstand. You don’t strike me as being particularly perceptive.”

Mrs. Higginbotham snorted.

Any sense of triumph he might have had vanished under the specter of traveling with this epitome of outrage and indignation. “I have no intention of allowing you to accompany me.”

“Allowing me?” Her brow arched upward in disdain. “I was not asking your permission. I will not be left behind.”

“Regardless, I will not be taking you with me,” he said firmly. The last thing he needed was this termagant dogging his every move.

“Very well then.” She shrugged. “I shall simply follow you. Do not underestimate my resolve, Mr. Saunders. Everywhere you go, I will go, as well. I shall be no more than one step behind you until you find my cousin.”

Bloody hell. This was a disaster in the making. If anything should happen to her, the blame would be laid squarely at his feet for not allowing her the protection of his company. Regardless, he had no desire to spend more time than was absolutely necessary with this woman. The moment she’d opened her mouth, he’d known the best thing about searching for Lady Heloise was that it would take him far away from her cousin.

“There is not one legitimate reason why I should permit you to come with me.”

“I believe I just gave you one.” She smirked. “However, I can give you another. I have her letters detailing where she has been as well as her plans.”

“If I remember correctly, according to her itinerary, she could be in Switzerland by now. Unless she decided Switzerland was not to her liking,” Mrs. Higginbotham said thoughtfully, “and set off for Greece.”

“Oh, I think I would much prefer Greece to Switzerland.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore nodded eagerly. “Greece sounds so warm and sunny, and Switzerland brings to mind snow and mountain goats. Although I imagine at this time of year Switzerland might be quite pleasant whereas Greece might be too warm. Perhaps you should start there?”

Derek stared in confusion. “Greece or Switzerland?”

“I think not.” Miss Prendergast’s look clearly said she thought he was an idiot. “Her last letter was from France.”

“My inclination is to retrace her steps in an effort to determine where she might be now.” Derek made no attempt to hide the resignation in his voice; it was obvious there would be no good way to rid himself of Miss Prendergast.

Miss Prendergast gave him a grudging glance of agreement. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Being of like minds is a superb way to begin,” Aunt Guinevere said. “Now then, Miss Prendergast, did you have a chaperone in mind?”

“A chaperone?” The younger woman’s eyes widened in surprise.

Derek groaned. Of course they would need a chaperone. A man and woman—even if they did not especially like each other—could not go running across the continent together if they were unmarried. Her reputation would be ruined, and while he’d never given his own any particular concern, with Uncle Edward’s edict to straighten out his life hanging over his head, now was not the time to add to the long list of questionable behavior his uncle was keeping. Besides, this might be just what he needed to stop Miss Prendergast from accompanying him.

“A chaperone, Miss Prendergast, is essential,” he said smoothly, resisting the urge to grin. “Propriety demands nothing less. As does your own reputation, which I assume is spotless—”

Miss Prendergast’s jaw tightened. “I am willing to risk my reputation.”

“Your decision, of course. However, the reputation of the Lady Travelers Society is also at stake. As is the reputation of my aunt and her friends.” He shook his head in a regretful manner. “If it were to become known that the society, or these upstanding ladies, sanctioned an unmarried couple traveling alone together, well, surely you can understand the repercussions.”

“Scandal, Miss Prendergast,” Mrs. Higginbotham said darkly. “Nothing short of scandal.”

“We will all be ruined.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore sighed deeply. “And any chance you have for a good marriage, Miss Prendergast, will be destroyed.”

Miss Prendergast paused, obviously to summon a measure of calm, although Derek could see it wasn’t easy for her. “My concern right now is for the safety of Lady Heloise. My reputation is the very least of my worries. I am nearly thirty years of age, and the prospect of marriage is not a consideration.”

“Oh, but my dear girl.” Encouragement shone in Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore’s eyes. “You must not give up hope. I was in my thirty-first year when I met and married my dear Malcolm. One is never too old to find true love and lasting companionship.”

“And one shouldn’t throw away the possibility simply because one has reached an advanced age—”

Derek winced. No woman—regardless of excellent posture or unflattering attire—wished to be reminded of things like advanced age.

“And society says you are past your prime marriageable years. Society, Miss Prendergast—” Mrs. Higginbotham pressed her lips firmly together “—is made up of people who are unfailingly imperfect and very often have their heads—”

“Ophelia,” Aunt Guinevere warned.

“Buried in the sand,” Mrs. Higginbotham finished, then frowned at her friend. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“One never knows what you’ll say,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore murmured.

Aunt Guinevere shot both ladies a chastising look, then smiled apologetically. “You must forgive Effie. Her husband was a military man, and his language could sometimes be a bit salty. Effie forgets others are more easily offended than she is.”

Mrs. Higginbotham shrugged, but a gleam of smug amusement twinkled in her eyes.

“So you see, Miss Prendergast,” he began, “without a chaperone you cannot possibly—”

“Oh, we can arrange for a chaperone,” Aunt Guinevere said brightly. “In fact, I have a couple in mind who will do quite nicely.”

“Aunt Guinevere.” Derek aimed a pointed look at her. “There really isn’t time—”

“Nonsense, Derek,” Aunt Guinevere said. “Miss Prendergast is extremely concerned about her cousin and will no doubt go quite mad if you leave her here to wonder what you are up to and whether or not you have located dear, dear Lady Heloise. In addition, she has already vowed to follow you if need be. We really can’t have that. Why, we would certainly be to blame if something were to happen to her.” She cast Miss Prendergast a sympathetic look. “I understand completely why you would wish to go with Derek. Indeed, I think it’s quite courageous of you. If you can bear to put off departing on your quest for one additional day, the day following the day after tomorrow, I am certain the couple I have in mind will be eager to accompany you.”

The look in Miss Prendergast’s eyes softened, and for a moment, one could see how she might possibly, under certain circumstances, be considered almost attractive. “Thank you, Lady Blodgett.” She drew a deep breath. “Three days from now is acceptable.”

“Good.” Aunt Guinevere nodded with satisfaction. “I shall speak with the couple I have in mind tomorrow, and, with any luck at all, you will have your chaperones. You and Derek will want to meet them, of course.”

Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore leaned toward Miss Prendergast in a confidential manner. “It’s always wise to meet one’s traveling companions in advance. One would hate to be trapped on a journey with a companion one finds distasteful.”

Miss Prendergast shot Derek a disgusted glance. “I suspect that would be...awkward.”

“You shall join me for tea at my house to meet the couple the day after tomorrow.” Aunt Guinevere announced with satisfaction. “Now that we have that settled—”

“We have settled nothing.” Derek clenched his teeth. This was quickly getting out of hand. If he didn’t nip this in the bud right now, he’d have half of London following him around Europe. “I am not about to set off on a wild-goose chase—”

Miss Prendergast gasped. “I beg your pardon. This is my cousin. She is not a wild goose.”

“Very well then.” He struggled to keep his voice level. “A missing-goose chase—” Miss Prendergast’s eyes narrowed “—dragging three people, their respective mounds of luggage and servants.” He pinned her with a hard look. “How many lady’s maids do you intend to bring with you, Miss Prendergast?”

Her chin rose. “I am more than capable of seeing to my own needs, Mr. Saunders. I can function perfectly well without a maid.”

“Then you’re the first woman I’ve met who can.”

“Derek,” Aunt Guinevere said sharply. “Your objections are pointless. Miss Prendergast strikes me as the kind of woman who will not be dissuaded simply to make your life less difficult.”

“No doubt,” he said under his breath.

“Then we are agreed.” Aunt Guinevere’s gaze met his, and a subtle but distinct look of victory shone in her eyes. Of course. In one fell swoop she would vanquish the woman who could shatter the unsteady house of cards she and her friends had built as well as the man who had put a damper on her plans.

“That matter perhaps,” he said in a firm tone. “But there are still things we need to discuss before I leave.”

“I was afraid there might be.” Aunt Guinevere sighed, the gleam of victory changing to one of resignation.

Under other circumstances, Derek might feel badly about extinguishing the light in an elderly lady’s eyes, but he had already learned Aunt Guinevere and her cronies were not nearly the sweet, doddering innocents he had initially assumed.

“Very well then.” Miss Prendergast rose to her feet. “I shall be on my way.” She turned toward the door.

Derek hurried around the desk to escort her out. He opened the door and nodded. “Rest assured, Miss Prendergast. We will find your cousin.”

“Tell me, Mr. Saunders.” Her assessing gaze searched his. “If I had not written expressing my concerns over the loss of my cousin and had not appeared here in person, would you still be venturing out to find her now?”

“Without question, Miss Prendergast,” he said without hesitation. Admittedly, he hadn’t known of the existence of the Lady Travelers Society or what his great-aunt and her friends had been up to until last week. But he had already realized he would have to take this matter in hand himself if he was to save the trio from the repercussions of their activities and save his own future, as well. “And you have my word that I shall do my very best to assure the success of our endeavor.”

“How disheartening, Mr. Saunders. I was so hoping you could do better than that.” She nodded, turned and took her leave.

“And a good day to you, too, Miss Prendergast,” he called after her. Better to be at least nominally cordial than sound like an idiot. Unfortunately, all the brilliant responses that immediately came to mind would not have been nearly as clever when said aloud and would only have reinforced her opinion of him.

“Excellent retort, Mr. Saunders,” one of the ladies said behind him, a distinct note of sarcasm in her voice.

A heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach.

It was going to be a very long quest.

CHAPTER FOUR

“DARE I ASK if your visit to the Lady Travelers Society was successful?” Sir Martin Luckthorne studied India from behind the cluttered desk in his library. She made a mental note to tidy it up before she left for the day.

“It was...” She pressed her lips firmly together. “Adequate.”

“And yet you seem in such a cordial mood,” he said pleasantly.

Her gaze snapped to his. “Sarcasm, Sir Martin, is uncalled for.”

“Sarcasm, Miss Prendergast, is the thinking man’s defense against despair.”

“Is that a legitimate saying, or did you make it up?”

“The fact that I made it up makes it no less legitimate.”

“Now you’re just trying to distract me by being amusing.” She frowned. “I am not fond of your attempts to disarm me.”

“And yet much of the rest of humanity is grateful for my efforts on their behalf.” A wry smile quirked his lips.

“You know I never lose my temper.” India prided herself on keeping her emotions firmly in hand, even on days like today when it was a distinct challenge.

“You, my dear, can say more with the look in your eyes than anyone I’ve ever met,” he said mildly. “A look designed to strike terror into the hearts of even the most stalwart of men.”

“Nonsense.” She sniffed.

He raised a skeptical brow.

“I do nothing of the sort,” she said, although her denial did not ring entirely true. And, unfortunately, Martin knew it. Aside from Heloise, he knew her better than anyone. And why not?

While it would be terribly improper to admit it aloud, she considered her employer a friend. Indeed, aside from Heloise, he was her only friend. It was inevitable really. When one spent almost every day with a man for eight years—taking care of very nearly everything in his life—some sort of cordial relationship would surely develop. Or one would have to move on. Although she hadn’t expected the kind of affection one would feel for an impractical older brother to grow between them. But then neither had she expected to be in his employ for eight years.

In truth, she was fortunate to have found this position at all. While Heloise had a trust from her late father—who’d died long before she took in India—that was sufficient to meet their needs, it provided little beyond what Heloise considered the necessities in life. India had insisted on contributing to their unusual family’s coffers and had sought work the moment she’d finished her education at Miss Bicklesham’s Academy. Heloise knew her ward better than to encourage marriage, and, really, what was the point? Aside from the adequate dowry that Heloise had set aside for her, India had nothing to commend her as a suitable match. Her family was respectable but not noteworthy. She came from neither wealth nor power. As far as society was concerned, she did not exist. She’d had no debutante season nor had she ever desired one. After all, the sole purpose of coming out in society was to find a husband. Marriage was simply not of interest to India. Heloise had never married and she seemed quite content with her life.

Heloise had tried to persuade her to pursue higher education, and they’d had an ongoing dispute about the subject until India had reluctantly agreed to take evening classes at Queen’s College. Classes she continued through her brief employment as a governess and by correspondence during her mercifully short interlude as a teacher at Miss Bicklesham’s. India Prendergast was the first to admit she was not cut out to shape young minds.

While in the throes of trying to determine what kind of position to attempt next—she was fast running out of acceptable employment for a well-bred young lady of good family—she happened across an advertisement for a person of sufficient education to assist a scholarly minded gentleman with correspondence, the cataloguing and organization of various collections, and assorted tasks as required. While India had no idea what “assorted tasks as required” might be, she had nonetheless turned up on Martin’s doorstep that very day.

He had been younger than she’d expected, a scant dozen years older than she. But, at the age of only thirty-three, he had already settled into that category of bachelor that was referred to as confirmed. India suspected, even as a youth, the man was probably set in his ways. And his ways did not include hiring a woman.

Still, he had yet to meet India Prendergast. Within a week she had his correspondence up-to-date. Within a month she had his vast collection of ancient Roman coins categorized by date and emperor. Within three months, she had his financial records in order and his incompetent servants replaced. By the end of her first year of employment, his household and his life were running as smoothly as clockwork. The only chink in India’s fortress of organization was Martin himself, who spent much of his life immersed in whatever project happened to catch his fancy at the moment, be it of a scholarly nature, one of his numerous collections or tinkering with a convoluted—and yet oddly practical—invention of some kind. India considered him a modern renaissance man. Fortunately, he had a great deal of money and could support the quirks of his nature.

They got on quite well together. India thought of him as Martin, although they rarely called each other by their given names. It would be most inappropriate. India enjoyed managing his life and was secretly grateful there was no Lady Luckthorne as she couldn’t imagine a man’s wife being so liberal as to allow him to have a female assistant. Or a female friend.

“I do hope you are not going to keep details of your foray to yourself.” Martin set his notes aside, rested his forearms on the desk and folded his hands together. “That wouldn’t be at all fair as it was my idea.”

“And an excellent one at that.” India sank into her usual seat in the leather tufted wing chair positioned in front of his desk.

“I know.” He grinned. “Better still, it kept you from descending upon the society like an irate mother hen.”

“Avenging angel actually,” she said. “I should have gone there weeks ago.”

“It’s been a scant six weeks since your last letter from Lady Heloise. You weren’t overly concerned for a fortnight after that.”

“I should have been.”

“Rubbish. The unreliability of foreign postal service could certainly account for a delay in the delivery of Lady Heloise’s letters. No, Miss Prendergast, this is not in any way a failure on your part.”

“Still, I...” She sighed. The man was right, which made her feel no less guilty. And no less helpless. “I should have done more sooner.”

“You sent letters, you spoke to the police and you have confronted the people you deem responsible in person. Now—” he pinned her with a firm look “—tell me. Did you learn anything of substance?”

She thought for a moment. “What I discovered was not in the least surprising, even if most disheartening.” She blew a frustrated breath. “If it had not been for my letters, I doubt that anyone there would have realized Heloise was missing. It strikes me as the most disorganized, haphazard enterprise I have ever encountered.”

“Oh?”

“The three elderly ladies, the widows I told you about?”

He nodded.

“They are allegedly in charge of the society however—” she narrowed her eyes “—I fear your Inspector Cooper was right.”

“He’s not my Inspector Cooper,” he said coolly. “In fact, I thought he was quite taken with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

On occasion Martin had the most absurd idea that she was the kind of woman men considered attractive, but then he had a generous soul. Aside from various meetings and lectures, he did not often venture into society and, other than his housekeeping staff and his cook, India was the only woman in his life.

India was under no illusions as to her appearance. Her features were regular, her form average, tending toward full, her hair an unremarkable brown. Admittedly, her eyes were a lovely shade of green, but beyond that, there was nothing to commend her appearance one way or the other. She had accepted this fact of life as a child, and even Martin’s overly generous nature did not change that. She was, however, intelligent and sensible and well organized, far more important attributes than mere appearance—especially if one was not wealthy and needed to make one’s way in the world.

“I wasn’t being ridiculous. I am nothing if not observant, and it is my observation that the man was definitely flirting with you. Or at least attempting to flirt with you.”

“If that was Inspector Cooper’s attempt at the art of flirtation, he obviously needs practice.” Not that India had any practical experience to base her opinion on. Still, one would think flirtation would be more effective if it was at least noticeable. “I would imagine if a gentleman was taken with a woman he would not belittle her legitimate concerns by accusing her of making a mountain out of a molehill or suggesting female emotions had somehow addled her brain.”

He chuckled. “Yes, well I can see where that would not serve his cause.”

“Again, I do not believe he has a cause as you put it.” As intelligent as Martin was, he truly did not understand the ways of the world. “Now, as I was saying, I think there is indeed a male mastermind hiding behind the facade of these widows.”

“A mastermind?” His brow shot upward. “Have you been reading novels of mystery again?”

“I have no need for a fictional mystery when the question of Heloise’s whereabouts is unanswered,” she said, firmly evading the subject. Martin took a great deal of perverse pleasure in teasing her about her reading habits, which tended toward stories of mystery and detection. It was her one real vice, the one silly indulgence she allowed herself. She had devoured A Study in Scarlet and was hoping another book about Sherlock Holmes would soon be forthcoming. “And mastermind seems the most appropriate term. It was apparent to me that these ladies are no more than a false front to hide the machinations of a Mr. Derek Saunders.”

“And you have jumped to this conclusion because?”

“I’m not jumping to anything. I have calmly and intelligently reached this decision based on my observations. The man is obviously a rogue and a scoundrel.” Why, no true gentleman looked quite that devil-may-care. The spark in his blue eyes, the set of his chin—there was a definite air about the man that spoke of indiscretion and recklessness and...trouble. “While the ladies seem quite pleasant and very sweet, in spite of the experience of their late husbands, I don’t think Lady Blodgett or her friends have so much as a vague idea what they’re doing when it comes to the arrangement of foreign travel. They are, however, trusting and naive. You can tell that just by looking at them. I fear they are no more than blissfully unaware puppets being manipulated by a master puppeteer.” She pressed her lips together. “Why, he wouldn’t even allow them to say what they wished. No doubt for fear they would reveal everything.”

Martin frowned. “You met him?”

“I most certainly did,” she huffed. “He’s the kind of man who thinks he can get whatever he wants through charm alone.”

“So he was charming, was he?”

“In his eyes only.” Although one could possibly see how a woman less susceptible than herself could be taken in by blue eyes set in a handsome face, dark unruly hair and broad shoulders. “I found him annoying.”

“I see.”

“However...” It was the only point in his favor. “Before I confronted him, I overheard him saying he had spoken to investigators about finding Heloise.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“Very little. He only did that much because of the threat in my letters to further involve the authorities. Unfortunately, such an investigation will cost a great deal.”

“I see.” Martin paused. “Then he—they—were of no real help?”

“Well, not yet. He has decided to find Heloise himself, although I doubt he has the skills to do so.”

“You must be pleased by that.”

“Yes, well...” She wasn’t quite sure how to tell him Mr. Saunders would not be traveling alone.

“You are being remarkably reticent to reveal anything of substance, which is not at all like you.” Martin considered her thoughtfully. “It leads me to believe you have something you don’t wish to tell me. As you have never been reluctant to confide in me in the past, I can only surmise this is significant.”

“And you won’t like it.”

“Then perhaps you should tell me and get it over with.”

“Probably.” India braced herself. “When Mr. Saunders sets out from London to follow in Heloise’s footsteps, I shall accompany him.”

“You what?”

“I don’t trust his abilities—or willingness—to find Heloise on his own. I intend to make sure he does whatever is necessary,” she added. “In addition, by watching his every move I may be able to uncover proof of his wrongdoing and thereby save other women just like Heloise. The man belongs in prison. I am certain he is behind this Lady Travelers Society that I fear has no real substance and only exists to separate unsuspecting older women from their money.”

Martin stared at her for a long, silent moment.

“There, now you know everything.” Without thinking, she twisted her hands together in a nervous manner. “I do wish you would say something.”

“How am I to get along without you?”

Any apprehension she’d had about revealing her plans vanished with his words. “Goodness, Martin, you’re a grown man. I’m certain you can manage by yourself.”

His eyes widened. “I don’t know that I can manage at all if you abandon me.”

“I am not abandoning you.” This was not the response she’d expected although she probably should have. “You have a houseful of servants to see to your needs. Your cook will make certain you are fed, your housekeeper will attempt to keep your clutter confined to your library and your butler will keep the rest of the world at bay.”

“But...but...” The man stared as if she were the worst sort of traitor. “Who will handle my correspondence and see to my schedule and organize my notes? You do realize I am trying to put together my reference of ancient Roman desert trade routes so that it may be published soon.”

“Of course I realize that.” What she hadn’t realized was that he was quite so helpless. “You have been putting together that book since before I came to work for you.”

“But I’m now closer to completion than ever,” he said staunchly.

“And my absence will give you the opportunity to devote your attention fully to your work.” Although she would wager her yearly salary that he would be no further along when she returned, whether that was in a week or ten years.

“But...” His brow furrowed; then his expression brightened. The tiniest hint of triumph shone in his eyes. “You accompanying this man—this mastermind—would be shockingly improper. I can’t believe you’re considering such a thing. And I don’t imagine Lady Heloise would approve.”

“As she is not here, that is a moot point. And I have already had this conversation. I’m not especially worried about my reputation.”

“I am and concerned as well about your safety.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “I daresay I won’t have a moment’s rest knowing you are off with this...this villain.”

“I’m not sure villain is entirely accurate—”

He ignored her. “Going off to Europe in the company of a man you know nothing about. A man you don’t trust. A man you think is using a trio of elderly ladies to pilfer money from other elderly ladies. Why, you’ve already referred to him not only as a mastermind but as a scoundrel and a rogue, as well.”

“Indeed I did, but—”

“Manipulation and deception are not qualities one usually looks for in a traveling companion.” His jaw set in a determined manner. “I cannot in all good conscience allow you to go off alone with this man.”

“We won’t be alone,” she said quickly, ignoring the fact that—even if he was her employer—Martin had no right to tell her what she could and could not do. “The ladies insisted on chaperones.”

His eyes narrowed. “How do you know these chaperones are to be trusted?”

“I don’t. Mr. Saunders was not pleased about my demand to go with him, nor was he happy about having chaperones accompany us. It was his great-aunt’s idea.”

“If she is his great-aunt,” he said darkly.

“Given the way they behave around each other, there is no doubt in my mind as to their familial connection. And while I do think Mr. Saunders is clever enough to manipulate elderly ladies, I doubt that he can arrange diabolical chaperones on a moment’s notice.”

“Even so...” His fingers drummed faster, and she knew by the look in his eyes that he was struggling to come up with another reason why she shouldn’t go. “I suspect if I forbid you to go, if I threaten that your position will not be here when you return,” he said in a measured manner, “it will not be enough to dissuade you from this ill-advised course you’ve set.”

“I do appreciate your concern, but no, it won’t.”

“Then there’s nothing else to do. To ensure your safety and your honor—” he squared his shoulders “—I shall simply have to come with you.”

For perhaps the first time in eight years, India had absolutely no idea how to respond. Martin had a brilliant—if unfocused—mind, but he was not the type of man one would turn to for protection. While not unattractive, he was a bit over average in height with fair, usually unkempt, hair, a boyish look about him—in spite of his age—and a build kept slender by regular exercise. Regardless, he exuded an absentminded air of scholarly endeavor not physical prowess. Why, India was probably more suited to be a rescuing knight than Martin. Beyond that, the poor dear did not take well to travel. Trains upset his stomach in the manner of mal de mer, and the mere thought of crossing the Channel usually turned his complexion green in anticipation.

“That’s very kind of you, but it’s not necessary.”

“Oh, I think it is.”

“Martin,” she said gently, “if you are truly concerned as to my reputation, surely you can see that traveling with two single men—even with chaperones—would make this appear much more shocking.” Indeed, it was a mark of her concern that she was willing to bend propriety this far in the first place. “But I am grateful for the offer.”

“I am not happy about this, India.”

“I’m not especially happy about it myself but...” She shrugged. “I do not trust Mr. Saunders.”

“Perhaps,” he said slowly. “If I paid for the investigation—”

“I cannot permit that, and you know it.” She thought for a moment. “But there is something I will allow you to do for me.”

“I am at your service. Always.”

Usually, Martin’s droll comments were nothing more than mildly amusing, but on occasion, she had wondered if there was more to them than he let on. This was one of those moments. Not that she had time for sentimental speculation.

“I will meet the chaperones on the day after tomorrow, and we leave the day after that. I believe it would be wise to have more information about Mr. Saunders than I currently have.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I will contact an investigator I know, very discreet and very efficient.” He paused, a look of resignation on his face. “You will be careful?”

She nodded. “I will.”

“I expect regular correspondence from you apprising me as to your progress.”

She nodded. “I shall do my utmost.”

“No, on further consideration...” He tapped his fingers on the desk thoughtfully. “I know you will not allow me to finance this endeavor—”

“I have savings as my salary is more than sufficient.”

“Given all your responsibilities, that is debatable. Regardless, as mere correspondence will take entirely too long to reassure me as to your safety, I shall provide you with funds so that you may telegraph me as to your whereabouts and progress.”

“Goodness, I really don’t think that’s—”

“Every third day will do.” She started to protest, but he held up a hand to forestall her. “I will not take no for an answer on this, India.”

“You don’t think every three days is excessive?”

“Probably, but with any luck you will not be gone long.” Resignation sounded in his voice. “I will expect you to telegraph me as well if there’s anything you need—including funds.”

“I doubt that will be necessary, but thank you.” She paused. “And thank you for your friendship as well. I value it, Martin.”

“As I value yours.” He stared at her for a moment as if there was something more he wished to say. At last he nodded. “That’s it then. We should get back to work. What is on our schedule for today?”

She picked up her notebook from its usual spot—precisely in the upper-right corner of his desk. “You wished to order supplies for the experiment you spoke of yesterday and we need to respond to the invitation from the Society of...”

While he could occasionally be somewhat perplexing, India was under no illusions about Martin. He was indeed her friend, and if he wished for more than friendship between them, well, he’d had eight years to do something about that. Not that she would welcome any overtures of a romantic nature. Certainly not from Martin. At this point in her life, India had no particular interest in romance. Any silly dreams she might have had as a girl were abandoned years ago when she’d realized dashing heroes were plentiful between the pages of books but rather lacking in real life. Besides, heroes did not ride to the rescue of heroines who were ordinary in appearance, sensible in nature and had little financial worth.

Without warning, flashing blue eyes and a wicked grin jumped to mind. She ignored it.

No, she had no interest in romance with Martin. Or anyone else.

CHAPTER FIVE

When choosing traveling companions, a lady traveler should be diligent in assessing compatibility in temperament, habit and nature. Nothing destroys the joy of a trip abroad faster than being in the company of a person one cannot abide. The rigors of travel have been known to turn mild annoyance into virulent loathing, even among the very best of friends.

—The Lady Travelers Society Guide

“I HAVE NO idea where Derek is.” Lady Blodgett refilled India’s teacup and smiled pleasantly. “But I’m certain he’ll be here at any moment.”

“No doubt,” India murmured. She resisted the need to scream in frustration and instead forced a smile of her own.

Mr. Saunders was late by a quarter of an hour thus far. It was not an auspicious beginning. Not that she’d expected promptness from him. Why, one could tell from just looking at the man he was not the sort to pay attention to the rules that governed the lives of everyone else in the world. One would think when one’s great-aunt invited one to her home promptly at four o’clock, one would arrive promptly at four o’clock. Aside from meeting the chaperones Lady Blodgett had promised, they had a great deal to discuss. Plans needed to be made.

“I would imagine he’s making arrangements.” Mrs. Greer piled a few more biscuits on her already-heaping plate. India wasn’t sure if the woman couldn’t make up her mind which of the delightful offerings to take or if she feared this was her last chance to ever have a biscuit again.

“As well he should,” Professor Greer said under his breath, reaching for another biscuit, although he had already emptied and refilled his plate at least once.

Lady Blodgett had presented the retired professor and his wife to India with something of a satisfied flourish. The couple was old enough to be suitable as chaperones but not so old as to impede speedy progress. As much as India would have preferred not to have them at all, they were necessary to abide by the dictates of proper behavior.

The Greers were not particularly objectionable and did seem pleasant enough. The professor looked exactly as one would expect a former professor to look—a bit portly, with graying hair, full beard and kind brown eyes behind wire-rimmed spectacles. Clad in expected tweed, he had the slightest air of pomposity that declared his superior intelligence. Whereas the professor exuded solid, English stock, his wife struck India as a more exotic creature. Or perhaps a wren disguised as something more akin to a tropical bird. She was obviously enamored of bright colors. Her hair was a fading shade of red, her round figure clothed in a startling chartreuse gown bedecked with ruffles and ribbons, and her hat, well, there was much to observe in her hat, including an array of peach-tinted flowers and, of course, feathers. But her blue eyes were bright and inquisitive and friendly.

The couple was more than pleasant. They were very nearly overwhelming in their eagerness over what Lady Blodgett kept referring to as their quest. India wasn’t at all sure she liked the term quest—it brought to mind grand adventures and legendary pursuits. She preferred to think of this as a serious search, even a mission of rescue. Although she did hope rescue would not be necessary. She hoped—she prayed—nothing had happened to Heloise and she was simply unable to write for whatever reason. A reason that might well turn out to be completely insignificant. Heloise did tend to be a bit scatterbrained and easily distracted. Still, as much as India tried to convince herself of that, the horrible weight of doubt still lodged in the pit of her stomach.

India glanced at the clock on the mantel in Lady Blodgett’s parlor and resisted the urge to shudder. The clock was a dark bronze and perhaps the most ornate thing she’d ever seen. Mythical figures cavorted about its base, and fictitious beasts writhed around the sides, climbing toward a goddess figure at the top. One could barely see the clock face for the embellishments. Matching urns supporting candelabra flanked the timepiece, the epitome of the current overindulgent style. But then everything in Lady Blodgett’s cluttered parlor—from the small Egyptian mummy case—apparently for a cat—in one corner to the Grecian statue centered between the front windows to the ancient Roman swords hanging on the far wall—was at once unique and far-fetched. And better suited to a museum than a home. There wasn’t so much as an inch of the ornately carved tabletops in the parlor not covered with a Dresden figurine, a knickknack of some sort or a souvenir from Sir Charles’s travels. Aside from the lack of poorly executed art on the walls, Heloise would have felt completely at home in this room. She would have described it as whimsical.

It was not the word India would have used. Even though India shared Heloise’s London house, her private rooms were on the second floor, and she’d decorated them with an eye toward simplicity and function. Aside from her collection of novels of mystery and detection, little in India’s quarters would have revealed much of herself to a casual observer. Whereas Heloise’s friendly nature and delightful demeanor was evident in every nook and cranny of the rest of the house. The older woman had never met a knickknack or objet d’art she didn’t love.

India would not have termed Lady Blodgett’s filled to overflowing room as shabby, either, but it had obviously seen better days. Heloise would have felt at home with that, as well.

“Perhaps, while we wait for Derek, you would like to explain to Professor and Mrs. Greer exactly how you plan to find Lady Heloise.” Lady Blodgett stared at her expectantly.

“You must have a plan, you know,” the professor said firmly. “Can’t go running about the world willy-nilly. Even the most intrepid adventurers have some sort of plan.” While a longtime member of the Explorers Club, the professor had apparently rarely set foot out of England, which only heightened his enthusiasm for the quest.

“Our plans are not definitive as of yet. There are still some decisions to be made.” India adopted a confidence she did not feel. “At our last meeting, Mr. Saunders suggested following my cousin’s footsteps insofar as we know them. I do have the letters she wrote to me from various places and of course there is her itinerary. I assume the society has a copy of that?”

“I would think so.” Lady Blodgett gestured absently.

“Fortunately, I made a copy before Lady Heloise left England, which I will share with Mr. Saunders.” India tried and failed to keep the annoyance from her voice. “Should he ever arrive.”

“Come now, Miss Prendergast,” Professor Greer said in a chastising manner. “I have no doubt Mr. Saunders is engaged in preparations for our journey, as any good leader of an expedition would be.”

Indignation surged through India. Good leader, indeed! “On the contrary, Professor, I would imagine Mr.—”

“Parkhurst!” Lady Blodgett interrupted, calling to her butler. “We seem to be running low on biscuits. I’m sure Mrs. Greer would care for some more. Wouldn’t you, Estelle?”

Mrs. Greer glanced from the almost-empty serving platter to her still-full plate, then nodded. “Perhaps another one or two. They are delicious.”

“Aren’t they, though?” Lady Blodgett beamed. “My cook is really quite wonderful with biscuits, although you should try...”

Lady Blodgett continued rambling about scones and other baked goods in an obvious effort to avoid any discussion of her great-nephew’s leadership abilities or anything else about him. India could certainly understand that. It had proven surprisingly easy for Martin’s investigator to uncover a great deal of information about Mr. Saunders. Much of the man’s life was an open book. A scandal-ridden digest of impropriety and excess. The kind of book that should be banned from respectable society.

Derek Saunders was indeed the heir of the Earl of Danby and, like so many young men of privilege, had spent most of his days enjoying the pleasures English life provided the offspring of society. A few years older than India, his reputation for spending, indulgence in gaming, women and drink were the stuff gossips dreamed of. His name had been linked to numerous indiscretions, and while admittedly they were not the kind that ruined lives or toppled empires, they were still notable. The latest rumor was that his uncle was no longer tolerating his irresponsible behavior and had cut him off. One did wonder if he had come up with the idea of siphoning money from susceptible older ladies in the form of dues and charges for travel services after the earl’s edict or before.

“Now then, Miss Prendergast,” Professor Greer began when Lady Blodgett had at last paused for breath. “You were saying that Mr. Saunders’s plans for our endeavor were still undetermined.”

“No, Professor,” India said firmly. “I was saying our plans were—”

“Coming along nicely, I would say.” Mr. Saunders strode into the room and straight to his great-aunt’s side. “My apologies, Aunt Guinevere. Sorry I’m late.” He bent and kissed her cheek, the faultless image of a perfect, doting nephew. One did hope he was fooling the Greers as he certainly wasn’t fooling India. “It took longer than I expected to finalize a few details for our venture. I must say I’m pleased at how well all is working out.” He nodded at India and settled into the chair beside Lady Blodgett. “Miss Prendergast, you’re looking lovely today.”

Such charming nonsense was not going to work on her. “Thank you, Mr. Saunders. You’re looking well. One was beginning to wonder if perhaps you had been hit by a bus.”

He chuckled. “Or perhaps one was hoping.”

She cast him an overly sweet smile. “Perhaps.”

“Derek, you must meet some dear friends of mine who have agreed—at considerable personal sacrifice mind you—to act as chaperones for you and Miss Prendergast,” Lady Blodgett began. “Estelle, allow me to introduce my nephew, Mr. Saunders. Derek, this is Mrs. Greer. Estelle and I have been friends for—oh, how long is it now?” She frowned at Mrs. Greer. “Can it possibly be nearly forty years?”

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Greer winced. “That does seem like an awfully long time, but I’m afraid you’re right.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Greer.” Mr. Saunders stood, took her hand and raised it to his lips. His gaze never left the chaperone’s in a manner too polished and obviously well rehearsed. Derek Saunders had no doubt kissed a fair number of hands. It was all India could do to keep from snorting in disdain. “But surely my great-aunt is mistaken, Mrs. Greer.”

“In what way, Mr. Saunders?” The woman stared up at the younger man, admiration shining in her eyes.

“I cannot believe you have known each other for forty years, unless perhaps she first made your acquaintance when you were barely out of the nursery.”

“Goodness, Mr. Saunders.” A blush colored Mrs. Greer’s cheeks. “You are a charming devil. Why, you will quite turn my head with such nonsense.”

“I do hope so, Mrs. Greer.” Mr. Saunders flashed her a smile that would have made even the most unyielding woman swoon. “And, as we are to be traveling companions, you must call me Derek.”

“Very well, Derek.” Mrs. Greer dimpled. “But only if you call me Estelle.”

India wanted to choke.

A smug gleam showed in Lady Blodgett’s eyes. “And this is Estelle’s husband, Professor Greer.”

“Professor.” Mr. Saunders nodded and shook the other man’s hand firmly.

“Professor Greer is an expert in medieval architecture,” Lady Blodgett said. “Your uncle Charles held him in the utmost regard.”

“From what I recall of my great-uncle, Professor, that is indeed the highest of compliments. And no doubt well deserved.”

“I was a great admirer of his, as well,” the professor said gruffly. “Always wanted to join one of his expeditions, but the time was never quite right.”

“But now you are accompanying me, and I am most grateful to have a man of your expertise and obvious wisdom.”

“You just met the man,” India said without thinking. “How can you possibly say that?”

“Uncle Charles was an excellent judge of character,” Mr. Saunders said smoothly. “Any man who had his respect has mine, as well. I must say, Miss Prendergast, I am somewhat shocked that you would not understand that.” A chastising note sounded in his voice.

Four pairs of accusatory eyes turned toward India. Not the least bit fair. She was not the practiced charlatan here. Obviously why he had won them over and she had not. Still, this was not a good way to begin a journey of indeterminate length. For someone who preferred to act with reason rather than succumbing to emotion, she was apparently letting her feelings about Mr. Saunders color her judgment. And if one wished to best an opponent, one might wish to employ his tactics. She was not used to chicanery, but two could play at his game. How difficult could it be?

“Please forgive me, all of you. I spoke without thinking.” She heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “I am trying very hard to keep my emotions in check but not knowing where Cousin Heloise is...” She sniffed back a nonexistent tear, surprised to note it was not quite as feigned as she had expected.

“You poor dear.” Mrs. Greer cast her a sympathetic glance.

“Apology accepted, Miss Prendergast.” Mr. Saunders nodded and turned to the others. “We leave for Paris tomorrow. If we take the morning train to Dover, we can be in Paris by nightfall.”

“Paris?” India stared.

“Paris.” Mrs. Greer fairly sighed the word. “Did you hear that, Frederick? We’re going to Paris.” She leaned toward Lady Blodgett in a confidential manner. “I have always dreamed of going to Paris.”

“As have I,” Lady Blodgett said with a weak smile. “Charles always intended to take me, but somehow, the opportune time never arose. My friend Persephone speaks quite fondly of it. Of course, it’s been years since she’s been there.”

“I spent some time there as a student,” the professor added. “I doubt it’s changed much. Paris never does.”

“Paris?” India glared at Mr. Saunders. This was not what they had discussed.

“We, too, have some final arrangements to make.” Professor Greer stood and offered his hand to his wife. “Come along, Estelle.”

“Oh my, yes.” Mrs. Greer took his hand and rose to her feet. Mr. Saunders stood at once. The man was at least cognizant of polite behavior. “This has all happened so quickly. There is a great deal to do before we can leave. Why, we have to pack our bags and confer with the servants and arrange for—”

“Then we won’t keep you a moment longer.” Lady Blodgett stood, as well. “Allow me to see you out.” She glanced at her nephew. “I suspect you and Miss Prendergast have much to discuss before your departure.”

Mr. Saunders glanced at India. “I would think so.”

The older lady’s gaze shifted from her nephew to India and back. “I will leave you to it then.” She took Mrs. Greer’s arm and herded the couple toward the hall. “I can’t tell you how envious I am. Perhaps, one day, I, too...”

Mr. Saunders closed the doors behind them.

India stood and crossed her arms over her chest. “Paris?”

“I believe that’s the third time you’ve said that.”

“It bears repeating. If I recall correctly, you originally suggested following in Heloise’s footsteps. And I agreed.” She drew her brows together. “Her footsteps did not begin in Paris.”

“No, they did not,” he said mildly, crossing the room to a cabinet and opening the doors. “Would you care for a brandy or whisky? Or perhaps sherry would be more to your liking.”

“I have tea.” She waved impatiently at her cup.

“Ah yes, well, so you do.”

“I have never been one for overindulgence in spirits.”

“Imagine my surprise.”

“Besides, it’s entirely too early in the day for spirits.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?” He poured himself a glass of something amber and probably horribly inebriating.

She ignored the question. “I do hope indulging in alcohol at all hours is not something you plan to make a habit of during our travels.”

“As long as my habits do not interfere in our purposes, I would say they are none of your concern.”

She paused to summon a measure of calm. She couldn’t find Heloise without this beastly creature, and, as much as she disapproved of nearly everything about him, it made no sense not to attempt to get along with him. Still...

“Mr. Saunders.” She drew a calming breath. “I do not appreciate you changing our plans without informing me.”

He glanced at her, took a deep swallow of his drink, then refilled his glass. As if dealing with her required strong spirits.

“First of all, Miss Prendergast, they are not our plans.” He returned to his chair, gestured for her to sit, then resumed his seat. “They are my plans. You insisted upon coming. It’s only because my aunt agreed that you should that I am allowing you to do so.”

She gasped. “Allowing me?”

“Yes,” he said in a hard tone. “Allowing you.”

“Whether you allow me to accompany you or not, I was not about to allow you to look for my cousin without supervision.”

“Supervision?” His brow rose as if she had just made the most amusing comment.

“I daresay someone needs to keep an eye on you.”

“You don’t trust me, do you, Miss Prendergast?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” He leaned forward in what appeared to be genuine curiosity. “You don’t even know me.”

“Your reputation does not foster trust, Mr. Saunders.”

“I see.” He studied her curiously. “I would have thought you were the type of woman who judged people on their own merits rather than what gossips have had to say about them.”

Heat washed up her face. “I am indeed, but I am not a fool. When one person says a piece of fruit is a plum, there’s a possibility it may not be a plum. However, when dozens of people identify it as a plum, the chances are very good that it is indeed a plum.”

“I see.” He continued his perusal of her as if she were an insect in a glass case. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“I’ve never had any reason to doubt myself or my judgment.”

“Oh, this will be an enjoyable trip,” he said under his breath.

“I am not here to enjoy myself,” she said staunchly.

“Understandable, of course.”

“I am very concerned about my cousin.” The oddest lump formed in her throat, and she cleared it. “Indeed, she is my only concern.”

“Do not mistake my words, Miss Prendergast,” he said in a serious manner. “I, too, am concerned that we find Lady Heloise safe and well. However, it has been my observation that even the most serious of ventures progresses more easily when one attempts to appreciate new experiences.”

“I have no intention of appreciating anything.”

“No, I didn’t think you would.”

She ignored him. “I do wish you would answer my question. Why are we starting in Paris?”

“Because the last letter you received from her came from Paris.”

“How did you know that?”

“Good God, Miss Prendergast, you needn’t look at me as if I were some sort of nefarious villain intent on doing you and your cousin harm.”

Admittedly, she had little more than gossip and her suspicions as to his character. Not that he probably didn’t deserve it.

“Until you prove otherwise, Mr. Saunders...” She shrugged.

He stared at her for a moment, then laughed.

“This is not amusing.”

“On the contrary, it—you—” he raised his glass to her “—are most amusing.”

“Imagine my delight in your assessment of me,” she snapped. “Now, once again—how did you know her last letter was from Paris?”

“When we first met, you said her last letter was from France and you specifically said it was from Paris in each and every letter you sent to the Travelers Society.”

She stared at him. “You actually read them?”

“Of course I did.” He sipped his drink. “If you recall, I had already begun an effort to locate her before you so politely introduced yourself.”

“I will grant you that,” she said reluctantly. Perhaps on this one point she was not being fair.

“Thank you.” He thought for a moment. “It simply seemed to me it was logical to begin our search in the last place we know Lady Heloise to have visited, rather than going back to where she was previously. Don’t you agree?”

“That does make sense.” She nodded slowly.

“Then I’m right?”

She clenched her teeth. “Yes, I suppose you are.”

“Excellent.” He grinned.

“Don’t be smug, Mr. Saunders. It’s most unbecoming.”

“Nonetheless, I find it hard to resist. I can’t imagine you admitting that I may be right about something to be more than an infrequent occurrence. I intend to savor it when it happens.”

“As well you should, as I, too, am fairly certain it will be extremely rare.”

He grinned another most disarming grin. It was all she could do to ignore it.

“Did you bring your cousin’s letters?” he said, abruptly changing the subject.

She nodded.

“May I read them?”

She started to refuse, then realized it was not an unreasonable request. And while he might not have her trust, a little cooperation between them might be beneficial. “May I ask why?”

“There may be something in them that could prove of value. Something you might have overlooked.”

“That’s possible I suppose.” She grabbed her bag and rummaged through it.

“And I am right once again,” he murmured. She pretended not to hear him. “If these are of a personal nature—”

“No, not at all.” She pulled out a packet of letters and handed it to him. “Heloise wrote of the sights, where she was staying and assorted travel details. Nothing especially personal at all.”

He shuffled through the letters. “Is that unusual? For them to be so impersonal, that is?”

“I didn’t say they were impersonal, although I suppose they might be construed as such. As for whether or not that’s unusual, I can’t really say.” She thought for a moment. “Heloise and I haven’t corresponded since my school years. If I recall correctly, those letters were about the details of her day-to-day life. Her letters now are about travel and the sights she’s seeing. This is very new to her, and she was extremely excited about her travels. It simply stands to reason that detailing what she sees would be what she’d write about.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “May I return these to you in the morning?”

“Certainly, and I should take my leave, as well.” She rose to her feet, Mr. Saunders standing at once. She could not fault the man’s grasp of manners. “I, too, have a great many details to attend to before our departure.” She nodded and started toward the door.

India was the first to admit her greatest flaw was impatience. Now that arrangements were made, she was almost as eager as the Greers to begin their travels. Eager and possibly even a bit excited. The thought pulled her up short. There was nothing to be excited about. This was Heloise’s adventure, not hers.

“One more thing, Miss Prendergast, before you go.”

She turned back to him. “Yes?”

“As we are to be traveling companions, and will be spending a considerable amount of time in each other’s company, I would appreciate it if you would give the slightest bit of consideration to the possibility that I am not as wicked as you apparently think.” He smiled in a most engaging way. She ignored it.

“That remains to be seen, Mr. Saunders. Although I should warn you—” she flicked her gaze over him in a dismissive manner “—I have never been fond of plums.”

CHAPTER SIX

“AND HOW LONG do you expect this endeavor to take?” Uncle Edward studied Derek from behind the massive desk in the library in his London house. Now in his sixty-first year, the Earl of Danby was still a fine figure of a man with graying hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to notice all sorts of things one wished they wouldn’t. Derek had been the recipient of that look before. He resisted the urge to squirm in his chair like a guilty schoolboy.

“Quite honestly, sir—” Derek braced himself “—I have no idea.”

Derek would have liked nothing better than to have avoided this conversation altogether, but in the months since Uncle Edward’s mandate that he reform his carefree ways, he’d been working with the earl’s estate, property and business managers. No one had been more surprised than Derek to discover he not only had a knack for numbers and business; he enjoyed it. Abandoning his new duties for as long as it took to find Lady Heloise would not sit well with his uncle. At least not without an explanation.

“I see.” Uncle Edward considered him in a noncommittal manner.

“Frankly, sir—” Derek leaned forward and met his uncle’s gaze firmly “—I don’t see that I have a choice. While I did look into hiring private investigators to locate Lady Heloise, such efforts will take funding beyond my resources and a great deal of time.”

“You could have asked me for the money,” Uncle Edward said, his tone deceptively mild.

“I could have, and I did consider it.” Derek chose his words with care. The earl was a clever man, and now was not the time for anything other than complete honesty. “But Lady Blodgett is my mother’s aunt and not a relation of yours.”

“As much as I haven’t seen her in years, I have always been fond of Guinevere. She helped me with an awkward situation once. I wish she had come to me with her financial problems.”

“She would never do that, sir. Indeed, as far as I am aware, she never mentioned any difficulties to my mother.” Without question, Mother would have insisted Aunt Guinevere accept her help. “But as a member of my family she is my responsibility.”

“One does take responsibility for family.”

Derek started to say that was something he’d learned from his uncle but thought better of it. Uncle Edward took a dim view of those who curried favor too overtly, even with the truth. Instead he nodded. “Which is why I did not think it was appropriate to ask for your help in this.”

“So you intend to use your own resources?” The earl’s brow twitched.

“Such as they are.” Derek couldn’t resist a grin. “It seems in recent months, I haven’t been squandering my allowance in the manner I once did.”

Uncle Edward stared at him for an intense moment. “I am aware of that.”

Family money supported Derek, as it had his father before his death and his mother between her first and second husbands. Derek barely remembered his father, but Uncle Edward had said on more than one occasion how reliable and responsible Henry Saunders had been. How his twin brother had taken a significant role in the management of family affairs. As Uncle Edward always made such comments in an especially meaningful manner, the point was not lost on Derek.

“I would have preferred not to have told you about any of this at all.”

The earl nodded. “Understandable.”

Still, Derek hadn’t told his uncle everything. While he had admitted that Aunt Guinevere and her friends had started the Lady Travelers Society and had subsequently misplaced a member, he’d thought it best not to reveal his conviction that the elderly ladies were engaged in fraudulent activities. That would not sit well with the Earl of Danby. Nor would the scandal that would surely erupt if Lady Heloise was not located. He had no doubt Miss Prendergast would make the whole mess horribly public. And there was no reason why she shouldn’t.

“But I did not feel I could shirk the duties you have entrusted to me without telling you why I chose to do so.”

“Prudent of you.” Uncle Edward tapped his pen thoughtfully on his desk. “And you feel the need to take this upon yourself?”

“I’m afraid so. I don’t see any other option. I’m not sure I trust anyone else to do this with the expedience I think it warrants. And I do think time is of the essence.”

“Nor will anyone put the effort into it that you will, am I correct?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“Then you have considered the possibility that something dire might have happened to Lady Heloise.”

“Frankly, that is my greatest fear.” Derek shook his head. “The responsibility would then fall fully on Aunt Guinevere and her friends. It would devastate them, sir, and destroy their organization’s reputation as well as their good names.”

“Without question.” Uncle Edward paused. “Do you think it’s wise to bring Lady Heloise’s niece along with you?”

“I think it’s a disaster in the making.” Derek shuddered. “But I have no choice in the matter. She threatened to follow if I did not permit her to accompany me, and Aunt Guinevere pointed out the blame would then be laid at my feet if anything happened to her.”

“She’s right there.”

“Oh, and it’s not Lady Heloise’s niece but her cousin. Second cousin actually. She is Lady Heloise’s ward.” Derek had thought it wise to check into Miss Prendergast’s background and had called on the services of an old friend, Phineas Chapman, who had turned a brilliant mind to the art of investigation. It seemed there wasn’t much to uncover.

India Prendergast had been orphaned as a young girl when her missionary parents had died of some unknown tropical illness in the South Seas. She’d then made her home with Lady Heloise, apparently her only relative. She had graduated with honors from the prestigious Miss Bicklesham’s Academy for Accomplished Young Ladies. Derek knew quite a few women whose formative years had been spent at Miss Bicklesham’s. Fortunately, the lessons of propriety and decorum taught at the academy did not impress themselves upon those ladies in the way they obviously did Miss Prendergast. She’d been briefly employed as a governess and had an even shorter tenure as a teacher at Miss Bicklesham’s before becoming the secretarial assistant to Sir Martin Luckthorne. Derek had never heard of the man, but apparently he was well regarded in assorted intellectual, scientific and antiquarian circles. While only in his early forties, he was considered somewhat reclusive and a bit eccentric. There was no Lady Luckthorne, which one might think would cast a pall of impropriety over Miss Prendergast’s employment if, of course, one had not made Miss Prendergast’s acquaintance.

According to Chapman, Miss Prendergast had never been engaged, her name had never been linked to any man’s and, at the age of twenty-nine, she was considered a true spinster. Apparently there had been no effort to see her wed, either. Odd, as Chapman said—although Lady Heloise lived frugally—she did seem to have a surprisingly significant fortune. But Miss Prendergast had had no coming-out season, no introduction to society; indeed, society seemed to have no idea of her existence. Odder still, given Lady Heloise’s resources, that Miss Prendergast chose to be employed rather than work at charitable causes or those things with which most ladies occupied their time. Aside from her life with Lady Heloise and her work with Sir Martin, there was little to say about Miss India Prendergast.

“So you intend to wander aimlessly around Paris looking for this woman?”

“Not aimlessly,” Derek said. “I do have something of a plan. I intend to check with hotels and the embassy, make inquiries at the train station and wherever else she might have been and that sort of thing. If necessary, we will progress on to the next point in her itinerary.” It seemed quite clever when he’d first thought of it but, saying it aloud to his uncle, it did seem rather aimless at that.

“I am inclined to offer you my assistance, Derek,” the earl said.

“I didn’t ask—”

His uncle held up a hand to stop him. “Precisely why I intend to give it.” He leaned forward over his desk and met Derek’s gaze firmly. “If something has happened to Lady Heloise, the situation will only be worse if Miss Prendergast is present when such information is discovered.”

“I don’t even want to consider that possibility, sir.”

“Nor do I, but it is a possibility. Admittedly a dismal one, but a possibility nonetheless. Here’s what I’m going to suggest.” He paused thoughtfully. “First, I am pleased that you have taken on the task of protecting your great-aunt and her cohorts. There is nothing in this world more important than family and a family’s good name.”

Derek nodded.

“Secondly, I have a fair number of influential connections as well as more money than even you can spend in a lifetime. I can afford to send out a small army of investigators to track down a missing traveler in a swift and efficient manner. Men who are well trained and know what they’re doing.”

It was indeed a generous offer. “Still, sir, it is my problem.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t your objective to find Lady Heloise as quickly as possible so as to appease Miss Prendergast, thereby avoiding destroying an old lady’s good name?”

As well as keep her out of prison. “Yes, sir.”

“And shouldn’t you employ every means at your disposal to do so?”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“And am I not offering assistance that might help you do just that?”

“Nonetheless, sir, this is my responsibility.”

“Good God, you’re stubborn.” Uncle Edward grinned. “But then, so am I. Here’s my proposal. Travel as planned with Miss Prendergast to Paris and keep her there. The longer she’s out of London, the less likely she is to cause problems for Lady Blodgett. You did say she had contacted the police?”

Derek nodded.

“You will restrict your search to the confines of Paris. I will hire trained investigators to proceed with the utmost haste in searching elsewhere.”

Derek drew his brows together. “Regardless of my lack of training, you do realize there is every possibility that I will find Lady Heloise.”

“If she is alive and well, there is indeed. And we will hope for that. Do not mistake my words, Derek. You are an intelligent man, and my offer is not due to any lack of confidence in you. Rather, I want to help. Besides, I have always been fond of a good mystery.” The older man’s eyes twinkled in a way Derek could not recall having seen in a long time. In recent years, whenever they talked, the look in his uncle’s eyes tended toward irritation. “I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but I am quite fond of detective novels and stories of mystery. And, as much as I hate to admit it, all these responsibilities I am currently training you for tend not to be terribly exciting. After a while, one does long for a taste of adventure.”

“Determining the whereabouts of an elderly lady does not strike me as a significant adventure, sir.”

“One takes what one can get, my boy. I’d accompany you if I could but that’s impossible at the moment. Still, the idea of managing a search like this, being the mastermind behind it, if you will, sounds rather like an adventure.”

“Mastermind?” Derek’s brow rose.

“Excellent word. It denotes power, perception, a fine intellect and perhaps a touch of wickedness.” His uncle grinned. “Give me a week. Better yet—a fortnight.”

His uncle was right. If his purpose was to find Lady Heloise as quickly as possible, he would be an idiot to turn down help.

“Why not a month?” he said blithely.

“Excellent.” Uncle Edward beamed.

“I wasn’t serious.” Derek glared. “How am I to keep Miss Prendergast in Paris for a month?”

“Come now, Derek—it’s Paris.” Uncle Edward settled back in his chair and considered him thoughtfully. “You can’t have forgotten the charms of Paris. You’ve been there in recent years. I know. I paid for it.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Aside from the fact that the entire world is flocking to the Paris Exposition, Paris itself has always had a certain charm—part utter elegance, part ancient history and part Bohemian decadence.”

“Decadence will not appeal to Miss Prendergast.”

“She’s a woman, isn’t she?”

“One would think.” Nonetheless it was hard to picture the very disapproving India Prendergast in Paris.

“And you are a man with a rather significant reputation when it comes to women.”

Derek started to deny it, but what was the point?

“Between your charms and those of the City of Light, I can’t imagine you can’t come up with dozens of ways to delay Miss Prendergast.”

“But an entire month in Paris...” Derek shook his head. “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

“It may not take a month for either of us to find Lady Heloise. I shall telegraph you to keep you apprised of my progress.” The earl chuckled. “I think it sounds like fun.”

“Fun?” Derek snorted. “You haven’t met Miss Prendergast.”

His uncle waved off the comment. “She’s simply an obstacle tossed in your way to make things more interesting.”

“Good God, Uncle Edward, this is not a game.”

“You’re right, of course.” Uncle Edward had the grace to look chagrined. “Why don’t we just call it a test?”

“A test?” Derek stared.

“Or would you rather make it a wager?” A wicked gleam shone in Uncle Edward’s eyes.

“A wager,” Derek said slowly. He’d always loved a good wager. Still, his uncle wanted him to mend his wild ways. As much as he wanted to agree, the thought occurred to him that perhaps this was the test. “I’m not sure that’s wise, Uncle.”

The earl snorted back a laugh. “Bloody hell, man, I never intended to break your spirit. An interesting wager between two honorable men is not objectionable.”

“Given what’s at stake, I’m not sure a wager is appropriate.”

“Perhaps.” His uncle shrugged. “Then we are back to a test. Succeed in keeping Miss Prendergast occupied while I use my resources to learn what happened to her cousin. And then avoid dragging your great-aunt’s name through the mud, as well as evade any legal problems that might arise from all this—” Uncle Edward was apparently even more perceptive than Derek realized “—and it will prove to me that you do indeed have what it takes to handle my affairs after I’m gone. Any idiot can inherit a title and a fortune, Derek, but managing property, finances and, more important, people takes experience, skill and instinct.”

“And if I pass this test of yours?”

“Then I shall withdraw the threat of leaving you penniless.” Uncle Edward grinned.

Derek stared at the older man. “I’m not quite sure I believe you.”

“Wise of you.” His uncle chuckled. “Show me that you can manage a situation as fraught with disaster as this one and you have my word. You will inherit everything you deserve.”

“Everything I deserve?” Derek was fairly certain his uncle’s phrasing left something to be desired. “Who decides what I deserve?”

Uncle Edward laughed. “Excellent catch, my boy.” He sobered. “But I am serious about this. If you pull this off, then you will have earned your inheritance as well as my respect. There’s nothing I can do about who inherits my title, but I’ll be damned if I’ll leave my money and property to a man I don’t respect. Prove to me you can be that man.”

“I shall try, sir.”

“Then I can ask nothing more. But regardless of how this turns out, I will still expect you to continue to tread the straight and narrower path you have been walking of late.” His grin widened if possible. “I just won’t be such an ass about it.”

“Oh well, that makes it all worthwhile then,” Derek said without thinking, then winced. He hadn’t meant to be quite so glib. Uncle Edward had never taken Derek’s quips particularly well, especially when they were aimed at him.

But Uncle Edward laughed, and Derek had the distinct impression they had just crossed some sort of threshold in their relationship. Helped, no doubt, by Derek’s embrace of his uncle’s edict about reforming his questionable behavior. For the first time, Derek felt like an adult in his uncle’s presence. A feeling strengthened by the look of respect in the older man’s eyes. As well as the laughter.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, sir?”

“Why wouldn’t I enjoy seeing my heir live up to expectations?”

Derek blew a long breath. “I hope I can.”

“As do I. Indeed, you may well be on the way to becoming the man I always thought you could be. A man your father would be proud of.” The earl pinned him with a hard look. “Don’t muck it up.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

There are moments of tedium in the course of travel when one is confined to a train carriage or ship’s cabin that provide the perfect opportunity to study the places one is headed. The clever lady traveler will be prepared with books not only on the current state of one’s destination but on its history, as well. However, fictional tales of misadventure or mayhem are best avoided as they will serve only to make even the most stalwart lady traveler uneasy.

—The Lady Travelers Society Guide

INDIA STARED AT the ornate white ceiling embellished with entwined plaster swags and flowers and, for a moment, couldn’t determine exactly where she was. Of course. She was in Paris, where even the beds were decadent. Although apparently, when it came to blissful slumber, there was something to be said for a certain amount of decadence. She struggled to sit upright in spite of the soft, cushiony mattress that seemed determined to seduce her back to sleep under downy covers and the scent of fresh-washed linen. Pity she was made of sterner stuff.

She couldn’t remember ever having slept so soundly. Perhaps, when she returned to London, she’d look into replacing her firm, sensible mattress with something a bit more self-indulgent. Although her excellent night’s sleep probably had less to do with the bed and everything to do with her overwhelming fatigue. Who would have thought doing nothing more than sitting on trains and steamboats would be quite so exhausting? She’d done nothing of any merit all day yesterday save to change from train to boat and back to another train. Although travel was not without its perils. She had quickly learned Mrs. Greer had an unending reserve of completely inconsequential topics she delighted in expounding upon given the slightest opportunity. In that, she and her husband were well matched, although his chosen topics were of a more intellectual nature—the influence of classical thought on the architecture of the last century as opposed to his wife’s ponderings on whether the French would be relying more on feathers or silk flowers for the decoration of hats this year. India’s hats were sensible, practical creations and in no need of such frippery.

Never in her entire life had India imagined she would be going to Paris—that bastion of sin and debauchery. Whereas Heloise had gone on and on about the delights of Paris—the innovation, art, history and food—and couldn’t wait to sample it all for herself, India was perfectly happy with the impressive history, practical innovation, notable art and solid food of her native England. France held no particular lure for India, nor did the French. She’d never met a Frenchman but had heard they were uniformly rude and condescending. She was not fond of being condescended to by anyone.

While India preferred not to be bothered by idle chatter, she’d had no choice but to engage in conversation during meals with the Greers and Mr. Saunders—Derek, he’d insisted she call him as they were to be traveling companions for the foreseeable future. As Mrs. Greer—Estelle—was already doing so, it seemed rude of India not to. But the rest of the day she avoided unnecessary discussion by claiming to be engrossed in one of the books she had brought with her—although admittedly reading Dyke Darrel, The Railroad Detective, a story of murder, theft and all manner of mayhem may not have been wise when one was actually traveling by rail. Why, such a story might put a less rational person than herself in the position of looking with distrust at every suspicious person on the train. Although there did seem to be a significant number of questionable travelers—especially once they were in France. India would have been much better off rereading her copy of Mr. Bazalgette’s Agent about the indomitable Miss Miriam Lea, although the very idea of a female detective was totally absurd, if oddly compelling.

India drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and studied the room. She’d barely paid any attention to her surroundings upon their arrival last night. Far larger than her bedchamber at home, the room allotted her was colored in muted shades of lilac and blue. It was at once serene and calming and distinctly welcoming. Lace curtains fluttered slightly at the long windows at the end of the room. The furniture was delicate in appearance, colored in aging shades of white, accented with burnished gold. From the pastel Aubusson rug on the floor to small, crystal sconces on the wall, the room spoke of wealth and heritage and feminine grace. It was as far from her own taste as if some obstinate, contrary creature had designed it with annoying her in mind, and yet she rather liked it.

By the time they’d actually set foot on Parisian soil, it had been quite late. The professor had arranged for their baggage to be collected from the Salle des Bagages, and insisted upon waiting to accompany the luggage while Derek had found transportation and escorted the two ladies to their lodgings. India had assumed they would be staying at a hotel, but Derek explained, given the Paris Exposition opened its doors last month—as did its remarkably ugly iron tower centerpiece—hotel rooms had been booked for months. He said it was fortunate that he had a relative with a large house in the center of the city. India was far too tired to care at that point, although now she wondered at the wisdom of staying in the private home of a relation of his, even if he was right and they had little choice. They were no doubt lucky to have a roof over their heads at all, let alone one quite as opulent as this.

Professor Greer was probably no more than a few minutes behind them, but neither India nor Estelle could keep their eyes open. They were both whisked off immediately to their respective rooms by friendly, smiling maids who chattered the entire time in a manner reminiscent of finches. Poor Estelle’s French was minimal, but India was quite adept at languages and had studied French, Italian and German. Admittedly, she had never spoken anything but English outside of a classroom.

A knock sounded at her door, and before she could respond, it flew open.

“Good morning, mademoiselle.” A pretty dark-haired girl, one of the maids from last night—Suzette, if India recalled correctly—breezed into the room carrying a tray bearing a plate of pastries, a pot and a cup. “I hope you slept well.”

“Quite well, thank you.” And apparently she was starving. The food they’d purchased from vendors yesterday was no more than adequate, and they had all eaten sparingly. “You speak English?”

“I have been studying the English for some time, mademoiselle.” Suzette set the pot on a side table, then deftly unfolded short legs under the tray and set it in front of India on the bed. India stared at the golden pastries accompanied by a dish of raspberries. It was not at all her usual kind of breakfast—lightly buttered toast, coddled eggs and a small slice of ham. No, this was...French. “My fiancé, Jerome, and I will settle in America after we marry. One of us should know the language. Jerome is a carver of stone. His cousin is in America and writes that there is very much work for a man with Jerome’s skills.”

She filled the cup with a rich, dark chocolate. Good Lord, India hadn’t had chocolate in longer than she could remember. Leave it to the immoral, irresponsible French to have chocolate on an ordinary day. The aroma drifted past India’s nose, and her stomach growled. She picked up the cup and took a sip, resisting the urge to sigh with delight. It tasted every bit as wonderful as it smelled. Perhaps in this, and this alone, the French were on to something.

“He is a true artist, mademoiselle. What the man can do with his hands...” Suzette heaved a heartfelt sigh, and India wasn’t entirely sure if she was still talking about stone. “But he is not, oh...adept at words. So I will translate American for him, and he will earn our fortune.” She beamed at India.

“That sounds like an excellent plan.” India broke off a piece of a croissant and popped it in her mouth. It fairly melted on her tongue. There may well be something to be said for decadence—at least at breakfast. “Tell me, Suzette, where exactly am I?”

“Why, you are in Paris, mademoiselle,” she said cautiously and inched toward the door. “You did not know that?”

“Yes, of course.” She gestured with the pastry in her hand. “But whose house is this? I was so tired when we arrived, I’m afraid that has slipped my mind.”

“Ah.” Suzette’s expression cleared. “I see. This is the home of the Marquess of Brookings,” she announced with a flourish.

“Brookings?” India swallowed the bite of croissant in her mouth. “He’s English then?”

“Indeed he is, but his mother was Parisian.” Suzette smirked with satisfaction. “This was his mother’s family’s house.”

“And he lives here?”

“As well as in England, but he is here as often as possible.”

“But why?”

Suzette stared as if the very question was mad. “Because it is Paris.”

“Even so, he is English,” India persisted. After all, why would a subject of Her Majesty’s choose to live anywhere but England? “It makes no sense to me.”

“And it makes no sense to a Parisian to live anywhere but Paris.”

“But he’s English.”

“I would suggest you ask his lordship why he chooses to live where he does,” Suzette said firmly. “I do not gossip about my employer.”

“Of course not. I never thought—I am sorry.”

Suzette waved off the apology as if India’s comments were already forgotten. “I am to assist you during your stay. Please call for me at any time. Is there anything else you need at the moment?”

“Yes, actually, I was wondering...” India held her arms out. Her sleeves dripped with delicate lace, an extravagant lace-trimmed ruffle plunged down the center of her chest, far lower than any nightgown she’d ever even imagined wearing. “Whose gown is this?”

As their luggage had not arrived with them last night, she had been provided with borrowed nightclothes. She’d paid no attention; she’d practically fallen into bed and was asleep in minutes. The gown was as decadent as the bed. Pale peach in color—to complement the room no doubt—silky against her skin, with no weight to the fabric at all, and far sheerer than anything any respectable woman would ever wear, even in the privacy of the bedroom. She could see more than the mere shadow of her arm in the sleeve and was afraid to get out from under the protection of the covers for fear of what she might reveal. “The marquess’s wife perhaps?”

Suzette scoffed as if India had just said something absurd. “The marquess is not married.”

“Then whose gown is this?”

“I am not entirely certain, mademoiselle.” Suzette frowned thoughtfully. “Probably a mistress but I do not know which one.”

India stared in shock. “He has more than one?”

“Oh no, not at the same time,” Suzette said matter-of-factly. “That would be...difficult.”

India snorted. “One would think.” She did need to get out of bed. “Has my luggage arrived?”

Suzette shrugged. “I have not seen it, mademoiselle.”

“I’m sure it’s here somewhere.” India sighed. “Very well then, until it’s located, I shall have to make do with what I was wearing yesterday.”

“Yes, of course, mademoiselle.” Suzette nodded. “Your clothes are being brushed and pressed. I shall bring them as soon as they are ready.”

“I do appreciate that, but what am I to wear until then?” India certainly couldn’t leave her room dressed like a tart.

“Ah!” Suzette brightened and stepped to the chaise near the foot of the bed. She picked up a garment matching the gown India wore and displayed it with pride. “There is as well a dressing gown to match the negligee.”

It was no more substantial than what she had on, but hopefully adding another layer would help. Regardless, she had no intention of leaving her room until she was properly attired.

“I see you’re awake,” a male voice sounded from the hall. “You slept much later than I expected. I rather thought you’d be an early riser.” A tall, dashing gentleman with hair colored a rich walnut and an infectious grin strode into the room. He looked to be about the same age as Derek and had the same lighthearted nature. “Forgive my impatience, but I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

India yanked the covers up to her chin. “Have you?”

He chuckled. “Derek has told me a great deal about you.”

“Has he?” Shock at this intrusion was apparently robbing her of all ability to speak in words more than one syllable long. But then she’d never had a handsome devil invade her bedroom before. A certain amount of stunned paralysis was probably to be expected.

“Oh my, yes.” His gaze raked over her in an admiring manner. “But apparently he left out some important facts.”

Heat washed up her face. Why, the man was flirting with her! How terribly forward. She clutched the covers tighter. “I beg your pardon, but I can’t imagine, even in Paris, one invades a lady’s bedchamber without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“The door was open.” He shook his head in a chastising manner. “I don’t think you can really call it an invasion if the door is open. An open door is more like, oh, an invitation.”

“I did not invite you!”

“And yet.” He grinned in a manner that was at once boyishly endearing and completely wicked. “Here I am. Allow me to introduce myself. I am your host, Percival St. James, Marquess of Brookings.” He swept an exaggerated bow. “And I am at your service.”

“Very nice to meet you, my lord,” she said without thinking, then tightened her grip on the covers with one hand and waved her free hand at the door. “And if you are truly at my service, you will take your leave at once.”

“I am truly at your service,” he said staunchly, although she suspected her definition of “at your service” and his were decidedly different. “And my friends call me Percy or Val, one of which I prefer to the other, but it makes no difference as anything is better than Percival. Don’t you agree?”

She stared, not entirely sure what to say. “I suppose.”

“As I am certain we are going to be friends, which would you prefer to call me, Miss Prendergast?”

“I do not share your certainty, and I will call you Lord Brookings,” she said firmly. “Anything else would be most inappropriate.”

“Precisely the point.” He grinned and glanced at the maid. “Suzette, if you would be so good as to see if Miss Prendergast’s clothes are ready.”

“Yes, my lord.” She bobbed a curtsy, aimed India a quick glance of encouragement and took her leave.

“And leave the door open if you will,” India called after her.

“Come now, India—”

“Miss Prendergast.”

“You are perfectly safe in my presence. In spite of what you may have heard, I have never ravaged a woman who did not wish to be ravaged. And with great enthusiasm I might add.”

“Given that I am in bed wearing the clothes of one of your mistresses, that is good to know.” India paused. “And I haven’t heard anything.”

He stared at her. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Nothing at all?” He frowned. “My reputation has not preceded me?”

“I’d never so much as heard your name until a few minutes ago.”

“That’s rather distressing.”

She stared in disbelief. “Why?”

“It does one no good to have a certain reputation if no one knows about it. Are you sure you’ve never heard of me?” he added hopefully.

Good Lord, the silly man was actually bothered that she’d never heard of his no doubt sordid reputation. She felt the tiniest bit sorry for him and dismissed the feeling at once. What on earth was she thinking? “Perhaps I have never heard of you because I am not active in society.”

“Oh, well then.” His expression brightened. “That makes perfect sense.” He stepped closer and perched on the side of the bed.

She slid to the center of the mattress, nearly upending the tray in the process. “You’re sitting on my bed!”

“Indeed I am.” He glanced around and patted the bed beside him. “I hope you found it to your liking.”

“Yes, yes, it was quite comfortable. Now if you would be so good as to remove yourself from my bed, I would be most appreciative.”

“But this is convenient as well as comfortable.” He pinned her with a firm look. “You didn’t expect me to keep talking to you from the other side of the room.”

“You were closer to the foot of the bed than the other side of the room.”

“And now I am closer still.” He grinned. Again. This was completely absurd. There was a man—a stranger—sitting on her bed! And as much as she tried to maintain her indignation, he was rather disarming. Which was every bit as annoying as the man himself. “I can tell you all sorts of stories.”

“I don’t care!”

He ignored her. “Some of them are even true, but most are simply the stuff of gossip. As you haven’t heard any of the stories about me it compels me, as your host and a man with an unsavory reputation—”

“Well earned I suspect.” She glared at him.

“I would say the tales of my misadventures are somewhere between well earned and a complete exaggeration.” He paused. “Perhaps not a complete exaggeration.”

She raised a brow.

“Possibly embellished more than exaggerated, although one or two might be fairly accurate.” He waggled his brows at her in a most disconcerting way. If she wasn’t so irritated, she might have laughed. “I would imagine it all depends on who is telling the story. You know how these things are.”

“I don’t know how these things are nor do I wish to. Now.” She aimed a pointed finger at the door. “If you would be so good as to get out of my room, my lord, I—”

“Percy. Or Val. Your choice.” He reached over and selected a piece of her pastry.

“Lord Brookings,” she forced a hard note to her voice, “if you don’t leave at once, I shall...I shall scream. That’s what I’ll do, I’ll scream. And quite loudly.”

“Because you fear for your virtue?” He considered her curiously and took a bite of the pastry.

“Not as much as I fear for my croissants!”

“I doubt that you have ever in your entire life screamed, quite loudly or otherwise,” he said mildly. “Unless of course it was at the unexpected appearance of a rat, but certainly not out of fear or rage or frustration. You don’t strike me as that type of woman.”

For a moment she considered lying, but what was the point? “I have never felt the need before as I usually have my emotions well in hand.”

“But not today.” He smirked, and she had the immediate impulse to smack his face.

“On the contrary, my lord, I am in complete control of my emotions as well as being both rational and logical.” She summoned a measure of calm. “As you will not depart willingly, it seems to me, if I were to scream as loudly as possible, you would then do exactly as I ask and leave my room.”

“You expect me to scamper away like a frightened bunny?” He tossed the rest of the croissant in his mouth.

“I’m not sure I would have used the term frightened bunny but...” She met his gaze firmly. “Yes, I do. Regardless of whatever reputation you claim to have, no man in his right mind wishes to have a woman’s scream echoing through his home. It tends to frighten servants, who will then seek other positions. And I imagine finding good servants in Paris is every bit as difficult as it is in London.”

“You have no idea,” he murmured and reached for another pastry.

“I would further suspect, even in Paris, neighbors who hear a woman’s scream—” she nodded at the open window “—might well be inclined to summon the police. Particularly if they lived next door to a foreign scoundrel with a scandalous reputation.”

He stared at her for a moment, then laughed. “Touché, India—”

“Miss Prendergast.”

“Derek calls you India.”

She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “Mr. Saunders and I will be spending a great deal of time together, accompanied by Professor and Mrs. Greer. In the interest of expediency, it was decided we would call one another by our given names. There is absolutely no reason why you and I should be so personal.”

“Except that I am your gracious host.”

“And while you do have my gratitude, I am still not inclined to call you Percival, Percy, Val or anything other than Lord Brookings.”

“I see.” He took a bite of her croissant and chewed thoughtfully, studying her the entire time.

She picked up a raspberry and tossed it in her mouth. If the man was trying to make her uncomfortable, he was failing. Admittedly, she might have been a bit nonplussed when he had first appeared in her room. Who wouldn’t be given she was in a strange bed dressed like a harlot? Perhaps their absurd sparring was to blame, or possibly the chocolate, but she had regained her normal disposition. She had no intention of letting this arrogant, presumptuous relation of Derek’s get the better of her. Why, it would be almost as bad as if Derek was doing it himself.

“I shall make a bargain with you, India,” he said at last.

“Miss Prendergast.” She smiled pleasantly.

“Believe it or not, it is remarkably difficult to scream.”

“I can’t imagine that.”

“But you have never before screamed. One must let go of all one’s reservations. Put one’s heart and soul into it, if you will. I doubt that a woman like you can do it.”

“What exactly do you mean?” She drew her brows together. “A woman like me?”

“Derek says you’re cool and collected. Not the least bit emotional.” He lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “Even somewhat cold.”

“Does he?” India wasn’t sure why something she’d always prided herself on now bothered her just the tiniest bit.

“He does.” Lord Brookings nodded, a challenge in his eye.

She met his gaze directly. “Good.”

He laughed. “I shall make you a wager, India.”

“Miss Prendergast. And I never wager.”

“You see, I don’t believe you can overcome your reserve, your unyielding conviction as to what is proper and what is not. Therefore, if you can toss your inhibitions aside and truly release a bloodcurdling yell, I shall, from then on, quite properly call you Miss Prendergast.”

“Good Lord.” For a moment, she could have sworn she was governess again. “How old are you?”

He grinned.

“And are you really a marquess?”

“I am.”

“And that is an English title? Not some frivolous foreign designation?”

“I am the eighth Marquess of Brookings. My father was the seventh, my grandfather the sixth and so on. I have the papers to prove it if you wish to see them.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“So what’s it to be, India? Although I must say I like the sound of India and Percy. It fairly reeks of England, and yet I think it has a certain flair to it.” He reached for her last croissant. “Although, perhaps India and Val are even more—”

Before she could think better of it, India opened her mouth and screamed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A WOMAN’S SCREAM ripped through the house, reverberating off lofty ceilings and echoing off marbled floors. Derek started, frozen in midstep on the stairs, and knew with unerring certainty whose scream it was. Bloody hell.

He sprinted toward India’s room, just down the hall from his, taking the steps of the broad, curving stairway two at a time. He and Val had talked for long hours after their arrival last night, and Derek knew there were no other guests staying at the grand house. He had left the professor and his wife downstairs in the breakfast room, probably too far away to hear, although he wouldn’t be at all surprised to find them right behind him. No one could miss that scream.

What was wrong now? India had made a noticeable attempt yesterday not to be overly critical of very nearly everything but she did not take well to the inconveniences of travel. It was obvious she’d had little travel experience except perhaps for the occasional trip from London to the country.

He reached the second floor and headed toward her room. India was in no real danger. He was confident of that. Although one never knew what—or who—one might run into in the halls of Val’s Parisian domicile. The last time Derek was here, there had been a precocious monkey—the adored pet of Val’s paramour at the time—that had been clever enough to escape his leash and evade capture for nearly a month, living off scraps in the kitchen and terrifying both servants and guests alike. For a small creature, he had been extremely unpleasant and rather threatening. Val broke it off with his owner the moment the beast was captured. Derek suspected the animal was no more than a convenient excuse.

Derek reached India’s room and pulled up short. Even a monkey wouldn’t have been a greater shock than the sight that greeted him.

The indomitable, unyielding, eminently proper Miss India Prendergast was sitting upright in her bed—still in her nightclothes—covers clutched nearly to her chin in one hand, a tray balanced on her lap, glaring at Val, who sat on the edge of her bed. More shocking still was India herself.

Her hair was loose and hung around her shoulders in clouds of unsuspected curls that caught the light and shimmered with gold highlights. Curls that were usually ruthlessly imprisoned in a knot on the top of her head, so tight it made his scalp ache to look at it. Her skin was flushed, no doubt with annoyance, and her green eyes sparkled—again, probably with annoyance. But it was most becoming. He could see little of her nightwear—a peachy shade and most flattering to her coloring—except for her arms. The almost transparent fabric was enhanced by creamy lace that caressed her wrists and whispered against the bedclothes. She was the picture of charming dishabille, an illusion at once angelic and seductive. A vision that fairly begged to be kissed. It was the oddest thought—kissing India Prendergast—but Derek couldn’t quite dismiss it. He would wager Val had thought the same thing.

Val reached a hand toward her tray. She smacked it away, and the illusion shattered.

“Good God, Miss Prendergast.” Derek stepped into the room. “Are you all right? What on earth is going on here?”

She gave Val a scathing look, then turned her attention to Derek. “This man is trying to steal my croissants, Mr. Saunders. As he has already taken two of them, and there is only one left—” her narrowed gaze shifted back to Val “—I could not allow that.”

“They’re excellent croissants, Derek.” Val looked mournfully at the remaining croissant. “You should try one.”

“I did,” Derek said slowly. “At breakfast.” This was about pastry? He stared at India. “You screamed because he took your croissant?”

For the first time since he’d met her, she looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Not exactly.”

“Not at all,” Val said. “She screamed because I challenged her to do so. Or perhaps dared is a better word.” He grinned at India. “What do you think, Miss Prendergast? Was it a challenge or a dare? Or...” He paused in a meaningful manner. “Was it a wager?”

“I told you—I do not wager,” she said in a manner entirely too lofty for a woman who had screamed not to defend her honor but to protect her pastry. “And you know perfectly well why I screamed.”

“Val.” Derek summoned a hard tone. “Why did she scream?”

Val shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Utter nonsense. You know exactly why.” India huffed. “I asked him to leave as his presence is unwanted as well as being highly inappropriate.”

Val slanted him an unrepentant grin.

“I threatened to scream if he did not take his leave. He didn’t, so I did.”

“And an impressive scream it was, too.” Admiration curved Val’s lips. “I didn’t think she had it in her.”

“And yet it didn’t seem to work,” she said coolly.

For a moment, Derek thought there was a glint of amusement in her eyes, but then Val had always been skilled at amusing women. Still, for whatever reason, the thought that Val could make her smile was irritating.

“I’d wager you could hear it all over the house,” Val said smugly.

“I’d wager you could hear it all over the city.” Derek nodded at India. “Well done, Miss Prendergast.”

“Thank you, Mr. Saunders.” A satisfied note sounded in her voice, and this time there was no mistake. India was definitely trying not to smile. Perhaps there was hope for her, after all.

“You said you call him Derek.” Val’s eyes narrowed.

“Apparently, when I am entertaining incorrigible gentlemen in my bedchamber, I prefer more formal, proper terms of address.”

Val laughed, and Derek couldn’t resist a grin. This was going to be an interesting stay. He moved farther into the room, grabbed a chair and positioned it on the opposite side of the bed from Val.

She raised a brow. “Oh, do join us, Mr. Saunders.”

“I would be delighted.” He ignored the sarcasm in her voice and sat down. “While you have obviously already met, allow me to properly, formally introduce the Marquess of Brookings, my stepbrother.”

“Your what?” India stared in disbelief.

“Derek’s mother was my stepmother.”

“Val’s father was my mother’s second husband.”

“That explains so much,” she said under her breath.

“You were right, Derek,” Val said with a regretful shake of his head. “She is stuffy.”

“You said I was stuffy as well as calm, unemotional and cold?” She turned to Derek. “Dare I ask what else you said about me?”

Derek threw his stepbrother an annoyed look. Did the man ever know when to hold his tongue? “I’m afraid Lord Brookings has taken my comments out of context.”

“Oh, I don’t think I did,” Val said. “I distinctly remember you saying all of that as well as calling her stubborn, suspicious, overly proper and something of a pain—”

“It scarcely matters what Mr. Saunders thinks of me.” India waved off the comments. “Nor does it matter what I think of Mr. Saunders.”

A wicked glint sparkled in Val’s eyes. “What do you think of Mr. Saunders?”

“What do I think?” Her green eyes met Derek’s. “Oh, I have no doubt Mr. Saunders knows exactly what I think of him.”

Her gaze stayed locked with his, and for a moment the oddest sense of regret washed through him.

“But I don’t know what you think of him, and I would pay a great deal to know.” Val grinned. “I daresay it might well be one of the most amusing things I’ve heard in a long time.” A maid appeared in the doorway and caught his attention. “If you will pardon me for a moment.” He stood, moved to the maid and they exchanged a few quiet words.

Val grimaced. “It appears the gendarmes are here, and I need to speak with them. This is a most respectable neighborhood, and it seems someone in the vicinity reported a woman’s screams.”

“Not the first time I imagine,” India said wryly.

Val tossed them an unrepentant smirk and took his leave.

“India,” Derek began, bracing himself. “Please accept my apology for my comments. I am sorry if they offended you in any way.”

“Goodness, I can’t imagine why they would. They certainly come as no surprise.” She shrugged. “I am never offended by the truth.”

“Still, it was rude of me and I never intended—”

“For me to learn of them?”

“Well, yes.” He still couldn’t believe Val had betrayed his confidence. “I shall have a few well-chosen words to say to my stepbrother about this.”

“You needn’t bother.” She paused. “I suppose no one especially wants to hear themselves described as stuffy, unfeeling and cold—”

He winced.

“And while the words themselves do seem rather harsh, they are not inaccurate. I am...” She thought for a moment. “Reserved, if you will. I don’t believe in displaying my emotions, nor do I allow them to dictate my behavior. And I do believe that the rules of proper behavior should be adhered to. I am well aware of my own nature and how I appear to others. Especially those who do not know me.”

“I suspect your friends probably know better.”

“My friends...” She hesitated, then raised her chin in a resolute manner. “Yes, I would imagine they do.”

“If you are amenable to the idea...” He chose his words with care. “I would like to offer the hand of friendship.”

“Good Lord, Derek.” She stared in obvious disbelief. “You don’t like me, and I certainly don’t like you. Why on earth would I want to be friends?”

“I don’t dislike you,” he said quickly, but she was right. The woman was perhaps the most stodgy, opinionated creature he’d ever met. Still, they were stuck with each other. He drew a deep breath. “For one thing—we share a common purpose. We both want to locate Lady Heloise and make certain of her safety. It’s going to be much less difficult if we aren’t at each other’s throats.”

“You may have a point there.”

“In addition, we are to be together for the foreseeable future. I would prefer to spend my time with a friend rather than a foe.”

“But I don’t trust you.”

“I am more than willing not to trust you, either, which gives us something in common on which to base a friendship.”

“I don’t think friendships are built on mutual distrust.”

“Then we shall be the first.” He flashed her a grin.

“That’s absurd.” She frowned. “Why, friendships are based on shared admiration and respect. I have no respect for you at all.”

“Then I shall simply have to earn your respect.” He was fairly certain it would not be easy, but then, thus far, nothing about India Prendergast was. “Although we do already have one thing between us on which to base a friendship.”

“I can’t imagine what that is.”

“Honesty.”

She raised a brow. “And yet we distrust each other.”

“But we are honest about it.”

She studied him closely. “It would be entirely dishonest of me to say I am willing to accept your offer of friendship. But, in the spirit of cooperation, I am willing to attempt a certain level of cordiality between us.”

“I can ask for nothing more.”

“I do have a condition.”

“Anything.”

“As I have been entertaining gentlemen in my room, while I am still in my bed, dressed in my nightclothes—which even you would agree is the height of impropriety—”

He nodded.

“I believe you should rescind your description of me as stuffy.”

“Well.” He grimaced. “You did scream.”

“My scream was directed more at encouraging his lordship to leave than any concern about proper behavior on my part.”

“I’ll give you that. Very well then.” This was actually going far better than he’d expected. “You are not nearly as stuffy as one would have thought.”

“Thank you. Now, perhaps you would consider—”

“I should leave you to dress.” He rose to his feet. “I think we should start our efforts today at the hotel Lady Heloise mentioned in her letters. I suggest we depart as soon as you are ready.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“One more thing we have in common.”

“Unfortunately...”

“Unless you have another idea?”

“It’s not that. But my maid—Suzette—says she has not seen my luggage. I was forced to borrow this—” she glanced down and winced “—garment to sleep in last night.”

“I see. Then the nightclothes are not yours?”

“Dear Lord, no.” Indignation rang in her voice. “I would never wear something this...this flimsy. And suggestive. And indecent.”

“No, of course not.” It was a pity really. He suspected what he could not see of her in the nightgown was even more delicious than what he could. “I would imagine your nightclothes to be of good solid linen, unencumbered by silliness like lace or ruffles.”

“Simply because one is abed doesn’t mean one should abandon good judgment and proper attire,” she said primly. “But that is beside the point. As I was saying, Suzette has not seen my luggage.”

“She hasn’t?” He knew this was coming. It might have been wiser for him to have said something right away, but while Derek considered himself fairly courageous under most circumstances, this was not one of them.

“No, which means I am forced to wear the same clothes I wore yesterday, and they are being freshened. I’m afraid we will have to delay our start until Suzette returns with my clothing.”

“Oh well.” He sighed. “It can’t be helped I suppose. We can’t have you running about the streets naked. Even in Paris, that would be frowned upon.” He started toward the door.

“Derek.”

He paused. “Yes?”

“I can’t help but notice you are not wearing what you wore yesterday.” Her brow furrowed. “Am I to assume you have your luggage?”

He winced and turned back toward her. “I do.”

“And have Professor and Mrs. Greer their luggage?”

“As far as I know.”

“Then, as our luggage traveled together, mine should be somewhere in the house. Delivered to the wrong room perhaps. Don’t you think?”

“One would think that. I know,” he said brightly. “Why don’t I check for you?”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “I would be most grateful.”

“I am happy to do it, as any responsible friend would.”

“In the meantime, I will wait for Suzette to return.”

“And I will see you downstairs whenever you are ready.” He smiled and took his leave, closing her door behind him.

It did indeed stand to reason that her trunk would be somewhere in the house. If, of course, it had arrived at the house in the first place. Which was contingent upon whether or not—when it was checked at the beginning of their journey—it was appropriately labeled for Paris and not, oh, say, Prague. An understandable mistake really. There was nothing more annoying than to have to delay one’s travel plans and be compelled to stay longer in a city than intended in hopes of recovering one’s luggage. But if one wished to ever see one’s belongings again, there was little choice. And who knew how long it might take?

Derek ignored a tiny twinge of guilt. When all this was over, he would replace India’s wardrobe and anything else she might have brought along with her. And there was always the possibility that her errant trunk would make its way back to England. Eventually.

Uncle Edward would argue that, ultimately, this was in India’s and her cousin’s best interests as well as Aunt Guinevere’s. His resources were far more likely to track down Lady Heloise than Derek and India were. Still, she would never see it that way.

Even so, diverting her luggage off to the ends of the earth was not the best way to start a friendship.

CHAPTER NINE

As much as it may be an affront to the sensibilities of a proper Englishwoman, one must understand the customs of a foreign land are often far different from what one is used to. Embracing local customs will endear one to the native population as well as provide an amusing story to relate upon one’s return home.

—The Lady Travelers Society Guide

WHERE WAS THE blasted man?

India waited in the foyer and resisted the urge to tap her foot with impatience. She’d sent word to Derek through Suzette that she was ready to leave and now wished to do so without further delay. Admittedly, their late start could partially be laid to rest at her feet, given she had not risen as early as was her custom. Even so, it did seem that it took an eternity to get her clothes returned. She felt much more her usual self in her own clothing with her hair in its usual coiffure. Ready to face the world and get on with the search for Heloise. And more than ready to put this morning behind her.

She wasn’t at all sure what had come over her. In hindsight, she had indeed done all she could to get Lord Brookings to leave her room. Short of leaping out of bed and escorting him bodily to the door, she didn’t know what else she could have tried. It was most annoying. But oddly enough, she’d found the man—as well as his stepbrother—rather amusing. And she shouldn’t have. There was nothing amusing about impropriety.

Even though there was no blood between them, she was not at all surprised to learn of Derek and Lord Brookings familial connection. Both men shared a certain air of confidence, both obviously relied on their dashing looks and charming natures, and both were entirely too flirtatious for their own good, or the good of any woman who unwittingly crossed their paths. Derek was a bit less obvious about it than his lordship, although she never would have imagined any man could be surer of himself than Derek. But she had noted the oddest look in Derek’s eyes when he had first entered her room that didn’t speak at all of confidence. It was rather something akin to revelation.

It wasn’t until he’d left and she’d assessed her appearance in the antiquated pier mirror by the window that she suspected what that look might have meant. It was absurd, but, for a moment, India wasn’t entirely sure the image reflected was her. She didn’t look at all like her usual self. Her hair had reverted to its natural state and was a riot of annoying curls, the bane of her existence. Her face was decidedly flushed, no doubt with frustration over her attempts to rid the room of Lord Brookings, which made her eyes look somewhat greener than they were. And thank God neither man had seen more of her in the negligee than her arms. The disgraceful garment clung to her in all sorts of ways it shouldn’t, defining and revealing curves she didn’t realize could look quite so fetching. In a terribly immoral way, of course. All in all, she had no idea who the tousled creature staring back from the mirror was. The image was both shocking and, perhaps, a bit intriguing, but it certainly wasn’t India Prendergast. Or at least not the India Prendergast she’d always seen in the mirror before. Regardless, it was a momentary aberration and nothing more significant than that. The blame could be placed squarely on the negligee, the circumstances, the decadent boudoir and even Paris itself.

And despite how amusing she might on occasion find Derek, she could not let that deter her from the reasons she was with him in the first place. One—and the most important—was to locate Heloise and make certain she was safe. And two—find some way to prove Derek was indeed the mastermind behind the fraudulent Lady Travelers Society—an immoral, illegal enterprise created for the sole purpose of separating women, particularly older women, from their savings. India hadn’t been able to save Heloise from his plot, but she would prevent him from fleecing anyone else. It was the responsible—the right thing to do. And India prided herself on always being right, morally as well as every other way.

“I see you’re ready to go.” Derek descended the stairway, a spring in his step, to join her in the foyer.

“I am.” She nodded. “Have you managed to find my trunk?”

“Not yet, but I have the entire staff looking for it.” He smiled in an encouraging manner. “This is an extremely large house, and your trunk could have been put anywhere. However, I am certain that your luggage will be recovered by the time we return.”

“I do hope so,” she said, the confident note in her voice belying the niggling fear that she might never see her things again. In terms of possessions, she didn’t have a great deal to lose. The trunk itself was somewhat battered—it had once served to transport her things to and from Miss Bicklesham’s—but losing it would be devastating.

She had packed sparsely with an eye toward economy. A few dresses suitable for traveling, a couple of additional blouses, an extra skirt, undergarments of course, nightclothes, a pair of boots and a second pair of sturdy walking shoes. She’d also brought a simple gown appropriate for evening and slippers to match, should that become necessary—which she assumed it wouldn’t. This was not a pleasure trip. Still, one should be properly prepared. According to Heloise, being properly prepared for any eventuality was practically the motto of the Lady Travelers Society. In that piece of advice alone the society was competent. India did wonder if any of the pamphlets Heloise had brought home from the society dealt with the loss of one’s luggage.

“Unless you have some objection, Professor Greer and his wife would like to see some of the city, and I didn’t think it was necessary for them to accompany us. Don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” India said with relief. “I suspect they would only hinder our progress.”

“My thoughts exactly. Besides, Mrs. Greer has always wanted to see Paris, and who knows how long we’ll stay? This might be her only chance.”

“Then she should certainly take it.”

“Excellent.” Derek nodded. “Now then, I have reread Lady Heloise’s letters and perused her itinerary. You have her photograph with you, I assume.”

“I do.”

“Very good.” Derek pulled a small notebook and a Baedeker guide from his coat pocket. “I have made a number of notes as to how to proceed.”

“You made notes?”

“I wished to organize my thoughts and our efforts.”

She studied him closely. “You do not strike me as the sort of man who takes well to organization.”

“Then I am delighted that I have surprised you,” he said in a pleasant manner. “In recent months I have seen the benefit of organization when one has something one wishes to accomplish quickly and efficiently.”

“It’s most...admirable.” And shocking. Of all the things she expected from him, organization and efficiency were not among them.

“Furthermore, we need a definite plan of action, unless you intend to simply wander the streets of Paris calling Lady Heloise’s name?”

“No, of course not.” Although she really hadn’t given any consideration as to how to actually find her cousin.

“I didn’t think so. Therefore, I have taken the liberty of devising a plan of sorts.” He glanced at her. “Do you have an idea?”

“No.” She had no more than a vague thought in the back of her mind about making inquiries at places Heloise had mentioned in her letters. “Not yet.”

“Should we wait until you do?”

She did not for a moment believe the innocent note in his voice. “I suggest we follow your plan until such time as it needs revision.”

“Very well then.” He flipped open his notebook. “Unfortunately, her itinerary strikes me as rather vague and a bit haphazard as to arrival dates and departures. Nor does it indicate which hotel she intended to stay in—”

“Rather a serious omission—don’t you think?” she asked pointedly. “One would imagine such pertinent information would be included on an itinerary created by a travelers society and assistance agency.”

“Itineraries change, India, as plans for travel progress,” he said, his attention never leaving his notebook. “In addition, people don’t always go where they’re expected to go. It’s part of the adventure, to head toward an unforeseen destination because it strikes you as interesting. Is the schedule your cousin left with you her final itinerary?”

“I’m not sure.” Blast it all. India had scarcely given Heloise’s itinerary more than a second glance when her cousin had given it to her. Admittedly, that had been when Heloise had first announced her intention to travel. A scant two weeks later the older woman was off, and, while India had glanced at the places Heloise had intended to visit, she’d paid no notice whatsoever to the details of her lodging. “She did mention she would stay in Paris as long as it took to see everything she wished to see.”

“That would have been good to know,” he said under his breath. “In her first letter from Paris, she says her room in ‘this grand hotel’ is more than adequate.”

“Then obviously she was staying at the Grand Hotel. I suggest we make our way there and inquire after her.” India couldn’t quite keep the note of triumph out of her voice. While it was the logical place to start, it was also her suggestion.

“I agree.” He smiled pleasantly. “Which Grand Hotel?”

“What do you mean which Grand Hotel? The Grand Hotel.”

“And herein lies our first problem.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t see a problem. It seems very straightforward and sensible to me.”

“Perhaps it would if you were more prepared.”

She stared. “I beg your pardon?”

“Did you bring a guidebook to Paris with you? Do you have a listing of hotels? Did you think to ask your cousin exactly where she planned to stay in Paris or anywhere else?”

“No, but—”

“I suggest you take a look at this.” He handed her the Baedeker.

She took the book and opened it. “And what, pray tell, am I looking for?”

“You’re looking for the Grand Hotel of course.” He paused. “You will also find the Grand Hotel du Louvre, the Grand Hotel de Port Mahon, the Grand Hotel Normandy, the Grand Hotel de Chateaudun, the Grand Hotel—”

“How many Grand Hotels are there?”

“I counted twenty-seven in the guidebook. I have made a list of each and every one.” He paused. “But I might have missed some.”

“Good Lord.” She paged through the guide. “What utter insanity. How very...French!”

“I daresay there are a few Grand Hotels in London, as well,” he observed mildly. It was most annoying.

“A few is a far different matter than dozens! How can such a thing be permitted?”

“I doubt it can be prevented.”

“Even so—”

“You must admit—it’s an excellent name for a hotel. It conjures up an impressive image of hospitality and service.”

“They can’t all be grand,” she muttered, skimming the small, tight print.

“Probably not, but I can’t imagine a hotel attracting much business by calling itself the Almost Grand Hotel or the Less Than Grand Hotel. And would you really wish to stay at lodgings called the Tiny, Trivial and Insignificant Hotel?”

She closed the book and glared at him. “Now you’re being silly. And this is not the time.”

“Indeed I am, and it’s the perfect time.” He put his notebook back in his pocket. “I am trying to impart a certain lightheartedness to what is surely going to be a very long afternoon. And more than likely, just the first.”

“Well, I have no intention of being lighthearted.” She handed him the guide.

“No.” He accepted the book and opened it. “I didn’t think you did.” He found the page he wanted, studied it for a moment, then shut the book smartly and replaced it in his pocket. “I suggest we start at the first Grand Hotel listed, the one that is simply the Grand Hotel, as it is one of the largest hotels in Paris.” He accepted his hat from the butler and stepped toward the door. “There is every possibility we will be lucky and find your cousin firmly established there with not a care in the world, having completely forgotten about details like correspondence.”

“Do you really think so?” The sooner they found Heloise, the sooner India could return to her well-ordered existence.

“I don’t know her as you do, but I do think it’s possible.” A footman opened the door, and Derek waved India through ahead of him. “Not a very likely possibility, but stranger things have happened.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Stranger things certainly had. For one—India had never imagined she’d leave England at all, let alone travel to Paris to stay in a grand manor in the heart of the city with a dashing scoundrel for a host and an even bigger scoundrel by her side.

“Cheer up, India,” Derek said. “Very nearly all the grand hotels are on the Right Bank.”

“Are they near one another then?”

“Not really.” He chuckled. “But at least the haystack hiding our needle is reduced a bit in size.”

Derek hailed a cab and directed the driver to their first stop. Derek’s French was not as precise as hers but was less academic, friendlier perhaps. While she had no problem following the conversation, she decided to allow him to do most of the talking. After all, he had experience visiting other countries whereas she had never stepped foot outside of England.

Perhaps it was some misguided impulse on his part to share those days of his past travel or perhaps he was simply trying to be informative, but he spent the duration of their ride pointing out sights of questionable interest and expounding on the redesigning of the French capital that had begun some twenty or so years ago. From his tone, it was impossible to determine whether he approved of the changes in the city or not. But—in spite of her lack of interest in all things French—India rather liked the newly broadened boulevards and the impressive buildings that blended one into the next, their pale stone facades, matching ironwork and mansard roofs giving the impression of continuation, as if each side of the street was one endless structure. There was a sense of order here that she found both comforting and refreshing.

The first Grand Hotel—the Grand Hotel—was as imposing as its name. It was the same architectural style as the other buildings she’d admired and took up an entire city block. The hotel was highly recommended by Baedeker, the guidebook listing it as one of the most impressive in the city with somewhere between six hundred and seven hundred rooms.

They stepped into the lobby, and it struck India as more a palace than a hotel—not that she’d ever been in either—with a dazzling display of marble and crystal, painted decoration and gilt embellishment. Opulence and grandeur shimmered in the very air around them. This was a setting more befitting a dream than reality. It might well have taken one’s breath away if one was impressed by such an overt exhibit of extravagance and excess. India certainly wasn’t.

“Extraordinary place, isn’t it?” Derek glanced around with a smile. “I read once that it was the largest hotel in the world when it first opened. It might still be.”

“It certainly is grand,” she murmured.

As was the clientele. Judging by the universal air of wealth and importance of the well-dressed guests, they obviously took these ostentatious surroundings as their due. India had never been concerned about fashion. Her serviceable gray wool dress was more than acceptable for her needs. That it was not the latest style had never bothered her. But for the first time in her life—amid the grandeur of the hotel lobby—India felt out of place and more than a little dowdy. As if she should have come in through a servants’ entrance and not the front doors. As much as she tried to dismiss the feeling she couldn’t quite manage. Derek, however, fit right in.

She caught his arm. “I don’t think this is right,” she said in a low voice. “This type of hotel would never suit Heloise.”

“Why not?” He glanced around the lobby. “I think it’s quite impressive.”

“As well as quite expensive.” She shook her head. “The cost of a hotel like this would be well above my cousin’s resources.”

Derek cast her a puzzled look. “Are you sure?”

“Without question,” she said firmly. “This can’t possibly be the right Grand Hotel.”

“Well, we are here now.” Derek nodded toward the registration counter. “The clerk on the end appears to have a good command of English. Why don’t you wait here and I’ll talk to him?”

“Very well.” As there were no other women standing at the counter, it seemed a good idea. Besides, a well-dressed man like Derek would surely get more respect, and therefore more information, than an ordinary woman in serviceable gray wool. “Don’t forget the photograph.” She pulled it out of her bag and handed it to him.