The Lady Travelers Guide To Larceny With A Dashing Stranger. Victoria Alexander

stood behind her, also dark haired and quite pretty with a resigned look on her face.

      “It most definitely is me.” Willie drew her brows together in confusion. “I do apologize but have we met?”

      “Once but it was a long time ago and I daresay you probably won’t remember as I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been reminded.”

      “Oh well...” Willie shook her head. “I am sorry but you have me at a disadvantage.”

      “Of course I do, and it’s terribly rude of me. I just said you wouldn’t remember me and now I’m expecting you to do just that. Obviously it’s now my turn to apologize to you.” She smiled. “I’m Lady Richfield and this is my daughter, Lady Harriet Blake.”

      “You’re not American?” Willie stared.

      “Not to my knowledge.”

      “I see. I had no idea. I was told the tour was comprised of American ladies and their daughters so I wasn’t expecting a fellow countryman.” She glanced at her list of names. “Your names are registered simply as R. Richfield and daughter, which I fear is due to the extreme efficiency of Miss Granville of the Lady Travelers Society.”

      “Ah yes, the American. She met us at the front of the station and arranged for our bags to be taken care of.” Lady Bascombe lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “Do you think all Americans are that efficient?”

      Willie’s thoughts flashed to the ladies already in the train car. “Oh, I doubt it.”

      “Good.” Lady Richfield nodded. “I have never been the least bit efficient and I frankly find myself somewhat suspicious of those women who are.”

      Willie grinned. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

      “So...” Lady Richfield glanced around. “Should we be getting on board?”

      “Yes, of course. Everyone else has arrived with the exception—” Willie checked her list “—of D. Montague. I thought she was part of your party but she’s not with you?”

      “D. Montague should be here any moment.” A slightly wicked spark shone in Lady Harriet’s eyes. “So this tour is for mothers and daughters? Only mothers and daughters?”

      “I don’t believe it was restricted to mothers and daughters,” Willie said slowly, “but it is my understanding that our members are made up only of mothers and daughters. And aside from museums and galleries, the itinerary includes a number of things females tend to enjoy that men merely tolerate—shopping and theater and gardens and the like.”

      “That’s what I thought,” Lady Harriet said in an overly sweet manner.

      “Harriet, dear girl, why don’t you go on and find our seats.” A firm note sounded in Lady Richfield’s voice. “You’ll have to forgive my daughter. She was not especially eager to come on the tour.”

      “But, Mother, I have changed my mind. I now see how very wrong I was.” An innocent smile curved the girl’s lips.

      Lady Richfield’s eyes narrowed. “No more than two days ago you were moaning about how your life was over if you were forced to leave London.”

      “Any number of things can change in two days, Mother. I came to the realization that opportunities like this don’t often come along. The chance to go to Paris as well as Venice? Why, it would be quite silly of me not to go. Besides, we’ll be gone less than a month. Goodness, Mother, my life can’t possibly be over because I’m gone a mere month.” Lady Harriet cast her mother a chastising look.

      Suspicion colored Lady Richfield’s eyes. “I believe that was my point.”

      “And now I agree with you. You should be happy, Mother.”

      “And yet...” Lady Richfield studied her daughter.

      Lady Harriet stepped up into the car and glanced down at them with a satisfied grin. A bit too satisfied. This was another young woman who would bear watching. “I think this is going to be a grand adventure. Truly an experience to remember.”

      “As do I, Lady Harriet,” Willie said with an encouraging nod.

      “Oh, do call her Harriet. Use of a title might be awkward with the American girls.” Lady Richfield pulled her gaze from the car door. “Do you have daughters, Lady Bascombe?”

      “I’m afraid not. Someday perhaps.”

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

      Willie grinned. “Surely not.”

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

      Willie laughed.

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

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

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

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

      “Oh, definitely English.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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