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

grinned. “And there might have been bribery involved.”

      “I see.” Relief and freedom washed over her as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Certainly they’d only been traveling for less than a day but it was surprisingly exhausting and she could see where it might possibly be, now and then, a little more difficult than expected. Although, aside from a few minutes when they were transferring from the boat to the train at Calais and Harriet had wandered off, all had gone remarkably well.

      “I, however, did not wish to miss the illumination of the tallest structure man has ever built,” he said firmly. “We are living in a remarkable age, Lady Bascombe. There is much to be said for progress.”

      “Indeed there is.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this excited. It was all she could do to keep from bouncing in her seat. “I suspect it will be most impressive.” A fact from one of the articles she’d read conveniently presented itself. “But it’s not just lit by electricity, you know.”

      “No?” His tone was serious but mild amusement shone in his eyes.

      She ignored it. “It was entirely beyond the capabilities of, well, anyone to light it completely by means of electricity so most of the lighting is gas.” She tried not to smirk with triumph. It wasn’t easy.

      “Except for the light projectors at the very top of the structure,” he said in an offhand manner. “The ones that are colored white, red and blue.”

      What projectors? Willie couldn’t recall anything about colored electric lights. “Oh yes, I was about to mention that.”

      “It should add an interesting touch to what is already a spectacular accomplishment.”

      “The tower you mean?”

      He nodded. “This year at least it might well be the most recognizable symbol of Paris. I am quite looking forward to seeing it.”

      “Forgive me for pointing this out, but we’ve seen it ever since we stepped foot in Paris. One can’t help but see it. It looms over the entire city.”

      “You’re right. I simply meant seeing it closer.”

      “Yes, of course.” She summoned a bright smile. “I agree completely. And seeing it illuminated will be that much more impressive.”

      “But then there are so many well-known sights in Paris.” He waved at the passing scenery. If Willie wasn’t mistaken, they were currently passing the Place de la Concorde, marked by an Egyptian obelisk in the center. Which meant the Tuileries Garden were on their left. “Which is your favorite, Lady Bascombe?”

      “Notre Dame,” she said without hesitation. It was the first thing that popped into her head. In truth, she’d been so busy preparing to take on the role of experienced traveler, she’d paid no attention to those things she would like to see for herself. She couldn’t recall if the cathedral was on their schedule or not. Regardless, she would like to see it with her own eyes. And in spite of Miss Granville’s dire warnings, schedules could indeed change without mishap or calamity.

      “Really?” He studied her curiously. “I wouldn’t have thought you to be an enthusiast of gothic architecture. Flying buttresses and gargoyles and the like.”

      “Come now, Mr. Montague. Who can possibly resist the appeal of a well-executed flying buttress and a terrifying medieval gargoyle?”

      “Who indeed?” He grinned. “Still, I assumed you were more progressive in nature. Looking toward the future, new inventions and—”

      “It’s the story,” she blurted then sighed. “About the hunchback.”

      “Monsieur Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre-Dame?”

      She nodded. “I read it when I was a girl and to this day I cannot read it without weeping.” Even now the oddest lump formed in her throat. “It’s the saddest, most wonderful story I’ve ever read.”

      “I understand why you think it sad,” he said slowly, “and I agree with you. And while it is certainly well written, why do you think it wonderful? There was torture, betrayal, wickedness, persecution of the innocent and evil. I’ve always thought it was dreadfully dire and gloomy.”

      “It is that but ultimately it’s about love. Undying and endless and true. There is no better story than that.”

      “No, I suppose not.”

      “You look surprised, Mr. Montague. Why?”

      “I did not expect you to be quite such a—”

      “Reader of classic literature?”

      “No, I didn’t mean—”

      “Perhaps you thought I only read novels of adventure or romance?”

      “That’s not—”

      “Those offerings that are considered frivolous and not of serious literary merit?”

      “Not at all. I simply meant—”

      “I know exactly what you meant, Mr. Montague.” Willie wasn’t at all sure why she found this so annoying. In truth, she did indeed prefer more frivolous reading material. Novels and stories that were, well, fun and enjoyable rather than tedious as she considered so many classic works. “And perhaps we should add a discussion of The Hunchback—” which she should probably reread “—to our talk about the Divine Comedy—” which she should definitely read “—which I am most looking forward to.”

      He stared.

      “What is it now, Mr. Montague? Did you think a woman like myself, a woman you called legendary, based on nothing more than rumor and gossip, I might add, would not appreciate things like fine literature? That she wouldn’t have a brain in her head? Because I assure you I do.”

      The cab drew to a halt at the Champs de Mars and he helped her out of the cab.

      “Have I stunned you into silence, Mr. Montague?” A distinct touch of remorse stabbed her. Perhaps she was being just the tiniest bit too sensitive. But she’d had to use her mind since George’s death and, as she had no one to do it for her, she’d had to come up with a plan for her future survival. And she’d done a decent job of it. Admittedly, no one was more surprised than she to discover she was far more intelligent than anyone, including herself, had ever given her credit for. But then it had never been necessary before.

      “My apologies, Lady Bascombe,” he said slowly, “if I implied in any way that I thought you were less than brilliant. I assure you, that is not the case. Indeed, the moment we met, I thought to myself, That is a woman who is as clever as she is lovely.”

      “That’s absurd.” She scoffed. “I didn’t sound the least bit clever when we met.”

      “And yet I thought you were.” He offered his arm. “And I am an excellent judge of character.”

      She took his arm and sighed. “You’re being extraordinarily nice.”

      “I am extraordinarily nice.” He steered her through the crowded plaza. “As you will soon discover.”

      “Will I?”

      He slanted her a distinctly wicked grin. “I intend to see that you do.”

      “That’s sounds vaguely like a challenge. Or a threat.”

      “It’s a promise, Lady Bascombe. I wish to be friends and I intend to do everything I can to make certain you see my finer points no later than Venice.”

      “I would not be confident of that if I were you.”

      “Oh, but I am. Confidence goes hand in hand with extraordinarily nice.”

      “No doubt.” Willie glanced around. “I must say, I didn’t expect the crowd to be this large.” The plaza was packed with people milling and jostling about to get a better view. Although really, as Mr. Eiffel’s