“As much as a nicely broiled chicken or a well-poached piece of salmon does sound tempting, I would prefer to send my telegram first.” She set her jaw in the stubborn manner he was already beginning to recognize.

“And then we can eat?”

She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Yes.”

“Excellent.” He pulled out his guidebook, flipped to a listing of telegraph offices, then directed the driver to the one closest. A few minutes later, he helped India out of the cab. “Should I go in with you?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” She considered the door to the telegraph office with the same look a general might have when preparing for battle. “My French is excellent, and I shouldn’t have any problems.”

“Very well then.” The cafés and restaurants on either side of the street appeared acceptable. The neighborhood was more than respectable and seemed to be frequented as much by tourists and foreigners as Parisians. He gestured at the restaurant to the right of the office. “I shall obtain a table and wait for you there.”

She nodded, squared her shoulders slightly—not really necessary as her posture was never less than perfect—and strode into the office. Derek rather pitied the poor clerk inside.

He procured an outdoor table—not too close to the street and the gutter—ordered a carafe of the house wine and two glasses. It had been a good five years or so since he had last been in Paris but, aside from the construction that had been ongoing in the city for decades, very little had changed. Cafés had always been an excellent way to observe the inhabitants of the French capital. It was easy to differentiate between native Parisians passing by, their manner unhurried and relaxed as if they relished in the savoring of life itself, and the tourists that flocked here to see the sights—their expressions intent and determined. As if they hadn’t a moment to waste in their quest to visit the Louvre and the Cathedral of Notre Dame and all else Paris offered, and no doubt they probably hadn’t. Lady Heloise was wise to plan an extended stay here, although it would certainly help if she had determined in advance just how long she intended that stay to be. In spite of the lax nature of the travel plans prepared for Lady Heloise by the Lady Travelers Society, there was something here that made no sense. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. But then, in his experience, women rarely made a great deal of sense. An annoying trait that tended to increase with age. His mother and Aunt Guinevere were sterling examples of that.

“Is that for me?”

Derek jumped to his feet. He hadn’t seen India coming, an error on his part. It didn’t seem wise to allow this woman to catch him unawares. He pulled out her chair and she sat down. “You mean the wine?”

“Yes.” She eyed the still-empty glass.

“Indeed it is.” He took his seat and filled her glass. “I would have ordered for you, but I didn’t know if you really did prefer fish to chicken.”

“In this particular case, I should probably allow you to select for me as you are familiar with the food in this country and I am not.” She slid the glass away. “And I told you, I do not drink wine in the middle of the day.”

“Actually, you said nothing of the sort.” He pushed the glass back toward her. “You did, however, imply there was something improper about a glass of wine in the middle of the day.”

“And indeed—” she slid the glass toward him again “—there is.”

“Not in Paris.” He moved the glass back. “Do you ever loosen your corset, India? Ever?”

Her eyes widened. “My corset is none of your concern! I daresay, even in Paris, one does not discuss one’s corset with a gentleman. Of course a gentleman would never bring up such a subject in the first place.”

“Certainly not with you.”

“I shall take that as a compliment,” she said in a lofty manner, picked up the glass and took a healthy sip.

He resisted the urge to grin with triumph. There was something about annoying India Prendergast that was very nearly irresistible.

“If you are hoping to see me intoxicated, I assure you your efforts are in vain.” She smirked. “I frequently have wine with dinner.”

He laughed. “And I assure you, that is the farthest thing from my mind. I was hoping for no more than an enjoyable meal and equally enjoyable company.”

“I doubt that you have found my company enjoyable thus far.”

“You have a great deal on your mind.” He signaled to a waiter and ordered them both a delicious-looking chicken stew he’d spotted at another table. “It’s to be expected really that you would be preoccupied. You’re worried about your cousin.”

“Thank you,” she said when the waiter left. “I am concerned. Heloise has never traveled anywhere, and she has a tendency to be a bit flighty and impractical. She’s always been something of a dreamer.”

“I imagine you are practical enough for the two of you.”

“There is nothing wrong with being practical. Or sensible. I see the world as it is, Derek. Not as I wish it would be.”

“How do you wish it would be?”

She stared at him. “I am perfectly happy with the world as it is.”

“Your cousin wished to travel. Surely you have dreams, as well?”

“Not really.” She thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“I find that hard to believe. Even the most content among us has something they would wish for.”

“I might ask you the same thing. What do you dream of? What do you want?”

“I want not to disappoint,” he said without thinking, but the moment the words left his lips he wished he could take them back.

“Not to disappoint who?”

“Anyone, everyone.” He resisted the urge to squirm in his seat. This was entirely too...revealing. He wasn’t sure why he’d admitted this in the first place, and to her of all people. Of course, he hadn’t known what he’d wanted at all until the words had come out, an unanticipated revelation that bore further scrutiny but not at the moment. And not with India.

“Come now, Derek,” she said mildly. “I daresay not being a disappointment is what everyone wants. It’s like wanting to be good instead of bad.”

“I shall make you a bargain, India.” He leaned forward slightly and stared into her eyes. “If you will not belittle my wishes, then I will not disparage the fact that you have none.”

Her cheeks colored. Guilt stabbed him. He ignored it and changed the subject. “Tell me more about your cousin.”

“Why?” she said with as much relief as distrust. She was obviously as uncomfortable with the turn their conversation had taken as he.

“You needn’t be so suspicious, I simply think knowing as much as I can about her might be helpful.”

“I can’t imagine it would hurt.”

“Then I am right.” He grinned. “Again.”

“Savor it, Derek, as it is so rare.”

He laughed. “I take it your cousin is somewhat frugal.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Do you intend to be wary of every question I ask?”

“Probably,” she said coolly and lifted her glass to her lips. He would have wagered she did so to hide a smile.

“You were surprised at the first Grand Hotel we visited.”

She nodded. “Heloise does not squander her money. She has a very limited income—only a trust left to her by her father. He was the Earl of Crenfield, a title that went to a distant relative along with most of the family’s wealth and property. Heloise was left a house in London and a trust that provides a modest annual income.”

“Oh?” Modest was not the word he would use.

“She became my guardian when my parents died. I was eleven at the time. My parents left a small sum in savings, which went toward my education. Heloise provided the rest. She is most generous, but her income is minimal.” She paused. “I would hate to be a burden on her.”

“Which explains why you chose to seek employment.”

“I suppose it does.” She took another sip of her wine. “But I enjoy my financial independence. I daresay, even if Heloise had a huge fortune, I suspect I would want to do something other than sit around and embroider or watercolor.”

“You could wed,” he said in an offhand manner.

“I’ve never met a man I could imagine shackling myself to for the rest of my days.” She shuddered. “I can’t think of a worse fate.”

“Have you no desire for love?”

“Love, Derek, at least the romantic kind, is the height of irrational, illogical, foolish absurdity. And romance is nothing more than a silly lure for love. People live for love or die for love, or the lack of it. They write bad poetry over it and make worse decisions. Love makes people forget their responsibilities and do imbecilic things. No indeed.” She shook her head with a bit more vehemence than was necessary, but that might have been the wine. “I have never been the least bit enamored of love nor do I intend to be. And I realized years ago that some of us are simply not suited for marriage.”

“Oh?”

“I would think a successful marriage—at least the only kind I would consider—would require a certain amount of compromise. I have never even heard of a man who is willing to compromise, especially not when it comes to marriage.” She wrinkled her nose in a delightfully unguarded manner. “And I have never been good at compromise.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “No!”

She ignored him. “I simply see no reason to compromise when I am right. And I am always right.”

He laughed. Before he could debate her statement, their food arrived. The chicken and vegetable dish cooked in a rich wine sauce was as good as it had looked, and they were both too busy enjoying the tasty cuisine to say much of anything beyond murmurs of appreciation and satisfaction.

“Might I ask who you were so adamant about telegraphing?” he said when they were nearly finished.