“Not a great deal, no.” And by great deal she meant none. But everyone knew men like Derek did not marry women like her. No matter how much of a romantic they considered themselves. “This is ridiculous.”

“You’re right, and I do apologize.” Although he didn’t sound the least bit remorseful. “It was nothing more than an exercise in possibilities. And whether you wish to believe it or not, there are few things I like better than a rousing debate with a lovely, intelligent woman. I know I enjoyed it.”

“Well, I did not,” she said sharply. “And I do wish you would stop trying to charm your way past my—”

“Reluctance to so much as hint that you might find life even a tiny bit amusing?”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” She paused. “But perhaps. And you needn’t keep calling me lovely. I am well aware of how very ordinary I am.”

“My dear Miss Prendergast.” Genuine surprise shone in his eyes. “The first time I met you, you were sitting upright in a bed, your face flushed, your hair tousled. Those captivating green eyes sparkled with indignation. You were wearing something delightfully naughty—and vaguely familiar—with the covers clutched up to your neck and a plate of croissants in your lap. You were very nearly irresistible.”

She stared at him for a long moment. “Are you mad?”

“I daresay, I have rarely been more sane.”

“Well...” She had no idea how to respond. She’d never thought of herself as anything other than distinctly average. “Thank you?”

“Of course, after that morning you insisted on wearing that dreadful gray thing day after day.” He shivered. “You may not realize it, but while Mrs. Greer’s clothes tend to be a bit brighter and somewhat fussier than is my personal preference in lady’s garments, they do show off your estimable assets.”

She stared. “I have assets?”

He frowned in disbelief. “Has no one ever said this to you before?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Perhaps when one is appreciated for her efficiency and intelligence, no one is concerned about the rest of her.” He shrugged. “Pity.”

“Assets,” she murmured. She rather liked that.

“And you’re doing something—” he gestured at her head “—different with your hair. It’s not as...clenched.”

She patted her hair and resisted the urge to tuck away the tendrils of curls now drifting around her face. “Suzette has been doing my hair.”

“I should have known.” He studied her with a critical eye. “It’s quite flattering. You should continue to wear it that way.”

“Perhaps,” she said weakly. Lord Brookings was an outrageous flirt, but he did seem sincere. She’d stopped being concerned about her appearance years ago. In hindsight, perhaps that was a mistake.

The bong of the dinner bell reverberated through the house. “And there’s the call for dinner.” He offered his arm.

She hadn’t realized it was so late. She sighed and took his arm. “You haven’t fully answered my questions.”

“I know. Wicked of me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was. My only concern is to lend Mr. Saunders my assistance.” Derek Saunders might well be a scoundrel, but he might be worth redeeming.

“In what?”

“In becoming the man I believe he wants to be.” And hadn’t Derek said so himself? Hadn’t he said his desire in life was not to disappoint?

“In becoming his father.”

“His father?” India released his arm and took a step back. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I never met the man, of course, but from what I’ve heard, Derek’s father was one of those people who was respected by everyone.”

“I can’t imagine anyone not liking Derek,” she said firmly. “He’s quite charming and...personable.”

“Henry, Derek’s father, was brilliant and competent and responsible. He and his brother, the earl, were twins, although not identical, and apparently quite fond of each other. Not always the case between the heir and the spare, you know. It’s my understanding Henry worked closely with his brother in all matters pertaining to the family’s interests. Furthermore, there was never a hint of anything disreputable associated with Henry Saunders. Unless, of course—and this is hearsay mind you—one considers the uproar over his marriage to Mother.”

“His family didn’t approve?”

“As I said, this is just something I’ve picked up through the years. Nothing more than gossip really.”

“Go on.”

“Why, Miss Prendergast,” he chastised. “I had no idea you were so fond of gossip.”

“Something that happened thirty some years ago is no longer gossip but more in the realm of history,” she said in a lofty manner.

“Interesting way you have of bending the rules.” He chuckled. “I shall have to remember that.”

“Now, if you would be so kind as to finish the story.”

“Apparently, Mother’s family was not as prosperous as it had once been. Her father was a viscount who’d had some disastrous setbacks due to—oh, let’s call it bad investments, shall we?”

“Investments?”

“Of a speculative nature. Gambling, Miss Prendergast.”

“Oh.” She stared. “I see.”

“Still, the family name was respectable enough.” He paused. “Until of course, Henry and Mother ran off together.”

Surprise widened her eyes. “Oh?”

“Which certainly wouldn’t have caused the kind of gossip that lingers through the years except, of course, for the tiny problem that Henry was supposed to marry her older sister.” He lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “The way I heard the story, someone left someone at the altar.”

“Who?” She knew she shouldn’t be quite this eager to hear the sordid details, but it was a very long time ago. Which did indeed make it less like gossip and more like history.

“I have no idea.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, the details are murky at that point.”

“That is unfortunate,” she murmured.

“Miss Prendergast! You astound me. I never imagined you to be interested in such rubbish.” Laughter sparked in his eyes. “Tsk, tsk.”

“I’m not interested in gossip,” she said. “I am simply interested in helping Mr. Saunders.”

“Of course you are.”

“As his friend.”

“Perhaps you are, at that.” His lordship studied her for a long moment. “You asked about his finances.” He offered his arm again, and she placed her hand on the inside of his elbow. “Derek has always received a substantial allowance from his uncle. And has always gone through it with rapt abandon so he is continually on the verge of having nothing at all.” Once again they started toward the door. “In recent months, however, he’s seemed quite solvent. Frugal living, no doubt.”

“No doubt.” Her heart sank. Derek’s solvency coincided with the success of the Lady Travelers Society. Which did seem proof of his misdeeds. Still, even a good man could be led astray. The strangest idea was nibbling at the back of her mind.

“I hold Derek in great affection, Miss Prendergast. You should know that.” There was the vaguest hint of a threat in his words.

“That is good to know.”

“You should also know—” he grinned “—I am far wiser than I would appear.”

“One can only hope, Percy, one can only hope.”


CHAPTER FIFTEEN


It is not uncommon for a lady traveler, especially one who is inexperienced, to find herself feeling like a different person altogether when in completely new surroundings. One must decide for oneself whether to embrace that or disregard it.

—The Lady Travelers Society Guide


INDIA WASN’T FEELING at all her usual self but lighter somehow, not quite as somber. As if a weight had lifted. Ridiculous notion, of course. She hadn’t changed, not in any significant way. Nonetheless, two days ago she’d borrowed another woman’s overly fussy clothing and resolved to be a better person. On the very same day she’d ignored caution to accost a stranger in the streets with the best of intentions and had been told by a dashing scoundrel that he’d had thoughts of kissing her. Yesterday, a handsome rogue had claimed she had assets. And today, while the reflection looking back from her mirror did not seem especially changed, she was decidedly different. Oddly enough, she didn’t seem to mind.

The blame could be placed on Paris itself. The city’s legendary charms might well be too much even for a sensible woman like India to resist. Or perhaps Derek was to blame, although she couldn’t imagine ever fully trusting the man. Still, like the city, his charm was difficult to ignore completely. Nor could she fault his deportment. He was at all times a gentleman aside from a momentary lapse when he had asked for a kiss. She had nearly put that nonsense out of her head altogether. Furthermore, he had not brought up their misadventure in Montmartre, and she was eternally grateful.

It was also hard to ignore how unfailingly pleasant the man was to very nearly everyone. He gave Professor Greer the deference due his position, and it was obvious the professor held him in great affection in return. He flirted outrageously—but not at all seriously—with Estelle, who obviously adored his attentions. And he treated the servants politely and respectfully, as if they were social equals. The ways in which Derek’s character was admirable were adding up.

Even so, the man was not to be trusted. There was the matter of his improved finances, after all. And he was definitely hiding something. There was a telegram he’d received that he’d failed to mention. Logically, she realized it might have nothing to do with Heloise, but it was the same day she’d overheard Derek and the professor agree to keep some sort of secret. One would have to be blind not to put two and two together. Still, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep in mind that Derek was the mastermind behind the Lady Travelers Society and, as such, was taking advantage of the desires of older women for the adventure to be found in travel. But God help her, she liked him. And liking him was accompanied by a few startling revelations.