CHAPTER TWELVE
“IT DOES NOT serve your cause to appear quite so grim,” Roz said in an overly casual manner, as if her words were of no particular importance. Which always meant they were.
Dante took a sip of champagne, his gaze on one of the couples swirling around the crowded dance floor in the grand ballroom at the Hotel de Paris. Willie was breathtaking in a pale gold gown that complemented her hair and was entirely too revealing in the front and too low in the back, with gathered sleeves low on her shoulders that left her arms bare except for her gloves. She was dancing with Brookings. Again. “Appearances, my dear sister, are often deceiving.”
“My dear sister? My, you are in a foul mood.”
He glanced at her. Her gaze too was fixed on the dancers or rather on one dancer in particular. Harriet had been partnered with one eager gentleman after another from very nearly the second they’d stepped into the ballroom. Apparently, a popular daughter was as much a curse as a blessing. And while they had no indication that Goodwin was in the vicinity, Roz refused to let the girl out of her sight.
“My mood is fine, thank you. I simply don’t know why we’re here in the first place.” He noted the petulant tone of his voice but he didn’t care. Petulant suited him.
“We’re here because Lord Brookings was kind enough to procure us all invitations.”
“I would dispute the word kind.” At that moment, Brookings must have said something amusing and Willie laughed. Dante’s stomach twisted. “More self-serving I would say.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
He ignored her. “He said it was a small gathering of friends.” In truth, the ballroom was filled to overflowing. “This is scarcely a small gathering.”
“Yet another reason to dislike him.”
“I don’t know him well enough to dislike him.”
And yet he did. Quite a lot really. Dante had thought once they’d left the villa, they’d leave Brookings behind, as well. But every time he turned around, the blasted man was right there by Willie’s side. Right after they’d checked in yesterday, he’d appeared with an invitation for a sail on the yacht of an acquaintance. Dante had declined—he had no desire to spend more time on the water than necessary—but the rest of their party was delighted. Last night Brookings accompanied them to the casino and seemed to take it upon himself to make certain Willie had an enjoyable evening. And indeed, she did appear to be having a good time of it. At least she had laughed a great deal. Far more than Dante deemed necessary.
Even today Brookings had joined them for lunch and when Dante had spotted Willie on the hotel terrace studying her guidebooks and had started toward her, Brookings was there before him. And tonight, Brookings had danced entirely too many dances with her. Not that it mattered. Not that Dante cared. Admittedly, he had thought himself in love with her but upon further consideration, he might have been mistaken. He wanted the Portinari, nothing more.
“You could ask her to dance, you know.”
Dante’s jaw tightened. “I will not play this game again, Roz.”
She looked at him with surprise. “What game?”
“I will not be played for a fool by a woman again.”
Roz stared. “What are you talking about?”
“I know the signs. I have been through this before.” He sipped his wine and wished it was something stronger. “If that’s the kind of man she wants, I will not allow her to use me to make him come up to snuff.”
“That’s what you’ve been thinking?”
“I think it’s obvious.”
“Good Lord.” She snorted back a laugh. “You are an idiot.”
“Thank you for your sisterly support,” he snapped.
“Dante.” She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I find it hard to believe you cannot see what is right in front of your face.”
“I have seen more than enough.”
“Willie is not using you to ensnare him. Quite the opposite really, which you would realize if you weren’t so busy being stuffy and self-righteous.”
“I am neither stuffy nor self-righteous and what do you mean—just the opposite?”
Roz rolled her gaze toward the elaborately carved and painted ceiling. “I mean, my dear brother, that if you hadn’t been keeping your distance, you might have noticed Willie has done absolutely nothing to encourage Lord Brookings. He is an unrepentant flirt but I do believe his interest in her is genuine friendship. Hard to believe such a thing can happen between a man and a woman but there you have it.”
“You still haven’t explained what just the opposite means.”
“Goodness, Dante, Willie Bascombe is not the type of woman who plays silly games with the hearts of men. Frankly, I don’t believe she knows how. She is not Juliet Pauling and she is not trying to use you to make him jealous. Not that you are cooperating the tiniest bit in that.”
“Not bloody likely,” he muttered.
“Nor do I think she is trying to make you jealous by using him.”
He scoffed. “Not that she could.”
She cast him a pitying look. “And yet you are jealous.”
“Hardly.”
“As I said, while she has not encouraged him, Brookings is a man with a mind of his own. I suspect he thinks he is helping her by making you jealous.”
“I already told you, I am not—”
“Of course you are. Any fool can see it.” She paused. “Except perhaps Willie, who is too busy wondering why you have been cold and remote and not at all pleasant toward her. Why you seemed quite taken with her one day and scarcely spoke to her the next.”
“Rubbish. I have been unfailingly polite.” Admittedly, every time Brookings made a move toward Willie, Dante took a step back in both manner and proximity. He couldn’t seem to help himself.
“You have been an ass.”
“Regardless, I refuse to play these sorts of games,” he said coolly. “I simply want the Portinari and that will be that.”
“You poor, stupid man.” Sympathy sounded in his sister’s voice. “Somewhere in your quest to become her friend you have fallen in love with the woman.”
His jaw clenched. It was pointless to deny it. He had thought exactly the same thing.
“I saw you kiss her,” she said reluctantly. “At Notre Dame. I dropped my glove on the top step and returned for it. I couldn’t help but see the two of you.”
“It was a mere kiss, Roz. Nothing more than that.”
She scoffed. “It was far more than a mere kiss.”
“You watched?”
“No, of course not. Well, not for long anyway. It was completely inadvertent on my part and hardly more than a glimpse. But it was most impressive.” She shook her head. “I had no idea my stuffy, proper brother could be so—”
“That’s enough, Roz.”
“That was not the kind of kiss a man like you gives a woman he does not love. Nor does a woman kiss a man in return the way she did without sharing his feelings.”
“You gathered that from a glimpse?”
“It was more than enough.”
“Rubbish. As I said, it was only a kiss. Do not make it into more than it was.” Even as he said the words, he knew it was a lie and suspected his sister knew, as well. She’d always been annoyingly intuitive about such things. And as much as he had tried to tell himself in the last few days that he was mistaken about his feelings, that he didn’t love Willie, that too was a lie.
“You needn’t deny how you feel.” Roz shrugged. “I saw it coming from almost the first moment you met. And we have all noticed, with the exception of Willie herself perhaps. Even the girls have mentioned it. Dante.” She paused and placed her hand on his sleeve. “I have never seen you so, well, happy as you have been since you met her. There is a joy about you that has been missing for a long time. I feared that nastiness with Miss Pauling, your dedication to your business and the museum, and your tendency toward propriety and following rules and doing what was expected had snuffed that out in you. She has brought it back.”
His sister was right. Willie was not at all the kind of woman he ever thought he wanted. Her reputation was not above reproach, her education was questionable, her family connections minimal. But she was amusing and clever, determined and reluctantly independent. And she made him feel as if life itself was an adventure. The woman had worked her way into his heart and it would never be the same again. “While I am not saying you’re right,” he said slowly, “what would you suggest I do?”
“You’re asking for my advice? Again?”
“Apparently.” He summoned a wry smile.
“Very well.” She thought for a moment. “First, stop acting like a spoiled child. If you want her, go after her. Pursue her as you would a new acquisition for the museum or a coveted business arrangement. Or in the manner in which you tried to gain her friendship. That seemed to be working quite nicely.”
“What if she doesn’t share my feelings?” He met his sister’s gaze. “What am I to do then?”
“Quite honestly, I don’t know.” She shook her head. “But I do know, dear brother, if you do nothing you may well lose a chance—perhaps your only chance—at true happiness.”
“You could be entirely wrong, you know.”
“Good Lord, Dante. We are here in one of the premier gambling centers of the world. Allow some of that to rub off on you. Take a chance. Try your luck. Can you feel any worse than you do now?”
“Probably.”
“Nonsense.” She scanned the dancers. “This dance is nearly over and I know for a fact Lord Brookings is to dance with Harriet next. Which means Willie is free to dance with you. I suggest you take advantage of the opportunity.”
“Very well.” He adjusted his cuffs.
“And for goodness’ sake, do try to be pleasant and charming.” She met his gaze firmly. “Try to be the man you were in Paris. The man who kissed her on the top of a cathedral.”
He raised a brow. “More advice, Roz?”
“And excellent advice it is too.” She nodded at the dance floor. The music had ended and couples were dispersing. “Now go, before you lose your opportunity and someone else claims this dance.”
He started toward Willie.
“You’re quite welcome,” Roz called after him.
A minute later he met Willie and Brookings coming off the dance floor.
“Lady Bascombe,” he began in a manner far more formal than he wished. “May I have the honor of the next dance?”
A slight frown creased her forehead. “I’m not sure I wish to dance another dance at the moment.”
“Don’t be absurd—of course you do,” Brookings said firmly. “You are in for a treat, Mr. Montague. Lady Bascombe is an accomplished dancer.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed.”
“Have you?” Willie’s tone was cool.
“I should have asked before now. However, if you would prefer not to—”
“Nonsense. She was just saying how long it had been since she’d danced and how very much she missed it,” Brookings said with a confident smile. “And I have the next dance with a lovely young woman whose mother does not see me as a suitable match. Exactly the kind I prefer.” He grinned at Willie. “I’m confident I leave you in excellent hands, my dear.” He nodded at Dante and took his leave.
“Shall we?” Dante said and Willie stepped into his arms.
A sedate waltz began and they danced together with an ease that belied the tension between them. In spite of the pleasure of having her again in his arms, his doubts overshadowed his sister’s words. He had no idea what to say or where to start and was shocked to realize he was afraid to say anything at all. Rationally, he suspected Roz was right about Willie and Brookings. But his feelings were an entirely different matter. He’d been horribly humiliated by a woman once. He would not let it happen again.
She drew a deep breath and stared up at him. “Are you angry with me? Have I done something to offend you?”
“No.” He paused. “And my apologies if I have given you that impression.”
“I don’t see what other impression I could have.”
“Again, I am sorry.”
He led her through a complicated turn and she followed his lead flawlessly.
“Are we to dance the entire dance without saying another word to each other?” Willie asked at last.
“I’m not sure what to say.”
“I find that hard to believe.” She heaved a resigned sigh. “Very well then.” She adopted a brilliant smile. “I find the weather here to be delightful. So warm and sunny and quite unlike England at this time of year.”
“Well, we are on a southern coast.”
“There is that.” She sighed and a moment later tried again. “It’s a lovely evening, don’t you think?”
“The others seem to be enjoying it. My sister has run into a few people she knows.”
“It was quite thoughtful of Lord Brookings to secure us invitations.”
He scoffed.
“You don’t think it was thoughtful of him?” Her words were measured.
A tiny voice of reason in the back of his head—a voice that hadn’t said a word in recent days—warned him to tread carefully. He ignored it. “I think Lord Brookings’s motives are suspect.”
Her eyes widened. “What on earth do you mean by that?”
“I don’t like the way he is always fawning over you,” he said in a lofty manner.
“Lord Brookings?” Disbelief rang in her voice.
“Is there someone else fawning over you?”
“You certainly haven’t,” she said sharply. “And he has not been not been fawning over me. Val is an old and dear friend.”
He snorted.
“Clever answer, Mr. Montague. Why use words when you can simply grunt in disdain. And why do you care who fawns over me?”
“You know why I care,” he said through clenched teeth.
“On the contrary, I don’t believe I do. I thought I did. I thought were we both quite clear as to our...feelings in Paris. Now...”
“Now the dashing Lord Brookings is here and you have bigger fish to fry.” He regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth.
“I beg your pardon.” She stared. “Do you really think that?”
“I don’t know what to think.” He knew better than to continue but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Ever since we’ve been in Monte Carlo, you have shown little interest in being in anyone else’s company.”
“That not the least bit true.” Her voice rose. “What is true is that you have made absolutely no effort to be in mine.”
“I had no desire to be used by yet another woman!”
“And you think that’s what I’m doing?” Fire sparked in her eyes. “How dare you!”
“I have been down this path before. I recognize it when I see it.”
“You see absolutely nothing!”
There were any number of things he could say, any number he should say, but anger and betrayal and humiliation and all those other feelings Juliet had provoked rushed through him even as that tiny voice—now sounding suspiciously like his sister’s—pointed out Willie Bascombe was not Juliet Pauling.
The music drew to a close before he could summon a response. At once Willie moved out of his arms and stepped back as if she couldn’t wait to put distance between them.
“We leave for Italy in the morning.” Her voice quivered with anger. “Good evening, Mr. Montague.” With that she nodded and made her way out of the ballroom.
For a moment he could only stare after her. What on earth had just happened? What had he done? Regret lodged in his throat. How could he have said any of that to her? He turned and stalked off the floor barely noticing Marian and Jane approach.
“That did not go well, did it, Mr. Montague?” Jane pinned him with a hard look.
Marian shook her head. “We expected better from you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said evenly.
“Come now.” Jane gave him the same kind of look his sister had. Pity mixed with disbelief. “We watched the two of you.”
“We were hoping you would do something about the terrible way you’ve been acting.” Marian studied him as if he were a disappointing child. “Silly of us but we did assume that would take the form of an apology or an explanation or something of that nature. But given the looks on your faces, you did not come up to our expectations.”
“Forgive me, ladies, for pointing this out,” he said in a hard tone, “but this is none of your concern.”
“Willie is our friend.” Marian raised her chin. “Which makes this our concern.”
Jane glared. “We will not stand idly by and watch you break her heart.”
There was no point in arguing with them. It was obvious this was a fight he could not win. Especially since they were right.
“What did you do?” Jane demanded.
“I may have said some things that were, well, not what I intended to say.” He blew a long breath.
“Then your sister is right.” Marian flicked a disgusted gaze over him. “You are an idiot.”
“No one knows that better than I.” He rubbed his hand over his forehead.
“Let me ask you one thing.” Jane considered him closely. “Do you have feelings for her?”
“Do you love her?” Marian said bluntly.
Dante’s gaze shifted between the women. Apparently, not only were they Willie’s friends but they had, as well, taken on the role of older sisters. His.
“Yes.” He threw up his hands in surrender. “Yes, I do. I admit it. And I further admit I was wrong. About everything.” Why wasn’t it as clear to him a few moments ago as it seemed to be now? Perhaps his sister and the Americans were right. Maybe he really was an idiot. “I will apologize to her. I’ll do so first thing in the morning. I’ll tell her what a fool I’ve been. I’ll beg her forgiveness. Even grovel if I must.”
The ladies traded glances.
“That will not do.” Jane shook her head. “Morning will be too late.”
“The more she thinks about what you said, the worse it will be for you. The last thing you want is for her to retire with the vile things you said on her mind.” Marian arched a brow. “And judging from the way she left, I assume they were vile?”
He winced. “I’m afraid so.”
Marian huffed. “Then you need to go after her.”
He hesitated.
“Go.” Jane waved toward the door.
“Very well.” He turned to go then turned back. “Thank you both for your help.”
“Now!” Jane snapped.
Dante headed for the grand lobby and the lifts. Willie was probably back in her room by now. He had no idea exactly what he was going to say to her. He would apologize, of course, and beg her forgiveness. He would indeed grovel and do whatever else was necessary, which probably included explaining why he had acted as he had. He’d thought he had put that business with Juliet behind him. He hadn’t been in love with her after all. But apparently, aside from damaging his pride and holding him up to public ridicule, she had destroyed his ability to trust. At least when it came to women.
He hadn’t been the least bit fair to Willie. He should have known better. Roz had pointed out that Willie wasn’t Juliet and he knew that. Logically and rationally and indeed until Brookings’s arrival he wouldn’t have thought she was. Willie was a woman he could trust. With his life. With his heart. But would she be willing to trust him? After everything he had said?
Dante reached her door and summoned his courage. He’d never been one to jump to conclusions and rarely made errors in judgment of any kind. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to admit he was wrong. But apparently love played havoc not only with one’s heart but one’s head, as well. He’d never been in this situation before, never played for stakes this high, and was under no illusion it would be easy. But it was the price one paid for utter and complete stupidity. And a small price to pay to keep Willie in his life. For now and forever.
He drew a deep breath, braced himself and knocked.