CHAPTER ELEVEN
WILLIE COULD HONESTLY SAY she had no real idea of where they were.
The convent was just past the outskirts of Monte Carlo—and probably in France as Monaco was so tiny—but it did seem the carriages took them back the way they had come although they could have been going in circles for all she knew. Even though the drive from the convent was brief, the sun had set by the time the group arrived at the villa. It was difficult to get a good look but it did seem most impressive, appearing as much castle as villa. Built of stone and plaster, it had a whimsical look to it yet was still elegant and quite grand. The building perched on the edge of a cliff and the sounds of the surf could be heard in the distance. Willie wouldn’t feel the least bit guilty here.
“Now, this,” Harriet said with a satisfied nod, “is indeed an adventure.”
The other girls murmured their agreement.
They were greeted by a butler, or rather a majordomo, who introduced himself as Monsieur Pennier, and were given rooms in what he called the guest wing. Willie’s was spacious and charming, decorated in shades of blue reminiscent of the sea with a high ceiling, glass doors leading to a balcony and a four-poster bed that fairly screamed decadence and comfort. She fully planned to take complete advantage of it.
There was nothing on their schedule for the evening, although Willie suspected Miss Granville had understood that after more than sixteen hours on a train—no matter how luxurious the train or how tempting the lure of Monte Carlo—no one would be interested in much more than a light meal and an excellent night’s sleep. And indeed, Marian, Jane and Rosalind thought exactly that. The girls, however, protested that it would be a great shame to waste their first night in Monaco. Regardless, it was dark and as they did not have a carriage at their disposal perhaps it would be best to wait until tomorrow to discover the charms of the city. In spite of protests from the younger members of the group, they did indeed retire early.
Willie doubted she would sleep a wink given her head was filled with debate over Dante’s comments about being on holiday as well as the memory of his kiss. Nonetheless, the sound of the surf in the distance coupled with fresh sea air lulled her to sleep in no time.
Shocking what a good night’s sleep could do for a woman. It was late morning when Willie awoke refreshed and ready to face whatever the day might bring, including Dante Montague. She stepped onto her balcony, gazed at the sun sparkling on the blue Mediterranean and the most intriguing thought occurred to her. Two could play at his game. While she was not about to be his holiday fling, why couldn’t he be hers? She had been a loyal, faithful wife but she was now a widow and could certainly do precisely as she wished. And if she wanted a bit of discreet fun with a man who wanted her, why shouldn’t she have it? It was a remarkably freeing idea. This, as with everything else in her life, was now in her own hands. Perhaps she truly was an independent woman after all.
A maid helped her dress and she soon wandered downstairs. Jane and Marian were on the terrace outside the dining room enjoying a breakfast of pastries, cheese, tea and coffee.
“Are the others up yet?” Willie took the chair at the table between them facing the sea and filled a plate with some of the same delightful offerings she had so enjoyed in Paris.
“My girls were just starting to stir when I came down. In spite of their protests last night, they were apparently just as tired as we were.” Jane gestured at the pots on the table. “Do you prefer coffee or tea? Monsieur Pennier said the coffee is the marquess’s special blend.”
“Well then, coffee by all means.”
“I never imagined I’d be staying in a house owned by royalty,” Marian said with a grin. “A marquess is one step down from a duke, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.” Willie didn’t think it necessary to point out the difference between royalty and nobility. Besides, staying in a royal residence would be a much better story for Marian to tell when she returned home.
“We were just discussing why Mrs. Vanderflute arranged for us to spend nearly as long in Monaco as in Paris.” Marian frowned. “There doesn’t seem to be a great deal of interest here, aside from the casino.” A gleam shone in her eyes. “Unless, of course, the casino was the appeal. I don’t know her very well but perhaps Mrs. Vanderflute has a fondness for the gaming tables.”
“More likely,” Jane began, “as the casino attracts not only those poor souls Reverend Mother takes in but the cream of European society, as well, she hoped to find a potential husband for her daughter here. Or at least an introduction.”
“What an interesting idea,” Marian said thoughtfully. “How clever of Mrs. Vanderflute.”
“Although,” Jane continued, “after months in London and our hectic, somewhat frantic stay in Paris—” she and Marian both aimed accusing looks at Willie who simply smiled and sipped her coffee “—perhaps she thought we could all use a few relaxing days in a tranquil setting.” Her gaze strayed to the view of the sea beyond the terrace. “I have to admit, a few days of serenity has a great deal of appeal. And it is beautiful here.”
“It’s entirely possible Mrs. Vanderflute understood how exhausting travel can be,” Willie said. “One does tend to forget that in the excitement of planning a tour.”
And indeed, there was nothing actually scheduled for the length of their stay in the tiny principality. In her written instructions for Willie, Miss Granville had noted the few sights—the palace, gardens and cathedral—but they were certainly not enough to occupy their time. There was, of course, the casino, and while Willie expected they would visit the gambling palace, she doubted her group would wish to spend every minute there. Still, one never knew.
“When Pennier said we had a houseful of female guests, I had no idea they would be so lovely,” a male voice sounded behind her.
Jane and Marian glanced toward the stranger then stared in barely hidden admiration.
“Oh my,” Marian murmured and sat a little straighter.
“Oh my indeed.” Jane patted her hair to assure it was in place. Both women adopted their brightest smiles.
Good Lord. Willie would have expected something like this from the girls or even Marian but Willie did think Jane was a more sensible sort. In that apparently she was wrong.
“Welcome to the Riviera, ladies.”
Admittedly, even his voice sounded fetching and vaguely familiar in that arrogant, confident tone used only by men who were dashing and handsome and well aware of their charms. Willie had no more than mild curiosity about the new arrival and resisted the temptation to twist around in her chair for a look.
A moment later, he stepped into view. Willie glanced at him then she too stared.
“Allow me to introduce myself.” The tall, dark-haired, broad-shouldered newcomer took Marian’s hand and raised it to his lips, gazing into her eyes in the tried and true manner of every rogue Willie had ever met. “I am—”
“Percival St. James,” Willie said with a grin. “Marian, Jane, allow me to introduce a very old friend. This is the Marquess of Brookings.”
“A marquess? How delightful.” Marian sighed, her hand still in his. “Lovely to meet you, my lordship.”
Val—as he preferred to be called by his friends—straightened, stared at Willie for a moment then grinned. “Good Lord, Lady Bascombe, you are the last person I expected to see. What on earth are you doing here?”
“I am on holiday with my dear American friends.” Certainly if one looked at it in an extremely narrow manner, one might consider this a matter of employment rather than a lark with friends but there was no need for him to know that. “I might ask you the same thing. Don’t tell me you’re the marquess who owns this villa?”
“Very well, I won’t.”
What sort of an answer was that? “Do you?”
“I do not. However, my stepfather does.” He glanced at the other ladies. “The Marquess of Westvale.”
“Another marquess,” Marian said under her breath. “Imagine that.”
“My dear, Willie.” His lordship took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “You look wonderful.” He gazed into her eyes. “I was so sorry to hear of George’s passing.”
“Yes, I received your note of condolence.”
“I would have come in person but I was in Paris at the time.”
“I believe you mentioned that in your note. You have a house there, don’t you?” If Willie recalled correctly, his mother was French and he did seem to spend a considerable amount of time in Paris.
“I do.” He nodded.
The marquess had been among her circle of friends, or rather former friends, but he had taken his responsibilities surprisingly seriously when he had inherited his title some six or seven years ago and had not been quite as prone to frivolity as he had been in the past. Duty will do that to a man. Odd, that she’d never before realized how admirable that was.
Jane coughed pointedly.
“But you haven’t met my friends.” Willie pulled her hands from his and gestured at Marian. “This is Mrs. Henderson of Chicago.”
Marian beamed. “What a pleasure to meet you, your highness.”
Val cast a questioning glance at Willie. She bit back a smile, made a mental note to explain proper address to Marian later and nodded toward Jane. “And Mrs. Corby. Jane is from New York.”
Jane held out her hand and Val obediently took it and raised it to his lips. “A pleasure to meet you, my lord.”
“I assure you—” again he gazed into Jane’s eyes in that well-practiced manner he had. Still, it was most effective “—the pleasure is all mine.”
“Jane,” Jane squeaked and cleared her throat. Apparently, even the most sensible among them was not immune to a handsome face and charming manner. “We are all friends here, so you must call me Jane.”
“And I’m Marian,” Marian added.
“Excellent, Jane, Marian.” He favored the Americans with a devilish smile and Willie wondered that the women didn’t fan their faces from the heat of it. Some things never changed. “I can always use more friends.”
Willie retook her seat and Val settled into the vacant chair beside her. “I meant to call on you, to offer my sympathy in person.”
“What a lovely thought,” Willie said pleasantly. “And yet you didn’t.”
“By the time I returned to London, you had disappeared,” he said, his tone vaguely chastising. “No one seemed to know where you had gone.”
“No one made the effort to find out.” She shrugged as if it didn’t matter.
He frowned. “That’s rather thoughtless. Although I must say I’m not surprised.”
“Regardless, it’s water under the bridge now,” she said blithely, surprised to note it really was over and done with.
“Still, I regret I wasn’t there.” Sincerity sounded in his voice. “Difficult times are when we most need friends. And I have always considered us friends.”
She studied him curiously. Val had always been friendly enough and wildly flirtatious toward her but in the manner of good fun rather than expecting anything to come of it. Of all the people she had expected to remain her friend after George’s death, she would not have put Percival St. James at the top of the list. It was rather nice to realize that in that she was apparently wrong. “Thank you, Val.”
“I find nothing more attractive than a man who admits when he’s wrong,” Jane said to Marian.
Val cast her a grateful look. “Lady Bascombe once gave me a piece of profound advice I have never forgotten.”
“Did I?” That certainly didn’t sound like her.
“I could use a bit of profound advice.” Marian fluttered her lashes. “Won’t you share with us?” She glanced at Willie. “Unless Willie minds, of course.”
“Not at all.” At least she hoped she didn’t mind but, as Willie had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, she braced herself.
“It was at a party if I recall correctly. She said—” he turned to Willie and met her gaze directly “—it’s pointless to mourn those things we can do nothing about. Those things that were not perhaps meant to be. Far wiser to move on.”
“My, that is profound.” Willie couldn’t remember ever having said such a thing. Still, it was at a party and one says so many things at parties although they were rarely profound. If Val believed she had said it, well, why on earth should she correct him? Besides, she could have said it and it was quite delightful to be thought of as profound.
“Have you?” The serious look in his eyes belied the light tone in his voice. “Moved on that is.”
Without warning, Dante popped into her mind. She smiled. “Why, yes, Val, I believe I have.”
“A new arrival I see.” Rosalind sailed onto the terrace. “You look familiar. Have we met?”
Val stood at once. “I’m not sure so obviously we have not.”
Rosalind’s brow arched upward. “Because you would never have forgotten meeting a woman as charming and delightful as myself?”
“Exactly.” He grinned.
“Rosalind,” Willie began, “allow me to introduce an old friend of mine, the Marquess—”
“Of Brookings.” Rosalind’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Percival St. James. Your mother was French. Your father, the previous marquess, charming man by the way, married Celia Saunders, a delightful woman who is now married to the Marquess of Westvale.”
“This is his villa,” Marian said helpfully.
Rosalind continued without pause. “You have a grand house in London, another in Paris and an estate in the country—I forget exactly where.”
Jane snorted in disbelief.
“Your stepbrother is heir to the Earl of Danby and recently married a woman no one knows much about although she seems respectable enough.” Rosalind drew her brows together. “Related to Lady Heloise Snuggs, I believe, who also recently married. You, however, have yet to wed. Your fortune is substantial, your heritage excellent, your reputation is not quite as scandalous as it once was—”
“It’s not?” Val adopted a shocked look Willie didn’t believe for a moment. “Are you certain?”
“Quite.” A smile tugged at the corners of Rosalind’s mouth.
Val shook his head mournfully. “I shall have to do something about that.”
Willie choked back a laugh.
“So, my lord, do tell me.” Rosalind pinned him with a firm look. “Why aren’t you married?”
He considered her cautiously. “Who are you?”
Rosalind extended her hand. “Rosalind, Countess of Richfield.”
“That explains it, then.” He grinned and took her hand.
“Does it?” Jane said under her breath.
“Apparently.” Marian considered Rosalind with renewed respect.
“Lady Richfield is well-known for knowing everything about everyone,” Val said.
“How charming of you to say. It’s a gift.” Rosalind shrugged but appeared pleased.
“And I believe we have met although how I could have forgotten—”
“One meets so many people.” She waved off his comment. “We only met in passing so you are forgiven.”
“I am eternally grateful.” Amusement shone in his eyes.
“But you haven’t answered my question.” Rosalind sank into Val’s chair. “Why aren’t you married?”
His eyes narrowed. “Did my mother send you here?”
“Lady Westvale?”
He nodded.
“No.” Rosalind shook her head. “Although I daresay she’d like the answer to that, as well.”
“Yes, but she is my mother and considers it her duty whereas you...” He paused as if struck by a thought. Caution edged his words. “You have a daughter, don’t you, Lady Richfield?”
“Indeed I do,” Rosalind said with an innocent smile. “She’s quite lovely.”
“I have a daughter too,” Marian blurted. “And she’s very clever.”
“I have two daughters and they’re both smart and pretty,” Jane said quickly then frowned. “Neither of whom are old enough for...” She shook her head as if to clear it. “I have no idea why I said that.”
“You said it, my dear Jane,” Val said with a smile, “because good mothers want only what’s best for their daughters. Best, in this instance, means a good match.” He grinned. “And I am eminently eligible.”
“And I apologize.” Rosalind sighed. “I don’t know what came over me. Under other circumstances, your reputation alone would be enough to discourage any thoughts I might have about a match. You’re more the lesser of two evils at the moment but really not at all suitable. A bit older than I would prefer, as well.”
“Thank you, Lady Richfield.” Val swept an overly dramatic bow. “Then my reputation has served me well, although I’m not sure I like being the lesser of two evils.” He grinned, pulled a nearby chair to the table, then sat down next to Willie. “How long will you be staying at the villa?”
“Only tonight. We have rooms at the Hotel de Paris for the remainder of our stay, two more nights.” Willie raised a shoulder in a casual shrug. “There was a problem with our reservations.”
“Your problem is to my benefit.” Val met Willie’s gaze firmly. “I am delighted to see you again.”
Willie smiled. “It has been a long time.”
“Entirely too long.” He leaned toward her. “I meant what I said about calling on you. Would that be acceptable?”
Aside from the surf in the distance, one could have heard a pin drop. Willie didn’t dare look but she was fairly certain Rosalind, Jane and Marian were absorbing this conversation with bated breath. Was this the sort of idle flirtation Val had always been so accomplished at? Was he indeed only concerned with friendship? Or was he interested in more? A few weeks ago the answer to that would have been most intriguing. But a few weeks ago she not had met Dante Montague. Now everything was, well, different.
She caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and adopted her brightest smile. “Of course, Val. That would be lovely.”
“Ahem.”
“Good morning, Dante,” Rosalind said in a cheery manner and waved her brother to the table. “Do you know Lord Brookings?”
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Dante’s gaze flickered between Willie and Val. “I’m Lady Richfield’s brother.”
Val reluctantly drew his gaze from Willie’s and rose to his feet. “Montague, isn’t it?”
“Dante Montague.” He nodded.
“I’ve heard your name mentioned before.” Val considered him thoughtfully. “You were the one who was...” He winced. “Bad bit of business that.”
Willie held her breath.
“What is he talking about?” Marian said softly to Rosalind.
“Good Lord, Marian.” Rosalind huffed, her voice quiet. “If I am going to have to tell you every morsel of old gossip that might arise, we are going to have to get up much earlier.” She paused. “I’ll tell you later.”
“I assure you, the accounts of the situation were not entirely accurate,” Dante said coolly. “Furthermore, it was exceptionally awkward and somewhat humiliating, which is why I prefer not to discuss it.”
“No doubt.” Val shook his head. “One never likes to be reminded of one’s mistakes. Believe me, I know.”
“And have you made many mistakes, my lord?” Dante’s tone was pleasant enough but there was a distinct challenge in his voice.
“Too many to count, Mr. Montague.” Val chuckled. “But the ones I truly regret were mistakes not of commission—” he glanced at Willie “—but of omission.”
“And isn’t that interesting?” Rosalind murmured.
“I’m sure we all make mistakes,” Jane offered helpfully.
“Acknowledging one’s mistakes is the first step toward ensuring they are not repeated.” Dante pulled up a chair to sit on Willie’s other side.
“Excellent point.” Val retook his seat. “I know I, for one, try not to make the same mistakes again.”
“Although not making them in the first place is the best course.” Dante shrugged.
Willie’s head swiveled from one man to the other. She had the oddest sensation of being caught between two opposing forces.
“Still, none of us is perfect,” Val continued. “It is the very nature of man to err occasionally. We all have lapses in judgment brought about by circumstances or events or—” he grinned “—a pretty face.”
Dante’s jaw clenched. Why on earth was he taking Val’s comments as a personal affront? It was more likely Val was speaking of his own errors in judgment and not Dante’s. Goodness, Val had certainly made enough of them, especially when it came to women.
“Lord Brookings was just telling us about a bit of profound advice Willie once gave him,” Jane said in an obvious effort to change the subject.
“I’m not the least bit surprised.” Dante smiled at Willie. “I’ve found many of Lady Bascombe’s comments to be quite profound.”
“Have you?” Willie raised a skeptical brow. If one was going to be considered profound, it would be nice to be aware of exactly what one said. “What, may I ask, are you talking about?”
“About the futility of regrets.” Dante met her gaze directly. “About the past and not being able to undo what one has done.”
“I’m not sure it’s especially profound.” Willie shrugged. “More eminently practical, I would say.”
“Practical and beautiful.” Val chuckled and Willie turned her attention to him. “And wise. It’s an irresistible combination.”
Willie laughed. “Now I’m wise, as well?”
“I recognized your intelligence the first moment we met,” Dante said firmly. “I could see it in your lovely blue eyes.”
“Oh, I have long thought she was quite clever,” Val said. “But I do think her eyes are as much green as blue.”
“You’re mistaken.” Dante smiled politely. “They are most definitely blue.”
“I have been told on occasion, they may be a bit green,” Willie murmured. This was absurd. What were these two doing?
“No one argues over the color of my eyes,” Marian murmured to Jane.
“As we have nothing scheduled,” Rosalind said abruptly, “what shall we do today?”
Willie cast her a grateful glance.
“I have a splendid idea.” Val beamed. “I come here regularly so I suspect I know Monaco as well as anyone. I would be delighted to show you around. Weather here is exceptional and there is nothing quite as enjoyable as spending an afternoon walking around town enjoying the sunshine and the views. This is one of the most scenic spots on the coast.”
“How very kind of you to offer. I think it’s a brilliant idea.” Willie glanced at the others.
“As do I,” Jane said. “Shall we say an hour from now? That will give the girls time to dress.”
“Oh, this will be fun.” Marian nodded. “I know the girls will enjoy it.”
“An hour, then.” Rosalind stood, and everyone else followed suit.
“If you will excuse us, gentlemen.” Willie smiled at the two men and hoped leaving them alone was not a bad idea. Jane and Marian started for their rooms, Willie a step behind.
“A moment, Willie.” Val stepped close and spoke quietly for her ears alone. “Just out of idle curiosity, who are the girls?”
“I thought you understood. The ladies didn’t mention their daughters simply to make idle conversation. They have all brought their daughters.” Willie resisted the impulse to smirk.
He grimaced. “And there are how many?”
“Four.” She choked back a laugh at the stricken look on his face.
“And they all have mothers who would like nothing better than to bring home a marquess.” He sighed.
“You’re the one who mentioned how eligible you are. But take heart, Val.” She grinned. “Jane’s daughters are too young for you and Rosalind has already said you would not suit for hers. So only Marian’s daughter is left.”
“I’m not worried about the daughter.” Val’s brow furrowed. “But I didn’t like the determined look in her mother’s eyes.”
“Courage, Val.” Willie laughed and headed for her room.
Behind her, Rosalind had paused for a word with her brother. “He who hesitates, dear.”
Willie couldn’t hear Dante’s response and wasn’t at all sure what it meant.
An hour later they set off to discover the charms of Monte Carlo. Her guidebooks were right—there wasn’t a great deal to see. But the setting was magnificent, the picturesque town wedged between the sea and the mountains. Many of the buildings perched on cliffs overlooking the sea. Val led them through the twisting streets of the oldest part of the principality and it struck Willie as remarkably clean. The town itself swept upward from the sea, climbing the mountains with every street higher in elevation than the next. Broad terraces bordered the streets and provided walkways and stunning vistas. They strolled in constantly shifting groups of two or three, pausing here and there to admire the view or appreciate the foliage or listen to some obscure—and often silly—fact that Val had in seemingly endless supply. They walked by the casino, a grand building more resembling a royal palace than a temple to the gods of chance and decided to all try their luck once they had settled in at the hotel. The gardens too were remarkable. Willie had never seen a palm growing outside of a conservatory and here palms and lemon trees and other exotic plants grew unfettered by glass ceilings. She gave a silent note of gratitude to Mrs. Vanderflute for arranging for them to stay in what was surely as close as man could get to paradise.
Not that all of them appreciated the display of nature’s bounty as much as they did the company of a dashing gentleman. The girls hung on Val’s every word and took turns hanging on his elbow, as well. He was quite chivalrous about it and really wonderfully charming, paying no more attention to one girl over the others. He encouraged the twins to tell him about New York and asked what they had most enjoyed in Paris and London. He and Harriet spoke of mutual acquaintances and while he might not have noticed, the girl did seem distracted, constantly scanning those passing by. Willie did hope she wasn’t looking for Mr. Goodwin. Surely the young man had returned to England by now. In spite of Val’s best intentions, he did spend far more time chatting with Geneva about the Egyptian artifacts at the British museum than with the other girls. Marian obviously noticed given the satisfied smile on her face.
The only one not appearing to enjoy it all was Dante, whose expression looked more annoyed than appreciative. Although he too summoned a measure of gallantry and chatted with the girls as they wandered the streets.
“He’s jealous, you know,” Rosalind said, dropping back to walk by Willie’s side.
“Who?” Willie stared at the other woman.
“My brother, of course.” Rosalind frowned. “Surely you noticed that nonsense on the terrace?”
“Don’t be silly.” Willie scoffed. “That was nothing more than...”
Rosalind cast her a knowing smile.
“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Willie murmured. Surely a man who felt the pangs of jealousy wanted more than a temporary liaison. “Very interesting.”
“I thought so.” Rosalind smirked.
“Then you don’t think this is just some sort of holiday flirtation for him?”
“Dante?” Rosalind scoffed. “I would wager my husband’s entire fortune in the casino against that. Besides, a man is rarely jealous if he doesn’t have certain feelings for a woman.” She smiled in a knowing manner and changed the subject.
Still, the idea lingered in Willie’s head. Although one would think a man who was experiencing jealousy, a man who had certain feelings, a man who had very nearly confessed those feelings would make more of an effort to be with her. Why, he’d scarcely spoken to her all day and had made no attempt to be alone with her. One would have thought a passionate kiss overlooking the rooftops of Paris would have led to something more.
By midafternoon Harriett declared she was in dire need of refreshment and Dante volunteered to accompany the girls, who promised to bring back drinks for the rest of them. Marian, Rosalind and Jane all settled on one of the benches conveniently placed along the Avenue—the best promenade in Monte Carlo according to Val—overlooking the sea. Willie braced her hands on the stone balustrade protecting pedestrians from tumbling down the cliff to the rocks below and gazed out on the blue Mediterranean. She’d always loved the sea and treasured those rare trips to Brighton she and George had taken, usually in the company of friends. She didn’t miss them, those fair-weather friends, but it was hard not to miss the carefree life she’d once had. Even if she was now fairly certain she would have grown out of it someday. One did have to grow up sometime. Sadly, she didn’t really miss George either. It was distressing but there you had it. Certainly it had been two years since his death. Still, one would have thought...
“You look exceptionally lovely this afternoon.”
She didn’t need to look at him to know Val was wearing his most charming smile. “Did you mean it?”
“Indeed I did. I did say exceptionally after all. I never use exceptionally unless it’s warranted.”
“No.” She blew a long breath and turned toward him. “I meant what you said about our being friends.”
“Absolutely.” Sincerity shone in his eyes.
“Then why are you being so incredibly flirtatious?”
He gasped. “I am not.”
“You most certainly are.” She shook her head. “You have never flirted like this with me before.”
“On the contrary, I have flirted with you every time we’ve met.”
“This is different.”
“I might be putting more effort into it now.”
“Why?”
“Come now, Willie. It’s obvious. As you were married, there was nothing that could come of flirtation then.”
She studied him closely. “I don’t believe that has stopped you with other women.”
“I tell you, Willie, there are times when my reputation is a curse.” He paused. “Although I am proud of it.”
“Good Lord, Val.”
“Very well.” His expression sobered. “It was my observation that underneath that devil-may-care attitude, you are an honorable woman and not at all the type to betray her marriage vows.” He chose his words with care. “I admire that—I always have. Some men do not deserve that kind of loyalty.”
He was talking about George now.
“But now.” He grinned in a wicked manner. “You are a widow.”
“And you are still incorrigible.”
“Thank you,” he said, feigning a modest smile. “I was serious about calling on you.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” His eyes narrowed. “Is there someone else?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure about that either.”
He considered her closely. “It’s Montague, isn’t it?”
She wasn’t quite ready to admit it to anyone, wasn’t entirely sure she had admitted it to herself.
“Very well then.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Even though you have broken my heart, I shall not let it stand in the way of friendship. And I shall do all I can to lend my assistance.”
“Dare I ask what you mean by that?”
“Absolutely not.” He chuckled.
Exactly what form Val’s assistance would take was soon more than apparent. While he continued to charm the girls and the other ladies, he paid Willie particular attention. On the return to the villa, throughout an excellent dinner and well into an evening of games meant to familiarize them with those played at the casino, he was rarely far from her side.
Dante grew more and more—not forbidding exactly—but stiff. Stuffy. Horribly formal. He scarcely said anything to her that wasn’t necessary and perfectly polite.
By the time she retired, Willie had come to two realizations. First—a man who truly wanted a woman, who had feelings for a woman, really needed to make some effort in that regard and not expect her to simply fall into his arms. Nor should he act like a spoiled child. It was not at all attractive.
And second—Val was right. Regardless of George’s indiscretions, she had never been unfaithful. Now it seemed the type of wife who remained true even to a husband who didn’t deserve it was not the kind of widow who had holiday flings. No matter how wonderful the man. Or how thoughts of him were constantly on her mind. Or how independent she was.
Or how she suspected he might well be the love of her life.