CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“GOOD GOD.” DANTE GROANED then raised his head and frowned. “Do you hear something?”
Her senses cleared. Blast it all. “I think there’s someone at the door.”
“Of course there is,” he muttered. He rose off the bed, grabbed a dressing gown from the wardrobe and quickly wrapped it around himself. Rather a shame as he had an exceptionally nice backside. The man really was surprisingly fit.
He closed the door behind him and she heard a woman’s worried voice. Willie debated whether she should join them but it seemed best to stay where she was. She preferred to keep what had just occurred private. Dante would tell her who had interrupted them soon enough. Besides, she certainly couldn’t appear wrapped in nothing more substantial than a coverlet and she couldn’t put her gown back on without a little help.
Willie stretched in a lovely lazy manner, savoring the silken feel of the sheets against her naked skin. Dear Lord, she really could stay forever in his bed, in his arms, as his lover and his wife. She wasn’t opposed to marriage. She simply had no desire to marry for financial necessity. The possibility of marriage for love hadn’t so much as crossed her mind. Now it was not at all a bad idea. Indeed, it was rather brilliant.
Was there any good reason why she shouldn’t marry him? He was responsible and sensible and everything she’d decided she wanted in her next husband. Everything George—God rest his tarnished soul—hadn’t been. And Dante was, as well, amusing and generous and kind. Her life would not be outrageous with Dante as it had been with George but Dante was full of surprises and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind it would be exciting and nothing short of remarkable. Her heart fluttered.
Dear Lord, she was indeed in love with him.
Marriage to Dante would also mean her financial difficulties would be over. She was fairly certain he had a respectable fortune but if he didn’t—she smiled—it really didn’t matter. She had her painting to sell. Even better—she could give it to Dante as a wedding gift. He would love it and probably knew all there was to know about the artist. She should tell him about the painting before they reached Venice.
The oddest sense of regret stabbed her at the idea of being dependent upon someone else again. This wasn’t at all how she thought her life would be. But Dante was a man she could put her faith in. A man she could trust. Who would have imagined her journey to claim her future would lead to the man she would love for the rest of her days? Apparently, the most wonderful things in life really were those least expected.
The door opened and Dante stepped into the room, their clothes slung over his arm. “She’s gone.”
“Who was it?” Willie struggled to sit up, clutching the sheet to her chest.
“My sister.” He blew a long breath and dropped the clothes on the bed. “Harriet has disappeared.”
“What? How?”
“One of the twins said she slipped off into the gardens, apparently to meet someone.”
Willie gasped. “Goodwin?”
“We don’t know.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t say this to Roz but I hope so.”
Willie’s stomach lurched. There were all sorts of dreadful things that could happen to a lovely young woman alone in a foreign country.
“I’m going to look for her.” He discarded his dressing gown and pulled on his trousers. “Roz went back to their rooms on the chance that Harriet had returned there to gather her belongings.”
“To run off with Goodwin?”
He nodded. “If Harriet isn’t there, Roz will meet me in the ballroom.”
“I’ll go with you.” Willie slipped out of bed, snatched up her chemise and pulled it on over her head.
“I think it would be best if you didn’t. Frankly, it will take entirely too long for you to dress.”
“You’re probably right.” She shimmied into her drawers. “I certainly can’t go wandering around in a total state of dishabille.” She grabbed her skirt and stepped into it. “I’ll dispense with my corset but if you could help fasten my bodice, I can manage everything else on my own. I really don’t want to call for a maid.”
He chuckled. “That could be awkward.”
“At the very least.” She turned her back to him and held her hair up off her neck. She would have to do something about her hair before she left, as well. He fumbled with the fastenings for what seemed like forever but was probably no more than a minute or two.
“It’s not nearly as much fun helping you put clothes on as it was taking them off,” he muttered.
“Yet something else we have in common.”
“Done.” A note of satisfaction sounded in his voice and he kissed the back of her neck.
She turned around. “I warn you, Mr. Montague, if you do that again, I will not let you leave.”
“I was hoping we’d have the whole night together.”
Willie leaned forward and brushed her lips across his. “We’ll have other nights together. But until then...”
“Yes?”
“I have grown out of flaunting my sins in public.” She straightened his necktie. He was not the sort of man to go out improperly dressed. Indeed, she’d never seen him anything less than perfectly attired. “I would much prefer we keep this between us for now.”
“You may count on it.”
He nodded and turned to leave then turned back, pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss filled with magic and promise and love. When at last he released her, she was hard-pressed to catch her breath. “Marry me, Willie.”
“Is that a proposal?”
“Why, yes, I believe it is.”
“I know you think the proper thing to do after, well, this—” she waved at the disheveled bed “—is to offer marriage—”
“Might I point out that I mentioned marriage before—” he waved at the bed “—this.”
“It was in anticipation but it scarcely matters. The point I am trying to make is that you’re under no obligation to marry me. Nor do I expect you to.” She held her breath. As much as she wanted him, and wanting him included marriage, she didn’t want him to feel he had no choice.
“I know that but I do have to marry you.”
“Why?”
“Because I would be a fool not to. And regardless of what my sister may think, I am not an idiot.” He grinned. “And because I love you.”
“Well then...” She shook her head. “I’m afraid I shall have to say no.”
“No?” He stared.
“I want a proper proposal,” she said in a lofty manner. “Something romantic. Not an offhand offer on your way out the door to rescue your niece.”
He chuckled. “That can be arranged.” He hesitated as if about to draw her into his arms again.
As delightful as the idea was, Willie waved toward the door. “Now go. Harriet and Rosalind need you.”
“We will talk later,” he said firmly.
“The last time you said we needed to talk—” She glanced pointedly at the bed.
“There is much to be said for stimulating conversation.” He cast her a wicked grin and left the bedroom.
“Dante.” She hurried after him. “Please let me know when you find Harriet.”
“Of course.” He nodded and hurried out the door.
She did hate to see him leave but it couldn’t be helped. His sister and his niece needed him and he was not the type of man to shirk his responsibilities. He really was quite wonderful.
With any luck Dante would find Harriet, and Goodwin, as well, before they had the opportunity to do something foolish. Running off and marrying came to mind. Willie knew better than most the consequences of one impetuous, romantic decision involving a dashing young man who swept you off your feet.
But even her concern about Harriet couldn’t dampen her own sense of, well, happiness. She couldn’t recall the last time she had known this kind of utter joy.
She returned to the bedroom and managed to pull her petticoat on under her skirt then gathered up her corset and other undergarments she hadn’t had time to put back on. She folded a towel around everything on the off chance she met anyone on her return to her room. It probably wasn’t necessary. Her room was right down the hall and it was late enough that she doubted she would encounter anyone from their party. Still, they had left the ball early and who knew how long it went on.
Willie collected her shoes then returned to the parlor, placing her towel-wrapped bundle on the desk. Although her evening slippers were not new, she hadn’t worn them for a long time and they were a bit snug. She sat down and wedged her foot into one shoe then the other, wincing a little in the process. Still, they were all she had brought with her for evening and they would have to do. Besides, they were bronze-colored silk and quite fetching. She stood and grabbed the bundle, knocking over Dante’s valise in the process. Papers and files scattered over the desk and floor. She sighed. Perfect.
Willie picked up the assorted files and individual papers, glancing casually at the neatly typewritten labels. He really was a man of business. She smiled. Imagine, the legendary Lady Bascombe married to a man of business. She stacked everything together then proceeded to gather those items strewn across the desk. One of the files had spilled its contents and she collected the papers she assumed belonged to it, hoping she put everything back where it belonged. She glanced at the label on the file—Lady Wilhelmina Bascombe—and smiled. Goodness, she couldn’t seem to stop smiling. Life was really rather wonderful. The file was certainly no surprise. Dante had said he had thoroughly checked into her background even though what he had told her he’d found was not at all significant. Nor should it be. Her life with George had been fodder for gossip and therefore relatively public.
Willie sank back into the chair and opened the dossier. Her name was on it after all. Whoever had prepared this for Dante had indeed been thorough. There was a page noting her attendance at Miss Bicklesham’s, another concerning her family background with references to her father, Lady Plumdale and Poppy. The next described her life with George in rather startling detail, although there really wasn’t anything here that was not public knowledge. Still, it was awkward to read about one’s past misbehaviors. It was clear why Dante had called her legendary. She turned to the next page, curious about what else might be here as it did appear her entire life had been laid out at this point. This was some kind of report or letter that didn’t seem to have anything to do with her. Perhaps she had put the wrong paper in the file. The report dealt with a painting that had gone missing from his museum years ago. The missing painting was a Portinari. What an odd coincidence... A horrible feeling of dread settled in the pit of her stomach.
Something, some voice of self-preservation told her to stop reading right now. Her future, her happiness might depend on it. But she’d lived with one man in blissful ignorance—she would not do so again. Her hand holding the paper trembled slightly but she continued to read.
The report said the missing Portinari had been in the possession of Lord and Lady Bascombe but had been used as collateral for a loan and was now in the hands of a collector in Venice. It went on to say Lady Bascombe was to lead a group of American mothers and daughters to Venice, no doubt with an eye toward reclaiming the painting. The writer further suggested the wisdom of being present when Lady Bascombe once more had the painting in her possession so as not to lose track of it again and speculated she intended the painting’s eventual sale. It was all here: the current state of her finances, the debts George had left her with, her sale of the country house, her dismissal of most of her staff—everything.
An odd sort of numbness descended over her, a dark miasma stifling her emotions. She stood, added the file to the stack of papers and slipped everything neatly into the valise. Some part of her mind not stunned by shock urged her to hurry. To return to her room before the import of all she had read ripped her to shreds. She calmly collected her bundle of undergarments, left Dante’s suite and strode briskly down the corridor to her room, grateful she did not run across anyone on her way. She wasn’t sure she could form a coherent sentence at the moment and didn’t have the fortitude to try. With every ounce of strength she possessed, she struggled to maintain an air of unruffled composure although it did seem the distance back to her accommodations was endless.
Willie finally reached her room, stepped inside and closed the door carefully behind her. She rested her back against the door, allowed the bundle to drop and slowly slid down the door to the floor, her knees no longer willing to support her. For a moment or forever she stared unseeing at the room in front of her.
Maybe she was wrong? Maybe she had misunderstood? It was as much a prayer as a question.
Not bloody likely. It was all there. Every bit of it in startling detail. Dante had deceived her from the beginning. Even with what she’d read, it was hard to believe. Or perhaps she just didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to believe that the man she thought she knew was nothing more than a ruse. But it was impossible to deny. He’d joined her tour only so that he could be there when she recovered the Portinari. He’d been charming and endearing and excruciatingly nice! And she’d fallen for him head over heels. How could she have been so stupid? So blind?
He’d said he loved her. He’d said he wanted to marry her. Without warning the truth struck her. Of course he wanted to marry her. Once they were wed, everything she had would be his. Her house, what few possessions she still owned and more to the point—her painting!
Was this what betrayal felt like? Dark and heavy and all encompassing? And the kind of pain she never imagined one could endure. As if her heart were being torn apart inside her.
Her immediate impulse was to confront him as soon as possible. Tell him to his face how vile and despicable he was. How she would despise him until the day she died. And beyond if possible. How she would destroy the Portinari before she would ever let him get his hands on it.
She felt a drop on her hand and glanced down. Good Lord, it was a tear. She was crying! She dashed the tears away from her face. The blasted man had made her cry. Well, she refused to waste another tear on him. He wasn’t dead after all.
The anger she’d felt toward him earlier tonight was but a pittance compared to this...this rage! Given his past, his response to Val’s attentions was somewhat understandable. And admittedly it all might have been the tiniest bit her fault even if she hadn’t really given it much attention at the time. That was a mistake on her part.
But this? This was deliberate and calculating and very, very clever. And unforgivable.
She had been furious about his ridiculous behavior but that anger was hot and fierce and had burned out fairly quickly. Now the ire that gripped her was cold and calm and hard. And unrelenting.
Odd how the tables had turned. She had feared that he would not be able to trust her. On the contrary, it was she who should not have trusted him.
She could never forgive him for this deception. This betrayal. He’d worked his way into her affections with cunning and treachery and she’d been taken in by his lies. And she’d fallen in love with the blasted man!
He really had stolen her heart with chicanery and duplicity and dishonesty. What a cad he was. And what a fool she was. The Inferno’s nine circles of hell would look like a stroll in Hyde Park on a pleasant afternoon before she was through with him.
He was a liar and a thief. And this act of larceny would not go unpunished.