“Still, it was rude of me and I never intended—”
“For me to learn of them?”
“Well, yes.” He still couldn’t believe Val had betrayed his confidence. “I shall have a few well-chosen words to say to my stepbrother about this.”
“You needn’t bother.” She paused. “I suppose no one especially wants to hear themselves described as stuffy, unfeeling and cold—”
He winced.
“And while the words themselves do seem rather harsh, they are not inaccurate. I am...” She thought for a moment. “Reserved, if you will. I don’t believe in displaying my emotions, nor do I allow them to dictate my behavior. And I do believe that the rules of proper behavior should be adhered to. I am well aware of my own nature and how I appear to others. Especially those who do not know me.”
“I suspect your friends probably know better.”
“My friends...” She hesitated, then raised her chin in a resolute manner. “Yes, I would imagine they do.”
“If you are amenable to the idea...” He chose his words with care. “I would like to offer the hand of friendship.”
“Good Lord, Derek.” She stared in obvious disbelief. “You don’t like me, and I certainly don’t like you. Why on earth would I want to be friends?”
“I don’t dislike you,” he said quickly, but she was right. The woman was perhaps the most stodgy, opinionated creature he’d ever met. Still, they were stuck with each other. He drew a deep breath. “For one thing—we share a common purpose. We both want to locate Lady Heloise and make certain of her safety. It’s going to be much less difficult if we aren’t at each other’s throats.”
“You may have a point there.”
“In addition, we are to be together for the foreseeable future. I would prefer to spend my time with a friend rather than a foe.”
“But I don’t trust you.”
“I am more than willing not to trust you, either, which gives us something in common on which to base a friendship.”
“I don’t think friendships are built on mutual distrust.”
“Then we shall be the first.” He flashed her a grin.
“That’s absurd.” She frowned. “Why, friendships are based on shared admiration and respect. I have no respect for you at all.”
“Then I shall simply have to earn your respect.” He was fairly certain it would not be easy, but then, thus far, nothing about India Prendergast was. “Although we do already have one thing between us on which to base a friendship.”
“I can’t imagine what that is.”
“Honesty.”
She raised a brow. “And yet we distrust each other.”
“But we are honest about it.”
She studied him closely. “It would be entirely dishonest of me to say I am willing to accept your offer of friendship. But, in the spirit of cooperation, I am willing to attempt a certain level of cordiality between us.”
“I can ask for nothing more.”
“I do have a condition.”
“Anything.”
“As I have been entertaining gentlemen in my room, while I am still in my bed, dressed in my nightclothes—which even you would agree is the height of impropriety—”
He nodded.
“I believe you should rescind your description of me as stuffy.”
“Well.” He grimaced. “You did scream.”
“My scream was directed more at encouraging his lordship to leave than any concern about proper behavior on my part.”
“I’ll give you that. Very well then.” This was actually going far better than he’d expected. “You are not nearly as stuffy as one would have thought.”
“Thank you. Now, perhaps you would consider—”
“I should leave you to dress.” He rose to his feet. “I think we should start our efforts today at the hotel Lady Heloise mentioned in her letters. I suggest we depart as soon as you are ready.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“One more thing we have in common.”
“Unfortunately...”
“Unless you have another idea?”
“It’s not that. But my maid—Suzette—says she has not seen my luggage. I was forced to borrow this—” she glanced down and winced “—garment to sleep in last night.”
“I see. Then the nightclothes are not yours?”
“Dear Lord, no.” Indignation rang in her voice. “I would never wear something this...this flimsy. And suggestive. And indecent.”
“No, of course not.” It was a pity really. He suspected what he could not see of her in the nightgown was even more delicious than what he could. “I would imagine your nightclothes to be of good solid linen, unencumbered by silliness like lace or ruffles.”
“Simply because one is abed doesn’t mean one should abandon good judgment and proper attire,” she said primly. “But that is beside the point. As I was saying, Suzette has not seen my luggage.”
“She hasn’t?” He knew this was coming. It might have been wiser for him to have said something right away, but while Derek considered himself fairly courageous under most circumstances, this was not one of them.
“No, which means I am forced to wear the same clothes I wore yesterday, and they are being freshened. I’m afraid we will have to delay our start until Suzette returns with my clothing.”
“Oh well.” He sighed. “It can’t be helped I suppose. We can’t have you running about the streets naked. Even in Paris, that would be frowned upon.” He started toward the door.
“Derek.”
He paused. “Yes?”
“I can’t help but notice you are not wearing what you wore yesterday.” Her brow furrowed. “Am I to assume you have your luggage?”
He winced and turned back toward her. “I do.”
“And have Professor and Mrs. Greer their luggage?”
“As far as I know.”
“Then, as our luggage traveled together, mine should be somewhere in the house. Delivered to the wrong room perhaps. Don’t you think?”
“One would think that. I know,” he said brightly. “Why don’t I check for you?”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “I would be most grateful.”
“I am happy to do it, as any responsible friend would.”
“In the meantime, I will wait for Suzette to return.”
“And I will see you downstairs whenever you are ready.” He smiled and took his leave, closing her door behind him.
It did indeed stand to reason that her trunk would be somewhere in the house. If, of course, it had arrived at the house in the first place. Which was contingent upon whether or not—when it was checked at the beginning of their journey—it was appropriately labeled for Paris and not, oh, say, Prague. An understandable mistake really. There was nothing more annoying than to have to delay one’s travel plans and be compelled to stay longer in a city