4

"What do you mean the train is not running?" Esme dropped her suitcase with a no-nonsense thunk and leaned closer to the partition separating her from the ticket manager. With her towering height, slash of deep red lips,

and lack-of-sleep-crazed stare, she aimed to be the most intimidating force he had yet to encounter.

The little man was not impressed. That or he'd witnessed too many hysterical tourists after they'd lost their money at the

gambling tables at nearby Monte Carlo to give much attention to her. Leaning his elbows on the counter in front of him, he

gazed over the morning newspaper at her. "That is what I said, mademoiselle. The train is not running."

"How long will it be before it is running again?"

He shrugged and turned a page.

"That's it? The mass transportation of the Mediterranean coast is determined by a shrug of the unknown?" She leaned closer,

her nose nearly touching the glass between them. "I need to reach Venice by tomorrow. It's imperative."

"I'm certain the railroad workers think it imperative they go on strike for unionization, but they're no doubt sorry for inconveniencing you and your little trip."

"My little tr— Is this what passes for helping one's customer?"

"No, that was the handwritten sign saying, ‘No Train Tickets Sold.'" He turned another page and doffed an imaginary hat without

looking up. "Good day to you, mademoiselle."

Esme huffed. She'd traveled enough to learn that most countries ran on their own schedule and not the quick, precise march

that England set. Most days she enjoyed the rather laid-back feel of the Continent, but today she would pay a pretty farthing

for a bit of good old-fashioned British efficiency.

Readjusting her white net gloves, she plucked her suitcase off the floor and stepped out of the dingy ticket office and into

the brilliant morning light. No train. Now how to get to Venice?

Her silver patent shoe tapped as she raced through half a dozen options and discarded them. The Mediterranean waters sparkled

a deep blue far off in the distance. Tiny yachts with their blinding white sails skimmed over the waves caused by larger ships

pulling into and out of port. Ships. Perfect!

After hailing a taxi, she arrived at the harbormaster's office in half an hour and in another half hour had a ticket in hand

to sail aboard the Carpe Diem . A rather fitting ship name. She wasn't built for speed but satisfied herself by sailing rich passengers around the warm

waters from one coastal city to the next.

With no luggage large enough to check, Esme carried her small suitcase to her room, which was on the small side of luxury.

But it was tidy and clean with a porthole that gazed to the western, er, port side. She was lucky to snag the accommodation

at all as most of the cruise had been bought up by a group traveling to Greece.

"Beggars cannot be choosers," she muttered to herself as she stepped out into the tight corridor and locked her door behind her. "And you are in no position to be choosy."

Winding her way up the stairs to the public spaces of the ship, she glided past the dining room set with fine silver and snowy

linens, a fully stocked library, and a lounge area dotted with cushioned wicker furniture. The other passengers had gathered

along the rail to wave at anyone and everyone standing on the docks, but Esme slipped past them to the bow and settled on

a lounge chair thoughtfully propped there.

The engine started, rumbling the deck boards as the ship pulled away from port. The passengers raced to the stern, eager for

one last parting adieu. What was the point in looking back? The future was all that glittered and beckoned far from the dregs

of the past.

"Drink, mademoiselle?" A waiter appeared with loaded tray in hand.

She selected something red and slushie with a pineapple wedged against the rim. "Merci."

A briny breeze tickled her skin as she took a sip of the fruity drink, wholeheartedly supporting the idea of drinks before

noon while on a cruise. She tipped her head back against the chair and closed her eyes as the morning's warmth glided across

her face and arms. One might assume she was on holiday, and it would be too easy to slip into that fantasy, if not for one

tiny thing. It was all a lie. She was on the hunt, and train tickets aside, she would not be deterred from seizing her prize.

Especially not with her neck on the line.

A wrinkle marred her tranquility. It was a prize she might have been too slow in obtaining if not for Jasper. The tiniest sliver of guilt attempted to wriggle into her good graces. She had sneaked off on him. Again. After eavesdropping on his private conversation. Which was conducted in her room, so that was his own negligence. Before which he'd accused her of unladylike common thievery. As if she would stoop to ordinary nabbing of baubles and bits. She had taste after all.

Still, there had been that moment in the bar when heat had arced between them. A rekindling of something she'd felt only once,

so fleeting it had scared her right out of the honeymoon suite. And what was her first act upon seeing him again? Stealing

the tiara right out from under him. Well, he should expect nothing less as the so-called Phantom, and if he did, he was in

the wrong trade.

"Mmm, sure is a nice view."

Esme's eyes snapped open to find Jasper himself lounging in the chair next to hers with a tall glass of what appeared to be

orange juice. He wore a straw fedora and a white linen suit with a pale-blue shirt, the essence of Mediterranean travel.

"Good morning." He raised his glass in salute, then took a sip.

She tilted her glass in recognition. "I see you found me."

"I see you were eavesdropping last night."

Smiling, she sipped her drink. "Guilty. Though can you blame me when you so conveniently laid bare the facts in my room?"

"I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to scold you or hold a grudge when I would have taken precisely the same action."

"I appreciate your ability to recognize the futility in seeking a different outcome." She tilted her head to block the sun

with the thin rim of her cloche and stretched out her legs, crossing them at the ankles. "Since we are to be in close quarters

for the next few days on this ship, shall we call a truce?"

He nodded in good humor. "I see no reason not to have an enjoyable cruise for as long as it lasts. Once we make port in Venice we can return to every man—or woman, as it were—for themselves. Deal?"

"Deal."

They clinked glasses and drank.

Silence stretched between them, the empty space filled with the lull of waves lapping against the ship's hull and seagulls

crying as they floated through the soft blue sky. If she were a woman of cozy imagination, she might believe the brilliant

weather and warm sun was good fortune smiling down and fling her cares as far as the horizon. However, she'd been raised by

actresses and prop masters around gas-illuminated stages, and she'd learned that the beauty in front of the curtain was cut

as soon as the red velvet swung closed.

Beneath the tranquil sunshine and cawing birds and icy drinks of a perfectly staged day buzzed a current. It was the same

feeling of standing in the stage wings with all eyes glued to the diva's closed dressing room door. Waiting. Any second she

might emerge and bring the house to their feet or down around their ears. Except instead of a heavily girdled woman with too

much rouge, two simple words had Esme holding her breath.

Their marriage.

Now, there was a center stage act she wanted to shove in a broom closet and bolt the door against until she was good and ready

to unleash it. And held something stronger than the slushy drink in her hand.

Veering as far away from that topic as possible, she settled on a much tamer subject. "How did you know the tiara was a fake?"

The linen material of his jacket flowed smoothly over his shoulders as he shrugged. "A good thief can weigh the value of his

wares almost immediately."

Ha! "When I took it off my head you examined it rather closely. There was no way of you knowing some of the gems were made

of glass without a jeweler's loupe or good lighting. Neither of which you possessed there in the garden, which means you knew

to look for something else, a mark of some kind perhaps. What did you seek but not find?"

He swirled his drink. Bubbles fizzed from the bottom. Orange juice and champagne? Delicious. "Do you really think I would

so easily give away my advantage?"

"If you claim that's the only advantage you have, then you are a poor thief indeed."

White teeth flashed against his tanned skin. "I never claimed it was my only lead, just one I'm not imparting to you."

"Very well. Then tell me something else. Why are you after the Valkyrie?"

His expression was as smooth as glass, a trick of the trade. As was lying through one's teeth. "Our profession needs only

a monetary reason. The Valkyrie is worth a fortune. However, I don't have Italian hired guns breathing down my neck if I fail."

He sipped his fizzing orange juice as seriousness touched his tone. "Who are you working for?"

Seriousness she was not having. She wagged a finger at him. "No, no. Some secrets must be kept, as you just pointed out."

"My secret advantage doesn't threaten me in a hotel lobby." The humor had faded from his expression and in its place flashed

a direct alertness. "Pirazzo is dangerous. I've seen his handiwork before. Whoever he is working for must be a real pip. You

may be in over your head."

She waved away his concern with a manicured hand. "Darling, I've been in over my head my entire life, but as you can see, I've learned to float."

He swung his long legs off the lounge chair and pinned his entire attention on her. "Esme."

What was that little shiver running over her skin when he said her name?

"You need to be careful."

"I am always careful, but it's sweet to have you worry about me. Besides, none of this will be a concern once I find the true

Valkyrie."

That did the trick. The corners of his mouth quirked in amused confidence and shuffled out the seriousness. "You're assuming

you'll get to it before me."

"Of course I will, but it'll be entertaining to have you along in second place. It does a lady good to have a handsome man

chasing after her." Uh-oh. Did she not just tell herself to keep the broom closet locked? Here she was, dangerously fiddling

with the key.

She stood before he could take that accidental flirtation and run with it—and from the look on his face he was more than happy

to—and offered him an apologetic smile. "If you'll excuse me, I think I'll have a lie-down in my room. The past evening's

activities left me with little beauty sleep."

He stood and elegantly inclined his head. Always so well-mannered. She remembered that about him. How it enhanced his attractiveness.

Oh no. Not again. Truly, her thoughts had a wayward mind of their own.

"Will I see you for lunch?" he asked as she skirted his lounge chair. "Crab salad is on the menu."

For some reason the mention of food tipped her stomach sideways. No, wait. That was the boat rocking from an agitation of waves propelled by a passing cargo ship. She grabbed for the handrail.

Jasper leapt to her side and took her elbow. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, but the motion made her dizzy. "Right as rain. The sun must be getting to me."

"Allow me to escort you to your room."

"No, I shall be quite all right once my sea legs return."

They were standing awfully close. His hand was warm under her elbow and his eyes were a rich nutmeg under the shade of his

hat. He smiled, dimpling one cheek. Her stomach fluttered as a smile slipped to her lips in return. The flutter turned to

a heave.

His smile wavered. "Are you unwell?"

"Please do excuse me," she said, then bent over the rail and neatly tossed her cookies.