8

What had begun as a typical German mist quickly turned to a full-on English bucketing down. The timing couldn't have been

more perfect to match Jasper's foul mood as he ducked under shop awnings to ward off the worst of the wetness.

The sooner he signed those divorce papers and rid himself of the irksome soon-to-be ex-Mrs. J. Truitt, the better. The woman

had him all tied up in knots. One minute teasing and gazing at him with fond memories, and the next snatching the security

out from beneath his feet. Security he had built brick by brick to lay a foundation that gave his life meaning and purpose.

Then she came along and called out the cracks he'd been able to excuse. "He's using you for his own gain." Of course he was! Duke used everyone, and he certainly wasn't above contracting his own grandson if the purpose suited him.

Not that Esme knew he was Duke's grandson. She would have used it as further ammunition. Only Mond knew that dirty family

secret. For the obscene amount of money Duke offered him to take the job, Jasper was the one making out with the greater payment.

"Don't you long to break free?" Ha! Says the woman chained to a dusty countess's leash. She was no freer than he was, both with masters to answer to.

Darting across the street, his foot landed in a hole. Water poured into his Italian-leather oxfords. Par for the course that

evening. Back at the castle, he'd bummed a ride from the inebriated British Minister of Arts who had kindly dropped him off

in Füssen. The nearest train station was located some three kilometers away, but the auto had suffered a flat tire a few blocks

from the depot, and Jasper was forced to walk the rest of the way. Ordinarily a walk would clear his mind, but at that particular

moment his mind roiled as dangerously as the thunderstorm.

Spotting the red blinking lights of the train in the distance, he jogged the rest of the way to the station and found a single

attendant on the platform guiding straggler passengers with a torch.

" Entschuldigung ," Jasper said, swiping the rain from his face. "Is this train going to France?"

The attendant helped a lady up the stairs to the last train car. "Stuttgart, Luxembourg, then you will change trains for Reims."

Setting down his travel bag, Jasper dug into his pocket for coins. "How much to Luxembourg?"

"Apologies, sir. The ticket window is closed for the night, but you can purchase one on board." The train whistle blew. "Hurry

along. The conductor on board will assist you."

"Danke!" Jasper grabbed his bag and scrambled up the steps into the train as the monstrous black wheels started to turn against the

steel rail and the locomotive lurched into motion.

Finding his balance, he walked down the corridor stretching between the cars in search of an empty compartment. All seemed

to be occupied.

" Entschuldigung ," he said to the uniformed conductor walking toward him without the slightest bit of unease on the jerky car. "I would like

to purchase a ticket to Luxembourg, bitte ."

The conductor pulled out a small notepad and a change dispenser clipped to his belt. "Is Luxembourg your final destination?"

" Nein . I was told I would need to switch trains to carry on to Reims."

The conductor marked his notepad with a blunt-tipped pencil. "That will be sixteen hundred marks."

Jasper gave a low whistle as he handed over the appropriate amount. Inflation after the war was staggering. The conductor

punched his ticket and told him to squeeze into an available seat as most of the train was completely booked with important

persons making their way back home after the castle gala. A snort conveyed the man's opinion about the rich and their parties.

Dragging himself and his luggage along the corridor in search of an open seat, Jasper ignored the squelch in his shoes, his

shriveling toes, his aching shoulders, and the hammer pounding right behind his eyes. A good night's sleep was what he needed.

Then he could start formulating a plan for the Valkyrie. One that did not involve distractions by Esme Fox.

A compartment stood open three doors down. At last a break in his streak of bad luck. He could almost feel his eyelids tugging

blissfully closed at the anticipated rest coming.

Just as he reached the compartment, the doors began to slide closed.

" Entschuldigung ." He grabbed one of the doors and tugged it open. "I'm looking for an empty seat— Well, well, well. Just my luck."

Clad in a splotchy wet silk traveling coat, Esme stared back at him. Her hair had been sleek and smooth at the castle, but

the rain had turned it to a frizzy poof.

"More like a bad penny." She kept her hands firmly on the door handles. "This compartment is taken. Seek other accommodations."

He glimpsed behind her. "You have seats for six people."

"So I do." She didn't budge.

"I'm exhausted."

"As am I." She started to close the door. "I bid you good evening."

The night, all its disappointments, and its one massive failure had been teetering above his head propped up by one tiny twig

of sheer willpower to keep going. In that instant a silver T-strapped shoe kicked at his twig and the whole weight crashed

around his ears. He knew precisely whose shiny shoe was to blame.

Wedging his foot in the closing door, he eyed his opponent. "I've never missed a lift, yet ever since you breezed back into

my life like an ill wind I've had one bad turn after the next. What is it about you that sends everything toppling off a cliff?"

"Me?" She reared back, sending her poof bouncing. She tried flattening it with one hand while holding tight to the door handle

with her other. "You're the reason I lost my mark tonight. If you'd stayed out of the way, or better yet, far away, I could be halfway to Italy by now with a diamond

tiara in my purse."

"You'd be better off snatching pocketbooks. Leave the difficult grabs to those of us who know how to pull them off."

"As you have so adeptly showcased this past week with your empty hands and empty pockets, Phantom ."

One door down creaked open and out poked an old lady's head with tight iron-gray curls. "Shh!" She scowled. "Some peo ple are trying to sleep." Muttering in German, she shut the door with a thud.

Jasper leaned forward and lowered his voice to silken danger. He'd found it more effective than any amount of shouting.

"For all your bragging and swanning about, I fail to see you raking in the profits."

"I would have tonight had you not interfered." Usually when he leaned forward, people had the good sense to lean away from

his quiet wrath. Esme was not inclined to be one of them. "It was there. It was mine for the taking, and then you had to corner

me out on the balcony, making me miss my opportunity. Now my intended lift is perched atop the empty head of some champagne

heiress who is being whisked back to her estate aboard a private train while I'm forced to take this one where the smell of

a hundred picnic lunches has soaked into the upholstery."

"Next time I'll leave you fainted dead away on the floor, shall I? How ungentlemanly of me to think you might need fresh air

when all the color drained out of your face, but here's the rub. I have never been called anything but a gentleman. Just as

I never cornered you. The door was there for you to waltz back inside at any time."

"Very well. I take back that accusation." She conceded with miffed grace.

"And the one about me interfering."

"No. The truth is never an accusation."

"A good thief never blames the circumstances. He succeeds or not by his own abilities." He leaned his shoulder against the

doorjamb. She tugged on the door, but his weight pinned it in place. "You could have gone back inside, but you didn't. Why

not? What kept you out there talking to me?"

He fought to keep an unaffected air, as if it mattered not what her answer was, and in truth it did not matter, for it would not change his plans. Yet there was that part buried deep inside that needed to know. A vulnerability that had been left waiting in a hotel room for a bride to return. A vulnerability that needed to know why he still carried around her wedding band like some sentimental fool.

She gave up trying to shove the door into his shoulder and held tight to the other one as the train swayed. "You're rather

concerned for my reasoning. What of your own? Why were you not inside taking the prize right out from under their lofty noses?"

"I had my own plan and would have carried it through if not for you." The plan had been simple enough. Posing as the castle

curator, he would have all the guests ushered from the grotto and the entrance barred due to a burst pipe. A quick lasso of

the boat with the thin rope coiled in his pocket and the Valkyrie would have been his. No explosions, no sneaking into windows.

A simple grab that had been blown out of the water because of his sentimental foolishness.

"Did you not just chastise me about blaming circumstances?"

"Forgive me if I find it loutish to leave a lady unattended when she is unwell."

"I can manage perfectly well on my own. This isn't the Victorian age where I need to be kept in proximity of a fainting couch

at all times." The train lurched around a bend, and she grabbed at her stomach.

"Good manners never change, no matter the years that go by or whatever modern creed is being touted."

The next door over rattled open again. Out popped the same scowling gray head of curls. "If you cannot be quiet, I shall ring

for the conductor. Remove your lovers hissing to private quarters and leave the rest of us to peace."

"Remove your own busy nose to private quarters," Esme hissed back.

The old woman's wrinkled jaw dropped, then snapped closed. Mouth pinching into a colorless line, she humphed her displeasure

and retreated, mumbling about what the conductor would make of such impertinence.

Jasper straightened but kept his foot blocking the door from slamming in his face. "Short of stooping to desperate levels

where only the unimaginative dwell by tying you up and tossing you in the baggage car with a stamp ‘Berlin or Bust,' I'm going

to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you would slither out of a locked suitcase with barely a wrinkle to your frock."

"You assume correctly."

"Then we shall play by the rules of gentlemen. Each to their own and stay out of the other's way."

Her black eyebrows narrowed to haughty arrows. "Fine by me. Winner takes all." Her fingers whitened around the door handle

as the car swayed. The color also seemed to be waning from her perfectly powdered face.

Jasper lifted his brow in polite concern. "Not feeling unwell, are you?"

"I'm perfectly well."

"The rocking of the train. The sudden turns on the tracks. The way the rails bounce us around like marbles in a can. All the

jerky motions can unsettle even the strongest of constitutions."

Her lower lip trembled as she made a tremendous effort to swallow. "My constitution is none of your business."

"Forgive me. I only wish to offer my assistance should you have need of it."

"As I told you before, I have no need of it." She touched a shaky hand to the base of her throat, then tried to act as if she hadn't by smoothing the neckline of her dress.

"Very well, then I shall bid you a fair evening." He was loathe to give up the possibility of claiming one of those empty

cushioned seats in favor of a wooden bench in the dining car, but staying would force him to chuck her out the window at the

nearest river crossing. Once more, the gentleman in him—blight the sot—won the argument. Tipping an imaginary hat, he continued

down the corridor.

"Oh," she called after him. "I'll need to know where to send the divorce papers before I return to Italy with victory in hand."

"Do not fret on that account," he said over his shoulder. "My summons will find you long before yours can trace me. It's a

particular skill of mine. Finding things or persons before others can."

"I only hope you find a soft spot to lay your head tonight."

"As I hope you last the night. We have a bumpy track ahead of us." He turned back just in time to see her slap her hand to

her mouth and rush into her compartment.

"Good night, darling!"