“Why didn’t they play when your father died?”
“There was a show of force from the newly unified Italian government to police criminal activity. It didn’t stick. But it allowed me a few years to seed rumors that the emeralds were stolen in the upheaval following my father’s death.”
“So when Jared tried to sell them—”
“He didn’t know what he’d set in motion. It was a secret my father insisted we keep from him for his protection.”
The water sputtered from the tap, and Diana reached forward to turn it off. “What did your father stake with the emeralds?”
A rap sounded at the door.
Eager to escape Diana’s question and compose himself before confronting the potentially traitorous Stags, Ian crept out of the bathing room and withdrew his pistol. Diana darted back into the bedroom, seized her crumpled dress from the floor, and removed the knife hidden in the pocket.
The knock came again: two taps, a pause, and a third rap.
Diana met his eyes and nodded to confirm it was Birdie before she slipped the dress over her head. Ian opened the door a crack and found Birdie in the hallway with one hand tucked in the pocket of her coat. She took in Ian’s rumpled suit, raised a brow, and sauntered into the room.
“Brought you a change of clothes, ma’am.” Birdie tossed Diana a brown paper package. “Thought trousers and a cap would be the most versatile.”
“Thank you.” Diana accepted it with all of her society poise. “I won’t sugarcoat what happened last night. Widow and I had a disagreement about the next phase of the operation. She has allowed me time to present her with an alternative.”
“What’s the plan then?”
The crew hand’s tone was far too pleasant for Ian’s liking. Birdie had to be itching at the discord between Diana and her handler.
“We should continue on the water,” he said, following Diana’s lead. “Costa will watch the trains.”
“There’s a tugboat with a course to Genoa,” Birdie suggested smoothly. “Schedule says the boat casts off in two hours.”
The woman wasn’t even trying to conceal her eagerness to move them on that route. Ian choked down a growl.
“Make the arrangements,” Diana said. “And you and your team should keep your heads down today,” she added. “Going back to the townhouse is a risk.”
“Aye.”
It was such an obvious attempt at a trap; Ian marveled at how both of the women were keeping a straight face discussing it.
“And Birdie, if you have reservations about the direction of this operation, I can relieve you of your duty,” Diana cautioned primly.
“That won’t be necessary, ma’am.” Birdie’s tone was brusque and efficient. The epitome of an obedient operative. She was overplaying it by a mile, and Ian couldn’t help stare at her pointedly until she backed her way out of the room.
The moment she left, Ian took up a post at the window overlooking the front entrance to the hotel, but the sparrows were smart enough to abscond using another route.
Diana withdrew to the bathing room to change. She reappeared a few moments later ensconced in woolen pants with braces, a flannel shirt, and boots.
He loved the way she walked in trousers. Her hips swayed freely; her strides were quick and smooth. He could watch the graceful fall of her steps all damn day.
As she attempted to pin her plaited hair against her head to tuck underneath the cap, she bemoaned the pins under her breath.
Ian walked behind her and caught her gaze in the mirror. He gestured to her hair. “Do you want help with that?”
She paused with her hands suspended over her head. “I didn’t realize you were skilled in hairdressing.”
“Don’t tell me you forgot practicing on me?” he teased.
“Of course I remember.” Her lips twitched. “You’d let your hair grow out all summer. You had so many more curls, I was green with envy and intent on ruining them with my experiments. I’m still shocked you agreed to it.”
“Always a willing accomplice,” he murmured as he reached for a pin. Handling her hair was staving off the howling need to caress her again, in more intimate places.
