Page 17 of Bloodlines and Birthright

Too late, Oscar realized he’d inadvertently hinted that we hadn’t got the book, after all.

Mr. Defoe checked the time on his gold watch. “I’ve decided to go to the abbey anyway and have secured transportation. We leave in thirty minutes. Do you need to return to your room, Adele, or shall we wait in the shade outside?”

“I’m ready.” She took his offered arm, and together they left the hotel.

I made my way to the dining room, but stopped in the doorway when I realized Oscar hadn’t followed. He was still watching the retreating figures of Miss Wheeler and Mr. Defoe. It wasn’t until the hotel door closed behind them and they were no longer visible that he joined me.

He looked glum.

“I’m sorry Miss Wheeler isn’t interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with you,” I said.

“Who says she isn’t interested?”

My gaze shifted to the hotel exit. “She declined your invitation to dine with you.”

“She didn’t decline.” He indicated a vacant table for two in the dining room. “Don’t worry, Gavin. We’ll see Miss Wheeler again, and I will win her heart.”

I followed him past other hotel guests enjoying their breakfast as he made his way to the table. “But she isn’t interested,” I said again.

“Didn’t you notice her flirting with me?”

“That was flirting?”

He stopped at the table and gave me a wry grin. “Clearly winning her heart won’t be easy, but the challenge will make it feel so much sweeter when I do.”

“She’s not a prize, Oscar.”

I still wasn’t convinced she would ever want a relationship with him, or anyone—she had a good life as the assistant to a very wealthy man. Nor did I think Oscar had completely convinced himself. The air of glumness clung to him throughout breakfast.

Although we could have walked on the street, we stayed on the promenade that hugged the lake’s shore. The view was more picturesque, and we blended in with the tourists out for their morning stroll. The street was used by locals going about their business with carts and donkeys laden with goods to supply the many hotels and shops in the village.

Not that Oscar paid much attention to our route. He kept glancing over his shoulder. There was no one there, however.

“Are you expecting to see Miss Wheeler following us?” I asked.

“She is following us.”

I stopped and looked around. “Where? All I see are tourists promenading.”

He urged me forward. “Keep walking. Let her follow.”

“She’s not there, Oscar. Your mind is playing tricks because you want to see her.”

He snorted. “Hardly. I’m not a lovesick fool. I know what I saw.”

“She went to the abbey with Defoe.”

“Neither of us saw her leave, so we can’t say for certain.” He gave me a nudge to keep me moving forward. “There’s the villa gate. It’s guarded. We need to think of something to convince the guard to let us through.”

The guard standing in front of the closed gates, hands clasped in front of him, wore a uniform with high polished boots, a peaked hat like those worn by railway stationmasters, and a military style jacket with brass buttons. He wouldn’t have looked out of my place on the battlefield, except that his uniform was not like the Italian one worn by the soldiers we’d seen in Milan.

“Any thoughts on what to say?” Oscar asked me as we slowed our pace.

“The truth. That we want to purchase books. Signore Scala might be willing to entertain a price if he’s in financial difficulty.”

“That might work on Scala, but we have to get past him first.” Oscar nodded at the guard. “He’ll tell us to make an appointment and come back later. I think we should find another way in.”

I eyed the wall surrounding the estate. “I am not scaling that.”