Page 66 of Bloodlines and Birthright

“It was Gavin’s idea,” he said. “Were you here when we entered the bookshop? I had a feeling we were being watched.”

“I arrived a few minutes before you.”

Oscar frowned. “Why not go in then?”

“I wanted to do a little window shopping first.” The other shops in the vicinity seemed to be mainly bookshops, stationers, and a gentleman’s tailor. Nothing that would appeal to a fine lady of fashion such as Miss Wheeler. “I’m ready to speak to Signore Benedetti now, I believe.”

Ah. Now I understood. She’d deliberately dawdled because she preferred to see the book with the tattoo ink spell in our hands rather than Defoe’s.

“Signore Benedetti sold the book,” I told her. “He can’t find the details of the buyer but will send it to us when he does.”

She gave me a nod of gratitude for the information.

“You should still speak to him yourself, Miss Wheeler,” Oscar said quickly. “Perhaps he’ll share the details with you, too, when he lays his hands on them again. Then you can attempt to acquire the book before we do if you get there before us, that is.”

It seemed Oscar was orchestrating another reunion with Miss Wheeler in whatever location the book happened to be in. I expected Miss Wheeler to refuse, to protect herself from another difficult parting.

She did not. She gave no indication of her next moves whatsoever. “Will you stay in Rome a little longer?”

“Just a day or two more for sightseeing,” I said. “Rome is fascinating, is it not?”

She turned her heated gaze onto Oscar. “Fascinating.”

I cleared my throat. It had no effect on either of them. I may as well have not been there. Indeed, I had the distinct feeling I ought to give them some privacy. “Goodbye, Miss Wheeler. Take care.”

“Goodbye, Professor. Mr. Barratt.”

I backed away. Oscar lingered a few moments then went to step away from her, too.

Miss Wheeler dropped her parasol, took his face in her hands, and kissed him so passionately that his hat fell off. It landed on the dusty cobblestones beside her parasol.

I turned and walked quickly down the street. When I reached the intersection with the main road, I glanced over my shoulder. Oscar was following me at a distance, twirling his hat, a smile on his face. I caught a flash of deep purple as Miss Wheeler entered the shop of Signore Benedetti.

I wasn’t quite sure what to say to Oscar, so I said nothing.

The smile didn’t leave his face for the remainder of our stay in Rome.

Chapter 21

The dinner party to celebrate our return to London was supposed to be an intimate affair, but it seemed India and Matt’s closest friends wanted to hear all about our travels, too. Matt’s elderly aunt, Miss Glass, joined us, as did Willie and her husband, Jasper Brockwell, Cyclops and his wife Catherine, and Lord Farnsworth, who was quite possibly the oddest man I’d ever met. He could be empty-headed yet sometimes say the most insightful things.

He somehow managed to be both after listening to Oscar and me tell the tale of the Scala family, the murder, scandal, and the resulting adoption of Emiliano by Pietro Scala. “What a wonderful lesson,” he declared with a salute of his wine glass. “Family is important. Shared blood is a shared bond, and all that.”

“You loathe your family,” Willie pointed out.

“I didn’t say we had to like our family, just respect where we come from, our lineage, as it were.”

“Why don’t you like your family?” Oscar asked.

“They’re dreadful snobs. They’re always hounding me to marry a lady of good breeding.” He made a face. “If I had to spend the rest of my life married to one person, I’d rather it be Willie. She’s jolly amusing.”

“True,” Willie said. “I am.”

D.I. Brockwell leaned forward to peer past his wife at Farnsworth. “She’s already married.”

“Oh yes. I quite forgot. Sorry, old chap.” He sipped his wine and signaled for the butler to pour more. “Miss Glass, you look a little peaky. Is everything all right?”

She stared down at her plate, knife and fork clutched firmly in her birdlike hands.