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pardon?”
    “Your accent.”
    “Oh.” She’d traveled extensively with her parents, and her ease with languages was apparent not only in her varied fluencies, but in the local dialects she’d absorbed over the years. But as that was more explanation than she wanted to give, she simply shrugged and responded as her mother always had: “Gypsy.”
    He arched one dark brow, a smile playing about his lips. “Ah. Of course.”
    Katya turned pointedly away. “If you’ll excuse me…”
    “One moment please, Miss Alexander,” he said, stopping her. “There was a reason I came out here to speak with you. Have you checked your belongings recently?”
    She turned, frowning back at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “I’m talking about that carpetbag you were clutching to your chest in the tavern back in Cannes. Surely you weren’t so foolish as to entrust its safety with Lord and Lady Stanton.”
    “How did you—”
    “Your voices carried through the top of the coach.”
    “I see.” Katya drew herself up. “Thank you for the warning,” she replied. “That being the case, I shall take care to monitor our conversations more carefully.”
    A tight, mocking smile touched his lips. “The warning was not meant to ensure the privacy of your conversations.”
    “Then what—”
    “Lord and Lady Stanton have indicated that they’ve changed their minds about continuing on to Monaco. It occurred to me that their abrupt change of heart might stem from a desire to escape undetected with whatever valuables they were able to sneak from your bag, rather than from a sudden desire to tour the town of Nice.”
    Her eyes widened as she stared at him for a moment in stunned, speechless shock. “You can’t be serious,” she finally managed.
    “You didn’t wonder why a lord and lady of the realm were taking a third-rate coach into Monaco, rather than the train? Or where their servants might be? Or why Lady Stanton was so insistent that you give up control of your bag?”
    “That’s utterly preposterous.”
    “I suggest you check your bag, Miss Alexander.”
    “Very well,” she replied, matching his patronizing tone. “After I do, I shall be happy to accept your apology on behalf of Lord and Lady Stanton.” That said, she bent down, flipped open the leather straps of her carpetbag, and reached inside. Secure in the knowledge that she was entirely correct, she unfastened the tiny buttons that lined the inside front pocket, opened it, and peered inside.
    Nothing.
    The black silk pouch in which she stored her jewelry and cash was missing.
    Katya smothered a shocked cry as her heart slammed against the walls of her chest. Swallowing hard, she resisted the urge to immediately dump her bag upside down and rifle through its contents in search of the missing item. The truth was inescapable. She had checked the tiny pouch before she boarded the coach and had found everything in good order. Now her jewels and money were gone. The only time the bag had been out of her hands all day was when Lady Stanton had insisted Katya put it on the floor between her and her husband.
    The Englishman’s deep voice rang out from above her. “I’m sorry, Miss Alexander. In this particular instance, I had hoped that I was wrong.”
    Katya shook her head, unable to bear his sympathy. She was furious with herself for her carelessness, furious with the Stantons for their deception, and furious with him for pointing out her witless naiveté and clumsy ineptitude.
“Surely you weren’t so foolish as to entrust its safety with Lord and Lady Stanton.”
It was bad enough that her belongings were missing, but she needn’t compound the beating her pride was taking by admitting that to the arrogant Englishman. She was quite capable of getting her possessions back without any help from him, thank you very much.
    Forcing an expression of smug righteousness onto her face, she straightened and coolly met his gaze. “It appears that