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invigorating—he could smell the ocean. It wasn’t overly warm; just pleasant. It would have been a fine day to walk about Lisbon, but he knew he couldn’t leave just then.
    A soft moan from the bed brought Edward’s mind back to the room. He turned from the window and approached the bed. Denley had begun to slide down in the bed again. Edward had noticed it before and shifted him so his head was back on the pillow. This time he bent over the man and gently removed the pillow.
    “He doesn’t seem to want it under his head,” Edward said when he found Osborne’s eyes on him.
    Osborne was utterly silent with mental castigations. She knew very well that Denley preferred a very flat pillow or none at all, but she hadn’t even noticed.
    “Are you all right?” Edward suddenly asked.
    Osborne’s eyes flew to him. She had been completely unaware he’d been watching her so closely. Was she that comfortable in this man’s presence or just that upset over Denley’s condition?
    “Yes,” she answered shortly, forcing her eyes from his probing gaze. She went back to bathing Denley’s flushed face and head, giving her an excuse not to look at him.
    Edward could see her need for privacy and turned away, going toward his bag.
    “I’m going to settle in my room. I’ll check on you shortly.”
    “Shall I knock on your door when Rose gets here?”
    “Rosario,” Edward corrected. “If I don’t come back first, that will be fine.”
    Not until he exited did Osborne realize she wasn’t certain which room was Edward’s. She nearly came to her feet and went after him but changed her mind. Even if they were late to lunch, Osborne decided that she’d rather Edward came to her.

    “Did Rosario meet with your approval?” Edward asked the moment the gentlemen took a seat at one of the tables downstairs. There were other diners in the large room, but their place by the window gave them a modicum of privacy.
    “Yes. She seemed capable and kind.”
    Edward nodded, but Osborne didn’t notice.
    “Had Denley roused at all?”
    “He took another drink of water, but I don’t believe he was very aware.”
    Both of his questions had been answered absently. Edward had never taken his eyes from his companion, slightly amazed at how good her disguise was but also waiting to see if she would look at him. Not until he asked his next question did her eyes turn in his direction.
    “I think you should tell me your name—your real name.”
    The eyes that looked at him were guarded and keen. They were eyes that had been forced to weigh every circumstance, person, and event. Edward knew he was being evaluated.
    “Why do you wish to know?”
    “I just think it wise. I’m not asking that you trust me—you have no reason to—but I would like to know your name.”
    When she didn’t speak right away, Edward said, “I’m not like Waldengrave.”
    “Why did you mention him?”
    “I got the impression you didn’t trust him.”
    “I didn’t at first, but then I realized he just liked to talk.”
    The table was silent again for several moments. The room around them hummed with low voices and the sound of cups and plates moving. Edward waited this time, his eyes ever watchful.
    “Niki,” she began softly but stopped and took a small breath. “Nicola Bettencourt.”
    “Bettencourt,” Edward tested the name, having caught the perfect pronunciation. “You don’t look French.”
    “I’m not.”
    Edward stared at her a moment before saying, “But Nicola is French also, is it not?”
    “That is true.”
    This said, Edward’s companion turned her eyes to the window, clearly indicating the conversation to be over. Nevertheless, Edward waited. She volunteered no other information. Not that he was surprised. This woman had secrets to keep and no reason to share them with him, but her name made him more curious than ever. Was she running from her husband? That might explain the French name for a woman who was not French. Or had she been