with a reasonable way to mention-samurai armor and Minamoto Yoritomo. Perhaps he could claim to be hosting a charity dinner with an ancient Japan theme.
Samantha wouldn't like it very much if he suddenly sprang the idea of a party on her, but she would probably go along with it. In addition, a party might be a good place to make a certain public announcement.
His palms abruptly sweaty, he blew out his breath as he made his way to the parking garage and his Barracuda. The whole scenario shouldn't have been difficult; he loved Samantha, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and he wanted to give her the security of knowing all of that, and knowing that he would always have her back, as it were.
Because he was the Marquis of Rawley, a member of the British aristocracy, matters became a little more complicated. Inheritance rules were sticky, and approvals of a marriage had to come from traditional places and required official decrees. If she only trusted him enough to say yes, he would take care of the rest of it.
He wasn't afraid of taking chances; some of his most lucrative deals had been made because of pure bravado. The thought of making a mistake and because of that losing Samantha, however, frightened the shit out of him. Probably because, unlike a business deal, this one mattered.
----
Chapter 7
Monday, 11:59 a.m.
"Is that him?" Samantha asked, angling her chin toward the double open doors of the Sailfish Club's restaurant.
"That's him." Aubrey straightened his tasteful gray tie— a conservative choice for him. "So for the caper you're a Japanese antiques aficionado?"
"Shh. Yes. And it's not a caper. It's an investigation." Technically this wasn't even an investigation as much as it was a poor excuse for a lunch. But Aubrey could call it whatever he wanted as long as he kept offering his help. She wished she'd had a little more time to prepare for meeting Gabriel Toombs, but hey, she worked off-the-cuff often enough to be pretty comfortable with it. At this moment, Toombs was nothing more than a potential mark. All she needed to discover was whether this mark had her target items in his possession.
Gabriel Toombs wore a black silk jacket and a string tie, the cut probably as Steven Seagal as he could get and still pass trie jacket and tie dress code of the Club. As he stopped in front of them Aubrey didn't offer his hand. Instead he clamped his hands to his sides and bowed deeply while Toombs mirrored the gesture.
"Wild Bill, please allow me to introduce the exceedingly charming Samantha Jellicoe," Aubrey drawled, gesturing at her. "Miss Samantha, Wild Bill Toombs."
Samantha inclined her head in a more conservative version of a bow of respect. "Mr. Toombs," she said with a slight smile, lowering her head just a little. If Toombs was being the stereotypical American being a Japanese guy, she'd be the demure female he would probably feel the most comfortable around.
"Please call me Wild Bill," he said, gazing at her, and gestured for the maitred'.
No smile, no display of emotion at all. Samantha kept an eye on him as they were led to their table in the middle of the large room. For the first time she wondered if he had any idea who she was—and then she had to stifle a laugh, because before she'd met Rick, nobody knew who she was unless she wanted them to. Now she was in magazines and featured on nightly entertainment shows, photographed leaving restaurants and entering movie premieres.
Aubrey held out her chair for her, and she sat. Already she was receiving looks from other diners; whether Wild Bill knew she and Rick Addison were an item or not, most of Palm Beach's elite did by now.
"Thank you for allowing me to tag along," she said as the men sat at either elbow. "When Aubrey said he was going to call you, I couldn't resist asking if I might join you "
"And why is that, Miss Jellicoe?" Toombs asked, looking straight at her again.
Oh, my God, he totally thinks he's an Alcira Kurosawa movie
Samantha wouldn't like it very much if he suddenly sprang the idea of a party on her, but she would probably go along with it. In addition, a party might be a good place to make a certain public announcement.
His palms abruptly sweaty, he blew out his breath as he made his way to the parking garage and his Barracuda. The whole scenario shouldn't have been difficult; he loved Samantha, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and he wanted to give her the security of knowing all of that, and knowing that he would always have her back, as it were.
Because he was the Marquis of Rawley, a member of the British aristocracy, matters became a little more complicated. Inheritance rules were sticky, and approvals of a marriage had to come from traditional places and required official decrees. If she only trusted him enough to say yes, he would take care of the rest of it.
He wasn't afraid of taking chances; some of his most lucrative deals had been made because of pure bravado. The thought of making a mistake and because of that losing Samantha, however, frightened the shit out of him. Probably because, unlike a business deal, this one mattered.
----
Chapter 7
Monday, 11:59 a.m.
"Is that him?" Samantha asked, angling her chin toward the double open doors of the Sailfish Club's restaurant.
"That's him." Aubrey straightened his tasteful gray tie— a conservative choice for him. "So for the caper you're a Japanese antiques aficionado?"
"Shh. Yes. And it's not a caper. It's an investigation." Technically this wasn't even an investigation as much as it was a poor excuse for a lunch. But Aubrey could call it whatever he wanted as long as he kept offering his help. She wished she'd had a little more time to prepare for meeting Gabriel Toombs, but hey, she worked off-the-cuff often enough to be pretty comfortable with it. At this moment, Toombs was nothing more than a potential mark. All she needed to discover was whether this mark had her target items in his possession.
Gabriel Toombs wore a black silk jacket and a string tie, the cut probably as Steven Seagal as he could get and still pass trie jacket and tie dress code of the Club. As he stopped in front of them Aubrey didn't offer his hand. Instead he clamped his hands to his sides and bowed deeply while Toombs mirrored the gesture.
"Wild Bill, please allow me to introduce the exceedingly charming Samantha Jellicoe," Aubrey drawled, gesturing at her. "Miss Samantha, Wild Bill Toombs."
Samantha inclined her head in a more conservative version of a bow of respect. "Mr. Toombs," she said with a slight smile, lowering her head just a little. If Toombs was being the stereotypical American being a Japanese guy, she'd be the demure female he would probably feel the most comfortable around.
"Please call me Wild Bill," he said, gazing at her, and gestured for the maitred'.
No smile, no display of emotion at all. Samantha kept an eye on him as they were led to their table in the middle of the large room. For the first time she wondered if he had any idea who she was—and then she had to stifle a laugh, because before she'd met Rick, nobody knew who she was unless she wanted them to. Now she was in magazines and featured on nightly entertainment shows, photographed leaving restaurants and entering movie premieres.
Aubrey held out her chair for her, and she sat. Already she was receiving looks from other diners; whether Wild Bill knew she and Rick Addison were an item or not, most of Palm Beach's elite did by now.
"Thank you for allowing me to tag along," she said as the men sat at either elbow. "When Aubrey said he was going to call you, I couldn't resist asking if I might join you "
"And why is that, Miss Jellicoe?" Toombs asked, looking straight at her again.
Oh, my God, he totally thinks he's an Alcira Kurosawa movie
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