Arms crossed, Lowe rocked on the heels of his riding boots before leaning closer to the attendant. “No, the luggage is marked correctly. Miss Bacall’s should go to my compartment. She’ll be taking a lot of notes, if you catch my drift.”

The porter slowly raised his brows. “I do, indeed. And is there—Mrs. Geller and the child, and Miss Bacall and you . . . Is there a Mrs. Magnusson making the trip as well?”

“Just the four of us.”

“I see,” the porter said, looking positively shocked. “Not to worry. I’m discreet.”

Hadley stepped to Lowe’s side and gave him a sidelong frown.

“Ah, here she is now,” Lowe said, placing a firm hand on her back.

“Yes, it’s me. Your traveling companion,” she said dryly. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten to pack a typewriter, Mr. Magnusson.”

“I hope your longhand’s good,” he said as his warm palm slid down to cup her rear.

“Did I hear you mention an extra sleeping bunk in Mrs. Geller’s compartment?” she asked the porter, struggling to pry away his hand without drawing attention.

“He said it would be far too crowded in there,” Lowe said quickly and let go of her to fish out a ridiculously large bill for the porter. “Keep the assignments as they are. And if you could personally ensure our service is top-notch all the way to New York, there’s more where that came from.”

“Yes, sir. Anything you need, I’m your man,” he said before carting the luggage away.

“So it’s ‘Miss’ Bacall, and we aren’t married now?” Hadley said when the man was out of earshot.

“He noticed you weren’t wearing a ring—”

She couldn’t travel with it. The thing was so big and showy, they’d be robbed before they made it out of the state. It was currently hidden in a panel inside their bedroom closet.

“—and our last names.”

For professional reasons. She’d kept Bacall for her career, nothing more. Explaining this to strangers was almost more trouble than it was worth. For her, at least. For Lowe, it was an opportunity to invent a new madcap story at every dinner party they attended. God only knew what he’d told his fellow professors at Berkeley. Their staff at home had believed Hadley to be some sort of royal princess when she’d first moved in after the wedding.

“You know that’s going to spread through the train like wildfire,” she said.

He waggled his brows. “Nothing more exciting than salacious gossip.”

Before she could decide if she wanted to wallop him on the arm with her handbag or lean into the kiss he was pressing to her temple, the rest of their party appeared: the entire Magnusson clan, her father, Mrs. Geller, and Stella—who dropped Mrs. Geller’s hand and bounded for them, slinging her arms around Hadley and Lowe’s legs like they were a jungle gym. She gave a little squeal of excitement into Hadley’s skirt before grinning up at both of them.

“Enjoy it now, sötnos,” Lowe said. “Once you get your first bout of motion sickness on that train, you’ll wish Uncle Lowe and Auntie Hadley had done the responsible thing and left you at home.”

Stella pushed dark curls out of her face and made the humplike sign for “camel” with her hand.

“Yes, we’re going to ride a camel,” Hadley said, smiling down at her. “I’m excited, too.”

“Satanic beasts that stink and spit,” Lowe mumbled, but his eyes twinkled with merriment. He ran a hand over Stella’s head. “I swear, that is Adam’s smile exactly.”

And it was. The girl looked more and more like Adam with every passing week. Hadley worried Lowe might be disappointed with this realization, but it only seemed to strengthen their bond. The adoption went through three months ago, making their small family of three official.

It had taken a while for Hadley and Stella to warm up to each other. Mostly Hadley’s fault. She’d never been so nervous about her specters. Number Four was one thing, but a small child without nine lives was quite another. Thankfully, the girl couldn’t see them, and over the last year, Hadley had rarely been upset enough at home to draw the Mori’s attention.

Funny how someone she’d once considered the most irritating man she’d ever met could now be the source of so much serenity.

Even when he was spinning tales to train porters.

“You sure you have everything?” her father asked. “You packed the revolver?”

“We’re staying in luxury hotels and going to major tourist sites, not digging up treasure in the desert,” Lowe reminded him. “If I thought anyone might be shooting at us, I wouldn’t be escorting a five-year-old and my wife there. And you, Mrs. Geller,” he added.

The gray-haired woman looked more titillated than wary. “Don’t worry, Dr. Bacall. I’ve packed a small wooden club in my steamer trunk, just in case we face bandits.”

Lowe had lured Mrs. Geller away from the Pacific Hebrew Orphan Asylum to serve as Stella’s live-in tutor and nanny. She’d been teaching the child sign language at an astonishing rate. And as someone who’d never crossed the California state line, she was positively exuberant about accompanying them on the trip to Egypt—which was a miracle, considering all the garish stories Lowe had shared with the woman about his last trip there.

“No one will be raiding our hotel rooms except the maids taking away dirty linens,” he assured everyone.