The Art of Deception (17 page)

“What do you mean, let it lie?”

“I'll speak to Papa—tell him what happened in my own way, so that he doesn't overreact. Harriet and Melanie are coming to dinner tonight. It has to wait until tomorrow.”

“How can he sit down and have dinner with Harriet when he has stolen something from her?” Adam demanded. “How can he do something like this to a friend?”

Pain shot into her eyes. Deliberately she lowered them, but he'd already seen it. “I don't know.”

“I'm sorry.”

She shook her head. “No, you have no reason to be. You've been wonderful through all of this.”

“No, I haven't.” He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Let me be the judge of that. And give me one more day.” She touched his wrists and waited until he lowered his hands. “Just one more day, then I'll talk to Papa. Maybe we'll get everything straightened out.”

“That much, Kirby. No more.” He had some thinking of his own to do. Perhaps one more night would give him some answers. “Tomorrow you tell Philip everything, no glossing over the details. If he doesn't agree to resolve the Rembrandt business then, I'm taking over.”

She hesitated a minute. She'd said she trusted him. It was true. “All right.”

“And I'll deal with Hiller.”

“You're not going to fight with him.”

Amused, he lifted a brow. “No?”

“Adam, I won't have you bruised and bloodied. That's it.”

“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.”

With a laugh, she sat up again and threw her arms around him. “My hero. He'd never lay a hand on you.”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Fairchild.”

“Yes, Cards.” Shifting her head, Kirby acknowledged the butler in the doorway.

“It seems a chair has somehow found its way through your studio window. Unfortunately, it landed in Jamie's bed of zinnias.”

“Yes, I know. I suppose he's quite annoyed.”

“Indeed, miss.”

“I'll apologize, Cards. Perhaps a new lawn mower… You'll see to having the window repaired?”

“Yes, miss.”

“And have that heater replaced by something from the twentieth-century,” Adam added. He watched as Cards glanced at him then back at Kirby.

“As soon as possible, please, Cards.”

With a nod, the butler backed out of the doorway.

“He takes his orders from you, doesn't he?” Adam commented as the quiet footsteps receded. “I've seen the subtle nods and looks between the two of you.”

She brushed a smudge of dirt on the shoulder of his shirt. “I've no idea what you mean.”

“A century ago, Cards would've been known as the queen's man.” When she laughed at the term, he eased her back on the pillows. “Rest,” he ordered.

“Adam, I'm fine.”

“Want me to get tough again?” Before she could answer, he covered her mouth with his, lingering. “Turn the batteries down awhile,” he murmured. “I might have to call the doctor after all.”

“Blackmail.” She brought his mouth back to hers again. “But maybe if you rested with me…”

“Rest isn't what would happen then.” He drew away as she grumbled a protest.

“A half hour.”

“Fine. I'll be back.”

She smiled and let her eyes close. “I'll be waiting.”

 

It was too soon for stars, too late for sunbeams. From a window in the parlor, Adam watched the sunset hold off twilight just a few moments longer.

After reporting the attempt on Kirby's life to McIntyre, he'd found himself suddenly weary. Half lies, half truths. It had to end. It would end, he decided, tomorrow. Fairchild would have to see reason, and Kirby would be told everything. The hell with McIntyre, the job and anything else. She deserved honesty along with everything else he wanted to give her. Everything else, he realized, would mean nothing to Kirby without it.

The sun lowered further and the horizon exploded with rose-gold light. He thought of the Titian woman. She'd understand, he told himself. She had to understand. He'd make her understand. Thinking to check on her again, Adam turned from the window.

When he reached her room, he heard the sound of running water. The simple, natural sound of her humming along with her bath dissolved his tension. He thought about joining her, then remembered how pale and tired she'd looked. Another time, he promised both of them as he shut the door to her room again. Another time he'd have the pleasure of lounging in the big marble tub with her.

“Where's that wretched girl?” Fairchild demanded from behind him. “She's been hiding out all day.”

“Having a bath,” Adam told him.

“She'd better have a damn good explanation, that's all I have to say.” Looking grim, Fairchild reached for the doorknob. Adam blocked the door automatically.

“For what?”

Fairchild glared at him. “My shoes.”

Adam looked down at Fairchild's small stockinged feet. “I don't think she has them.”

“A man tugs himself into a restraining suit, chokes himself with a ridiculous tie, then has no shoes.” Fairchild pulled at the knot around his neck. “Is that justice?”

“No. Have you tried Cards?”

“Cards couldn't get his big British feet in my shoes.” Then he frowned and pursed his lips. “Then again, he did have my suit.”

“I rest my case.”

“The man's a kleptomaniac,” Fairchild grumbled as he wandered down the hall. “I'd check my shorts if I were you. No telling what he'll pick up next. Cocktails in a half hour, Adam. Hustle along.”

Deciding a quiet drink was an excellent idea after the day they'd put in, Adam went to change. He was adjusting the knot in his own tie when Kirby knocked. She opened it without waiting for his answer, then stood a moment, deliberately posed in the doorway—head thrown back, one arm raised high on the jamb, the other at her hip. The slinky jumpsuit clung to every curve, falling in folds from her neck and dispensing with a back altogether. At her ears, emeralds the size of quarters picked up the vivid green shade. Five twisted, gold chains hung past her waist.

“Hello, neighbor.” Glittering and gleaming, she crossed to him. Adam put a finger under her chin and studied her face. As an artist, she knew how to make use
of the colors of a makeup palette. Her cheeks were tinted with a touch of bronze, her lips just a bit darker. “Well?”

“You look better,” he decided.

“That's a poor excuse for a compliment.”

“How do you feel?”

“I'd feel a lot better if you'd stop examining me as though I had a rare terminal disease and kiss me as you're supposed to.” She twisted her arms around his neck and let her lashes lower.

It was them he kissed first, softly, with a tenderness that had her sighing. Then his lips skimmed down, over her cheeks, gently over her jawline.

“Adam…” His name was only a breath on the air as his mouth touched hers. She wanted it all now. Instantly. She wanted the fire and flash, the pleasure and the passion. She wanted that calm, spreading contentment that only he could give to her. “I love you,” she murmured. “I love you until there's nothing else but that.”

“There is nothing else but that,” he said, almost fiercely. “We've a lifetime for it.” He drew her away so he could bring both of her hands to his lips. “A lifetime, Kirby, and it isn't long enough.”

“Then we'll have to start soon.” She felt the giddiness again, the light-headedness, but she wouldn't run from it. “Very soon,” she added. “But we have to wait at least until after dinner. Harriet and Melanie should be here any minute.”

“If I had my choice, I'd stay with you alone in this room and make love until sunrise.”

“Don't tempt me to tarnish your reputation.” Because she knew she had to, she stepped back and finished adjusting his tie herself. It was a brisk, womanly gesture he found himself enjoying. “Ever
since I told Harriet about your help with the Titian, she's decided you're the greatest thing since peanut butter. I wouldn't want to mess that up by making you late for dinner.”

“Then we'd better go now. Five more minutes alone with you and we'd be a lot more than late.” When she laughed, he linked her arm through his and led her from the room. “By the way, your father's shoes were stolen.”

 

To the casual observer, the group in the parlor would have seemed a handful of elegant, cosmopolitan people. Secure, friendly, casually wealthy. Looking beyond the sparkle and glitter, a more discerning eye might have seen the pallor of Kirby's skin that her careful application of makeup disguised. Someone looking closely might have noticed that her friendly nonsense covered a discomfort that came from battling loyalties.

To someone from the outside, the group might have taken on a different aspect if the canvas were stretched. Rick's stuttering nerves were hardly noticed by those in the parlor. As was Melanie's subtle disdain for him. Both were the expected. Fairchild's wolfish grins and Harriet's jolting laughter covered the rest.

Everyone seemed relaxed, except Adam. The longer it went on, the more he wished he'd insisted that Kirby postpone the dinner party. She looked frail. The more energy she poured out, the more fragile she seemed to him. And touchingly valiant. Her devotion to Harriet hadn't been lip service. Adam could see it, hear it. When she loved, as Fairchild had said, she loved completely. Even the thought of the Rembrandt would be tearing her in two. Tomorrow. By the next day, it would be over.

“Adam.” Harriet took his arm as Kirby poured after-dinner drinks. “I'd love to see Kirby's portrait.”

“As soon as it's finished you'll have a private viewing.” And until the repairs in the tower were complete, he thought, he was keeping all outsiders away.

“I'll have to be content with that, I suppose.” She pouted a moment, then forgave him. “Sit beside me,” Harriet commanded and spread the flowing vermilion of her skirt on the sofa. “Kirby said I could flirt with you.”

Adam noticed that Melanie turned a delicate pink at her mother's flamboyance. Unable to resist, he lifted Harriet's hand to his lips. “Do I need permission to flirt with you?”

“Guard your heart, Harriet,” Kirby warned as she set out drinks.

“Mind your own business,” Harriet tossed back. “By the way, Adam, I'd like you to have my necklace of crocodile teeth as a token of my appreciation.”

“Good heavens, Mother.” Melanie sipped at her blackberry brandy. “Why would Adam want that hideous thing?”

“Sentiment,” she returned without blinking an eye. “Adam's agreed to let me exhibit Kirby's portrait, and I want to repay him.”

The old girl's quick, Adam decided as she sent him a guileless smile, and Melanie's been kept completely in the dark about the hobby her mother shares with Fairchild. Studying Melanie's cool beauty, Adam decided her mother knew best. She'd never react as Kirby did. Melanie could have their love and affection, but secrets were kept within the triangle. No, he realized, oddly pleased. It was now a rectangle.

“He doesn't have to wear it,” Harriet went on, breaking into his thoughts.

“I should hope not,” Melanie put in, rolling her eyes at Kirby.

“It's for good luck.” Harriet sent Kirby a glance, then squeezed Adam's arm. “But perhaps you have all the luck you need.”

“Perhaps my luck's just beginning.”

“How quaintly they speak in riddles.” Kirby sat on the arm of Melanie's chair. “Why don't we ignore them?”

“Your hawk's coming along nicely, Mr. Fairchild,” Rich hazarded.

“Aha!” It was all Fairchild needed. Bursting with good feelings, he treated Rick to an in-depth lecture on the use of calipers.

“Rick's done it now,” Kirby whispered to Melanie. “Papa has no mercy on a captive audience.”

“I didn't know Uncle Philip was sculpting.”

“Don't mention it,” Kirby said quickly. “You'll never escape.” Pursing her lips, she looked down at Melanie's elegant dark rose dress. The lines flowed fluidly with the flash of a studded buckle at the waist. “Melly, I wonder if you'd have time to design a dress for me.”

Surprised, Melanie glanced up. “Oh course, I'd love to. But I've been trying to talk you into it for years and you've always refused to go through the fittings.”

Kirby shrugged. A wedding dress was a different matter, she mused. Still, she didn't mention her plans with Adam. Her father would know first. “I usually buy on impulse, whatever appeals at the time.”

“From Goodwill to Rive Gauche,” Melanie murmured. “So this must be special.”

“I'm taking a page from your book,” Kirby evaded. “You know I've always admired your talent, I just knew
I wouldn't have the patience for all the preliminaries.” She laughed. “Do you think you can design a dress that'd make me look demure?”

“Demure?” Harriet cut in, pouncing on the word. “Poor Melanie would have to be a sorceress to pull that off. Even as a child in that sweet little muslin you looked capable of battling a tribe of Comanches. Philip, you must let me borrow that painting of Kirby for the gallery.”

“We'll see.” His eyes twinkled. “You'll have to soften me up a bit first. I've always had a deep affection for that painting.” With a hefty sigh, he leaned back with his drink. “Its value goes below the surface.”

“He still begrudges me my sitting fee.” Kirby sent her father a sweet smile. “He forgets I never collected for any of the others.”

“You never posed for the others,” Fairchild reminded her.

“I never signed a release for them, either.”

“Melly posed for me out of the goodness of her heart.”

“Melly's nicer than I am,” Kirby said simply. “I like being selfish.”

“Heartless creature,” Harriet put in mildly. “It's so selfish of you to teach sculpture in the summer to those handicapped children.”