The Art of Deception by Nora Roberts
maze in the dark.”
“I’ll be patient.”
“You could be dead,” he countered between his teeth. “That heater’s unstable—if there’s a short this whole room would go up! You’ve already taken in too much of the gas.”
“I won’t go in!” Hysteria bubbled, and she didn’t have the strength or the wit to combat it. Her voice rose as she stumbled back from him. “I can’t go in, don’t you understand?”
“I hope you understand this,” he muttered, and clipped her cleanly on the jaw. Without a sound, she collapsed into his arms. Adam didn’t hesitate. He tossed her unceremoniously over his shoulder and plunged into the passageway.
With the panel closed to cut off the flow of gas, the passage was in total darkness. With one arm holding Kirby in place, Adam inched along the wall. He had to reach the stairs, and the first mechanism. Groping, testing each step, he hugged the wall, knowing what would happen to both of them if he rushed and plunged them headlong down the steep stone stairway.
He heard the skitter of rodents and brushed spider-webs out of his face. Perhaps it was best that Kirby was unconscious, he decided. He’d get her through a lot easier carrying her than he would dragging her.
Five minutes, then ten, then at last his foot met empty space.
Cautiously, he shifted Kirby on his shoulder, pressed the other to the wall, and started down. The steps were stone, and treacherous enough with a light. In the dark, with no rail for balance, they were deadly. Fighting the need to rush, Adam checked himself on each step before going on to the next. When he reached the bottom, he went no faster, but began to trace his hand along the wall, feeling for a switch.
The first one stuck. He had to concentrate just to breathe. Kirby swayed on his shoulder as he maneuvered the sharp turn in the passage. Swearing, Adam moved forward blindly until his fingers brushed over a second lever. The panel groaned open just enough for him to squeeze himself and his burden through. Blinking at the sunlight, he dashed around dust-covered furniture and out into the hall.
When he reached the second floor and passed Cards, he didn’t break stride. “Turn off the gas to Kirby’s studio from the main valve,” he ordered, coughing as he moved by. “And keep everyone away from there.”
“Yes, Mr. Haines.” Cards continued to walk toward the main stairway, carrying his pile of fresh linens.
When Adam reached her room, he laid Kirby on the bed, then opened the windows. He stood there a moment, just breathing, letting the air rush over his face and soothe his eyes. His stomach heaved. Forcing himself to take slow, measured breaths, he leaned out. When the nausea passed, he went back to her.
The high color had faded. Now she was as pale as the quilt. She didn’t move. Hadn’t moved, he remembered, since he’d hit her. With a tremor, he pressed his fingers to her throat and felt a slow, steady pulse. Quickly he went into the bathroom and soaked a cloth with cold water. As he ran it over her face, he said her name.
She coughed first, violently. Nothing could’ve relieved him more. When her eyes opened, she stared at him dully.
“You’re in your room,” he told her. “You’re all right now.”
“You hit me.”
He grinned because there was indignation in her voice. “I thought you’d take a punch better with a chin like that. I barely tapped you.”
“So you say.” Gingerly she sat up and touched her chin. Her head whirled once, but she closed her eyes and waited for it to pass. “I suppose I had it coming. Sorry I got neurotic on you.”
He let his forehead rest against hers. “You scared the hell out of me. I guess you’re the only woman who’s received a marriage proposal and a right jab within minutes of each other.”
“I hate to do the ordinary.” Because she needed another minute, she lay back against the pillows. “Have you turned off the gas?”
“Cards is seeing to it.”
“Of course.” She said this calmly enough, then began to pluck at the quilt with her fingers. “As far as I know, no one’s tried to kill me before.”
It made it easier, he thought, that she understood and accepted that straight off. With a nod, he touched a hand to her cheek. “First we call a doctor. Then we call the police.”
“I don’t need a doctor. I’m just a little queasy now, it’ll pass.” She took both his hands and held them firmly. “And we can’t call the police.”
He saw something in her eyes that nearly snapped his temper. Stubbornness. “It’s the usual procedure after attempted murder, Kirby.”
She didn’t wince. “They’ll ask annoying questions and skulk all over the house. It’s in all the movies.”
“This isn’t a game.” His hands tightened on hers. “You could’ve been killed—would’ve been if you’d been in there alone. I’m not giving him another shot at you.”
“You think it was Stuart.” She let out a long breath. Be objective, she told herself. Then you can make Adam be objective. “Yes, I suppose it was, though I wouldn’t have thought him ingenious enough. There’s no one else who’d want to hurt me. Still, we can’t prove a thing.”
“That has yet to be seen.” His eyes flashed a moment as he thought of the satisfaction he’d get from beating a confession out of Hiller. She saw it. She understood it.
“You’re more primitive than I’d imagined.” Touched, she traced her finger down his jaw. “I didn’t know how nice it would be to have someone want to vanquish dragons for me. Who needs a bunch of silly police when I have you?”
“Don’t try to outmaneuver me.”
“I’m not.” The smile left her eyes and her lips. “We’re not in the position to call the police. I couldn’t answer the questions they’d ask, don’t you see? Papa has to resolve the business of the Rembrandt, Adam. If everything came out now, he’d be hopelessly compromised. He might go to prison. Not for anything,” she said softly. “Not for anything would I risk that.”
“He won’t,” Adam said shortly. No matter what strings he’d have to pull, what dance he’d have to perform, he’d see to it that Fairchild stayed clear. “Kirby, do you think your father would continue with whatever he’s plotting once he knew of this?”
“I couldn’t predict his reaction.” Weary, she let out a long breath and tried to make him understand. “He might destroy the Rembrandt in a blind rage. He could go after Stuart single-handed. He’s capable of it. What good would any of that do, Adam?” The queasiness was passing, but it had left her weak. Though she didn’t know it, the vulnerability was her best weapon. “We have to let it lie for a while longer.”
“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 li
“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
“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.”