“All right.” He brushed one from her cheek and made a promise on it. Before it was over, he would indeed smell Stuart Hiller’s blood. “You’re only postponing the inevitable.”
Relieved, she closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them again, they were still damp, but no longer desperate. “I don’t believe in the inevitable.” She took his hand and brought it to her cheek, holding it there a moment until she felt the tension drain from both of them. “You must’ve come in to see my portrait. It’s there, above the desk.”
She gestured, but he didn’t take his eyes from hers. “I’ll have to give it a thorough study, right after I give my attention to the original.” He gathered her close and just held her. It was, though neither one of them had known it, the perfect gesture of support. Resting her head against his shoulder, she thought of peace, and she thought of the plans that had already been put into motion.
“I’m sorry, Adam.”
He heard the regret in her voice and brushed his lips over her hair. “What for?”
“I can’t tell you.” She tightened her arms around his waist and clung to him as she had never clung to anyone. “But I am sorry.”
The drive away from the Merrick estate was more sedate than the approach. Kirby sat in the passenger seat. Under most circumstances, Adam would’ve attributed her silence and unease to her scene with Hiller. But he remembered her reaction at the mention of the sale of a Titian.
What was going on in that kaleidoscope brain of hers? he wondered. And how was he going to find out? The direct approach, Adam decided, and thought fleetingly that it was a shame to waste the moonlight. “The Titian that’s been sold,” he began, pretending he didn’t see Kirby jolt. “Has Harriet had it long?”
“The Titian.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Oh, years and years. Your Mrs. Birmingham’s shaped like a zucchini, don’t you think?”
“She’s not my Mrs. Birmingham.” A new game, he concluded, and relaxed against the seat. “It’s too bad it was sold before I could see it. I’m a great admirer of Titian. The painting in my room’s exquisite.”
Kirby let out a sound that might have been a nervous giggle. “The one at the gallery is just as exquisite,” she told him. “Ah, here we are, home again. Just leave the car out front,” she said, half relieved, half annoyed, that the next steps were being put into play. “Cards will see to it. I hope you don’t mind coming back early, Adam. There’s Papa,” she added as she stepped from the car. “He must’ve struck out with Harriet. Let’s have a nightcap, shall we?”
She started up the steps without waiting for his agreement. Knowing he was about to become a part of some hastily conceived plan, he went along. It’s all too pat, he mused as Fairchild waited at the door with a genial smile.
“Too many people,” Fairchild announced. “I much prefer small parties. Let’s have a drink in the parlor and gossip.”
Don’t look so bloody anxious, Kirby thought, and nearly scowled at him. “I’ll go tell Cards to see to the Rolls and my car.” Still, she hesitated as the men walked toward the parlor. Adam caught the indecision in her eyes before Fairchild cackled and slapped him on the back.
“And don’t hurry back,” he told Kirby. “I’ve had enough of women for a while.”
“How sweet.” The irony and strength came back into her voice. “I’ll just go in and eat Tulip’s lemon trifle. All,” she added as she swept past.
Fairchild thought of his midnight snack with regret. “Brat,” he muttered. “Well, we’ll have Scotch instead.”
Adam dipped his hands casually in his pockets and watched every move Fairchild made. “I had a chance to see Kirby’s portrait in Harriet’s library. It’s marvelous.”
“One of my best, if I say so myself.” Fairchild lifted the decanter of Chivas Regal. “Harriet’s fond of my brat, you know.” In a deft move, Fairchild slipped two pills from his pocket and dropped them into the Scotch.
Under normal circumstances Adam would’ve missed it. Clever hands, he thought as intrigued as he was amused. Very quick, very agile. Apparently they wanted him out of the way. He was going to find it a challenge to pit himself against both of them. With a smile, he accepted the drink, then turned to the Corot landscape behind him.
“Corot’s treatment of light,” Adam began, taking a small sip. “It gives all of his work such deep perspective.”
No ploy could’ve worked better. Fairchild was ready to roll. “I’m very partial to Corot. He had such a fine hand with details without being finicky and obscuring the overall painting. Now the leaves,” he began, and set down his drink to point them out. While the lecture went on, Adam set down his own drink, picked up Fairchild’s and enjoyed the Scotch.
Upstairs Kirby found the Titian already wrapped in heavy paper. “Bless you, Cards,” she murmured. She checked her watch and made herself wait a full ten minutes before she picked up the painting and left the room. Quietly she moved down the back stairs and out to where her car waited.
In the parlor, Adam studied Fairchild as he sat in the corner of the sofa, snoring. Deciding the least he could do was to make his host more comfortable, Adam started to swing Fairchild’s legs onto the couch. The sound of a car engine stopped him. Adam was at the window in time to see Kirby’s Porsche race down the drive.
“You’re going to have company,” he promised her. Within moments, he was behind the wheel of the Rolls.
The surge of speed added to Kirby’s sense of adventure. She drove instinctively while she concentrated on her task for the evening. It helped ease the guilt over Adam, a bit.
A quarter mile from the gallery, she stopped and parked on the side of the road. Grateful that the Titian was relatively small, though the frame added weight, she gathered it up again and began to walk. Her heels echoed on the asphalt.
Clouds drifted across the moon, obscuring the light then freeing it again. With her cape swirling around her, Kirby walked into the cover of trees that bordered the gallery. The light was dim, all shadows and secrets. Up ahead came the low moan of an owl. Tossing back her hair, she laughed.
“Perfect,” she decided. “All we need is a rumble of thunder and a few streaks of lightning. Skulking through the woods on a desperate mission,” she mused. “Surrounded by the sounds of night.” She shifted the bundle in her arms and continued on. “What one does for those one loves.”
She could see the stately red brick of the gallery through the trees. Moonlight slanted over it. Almost there, she thought with a quick glance at her watch. In an hour she’d be back home—and perhaps she’d have the lemon trifle after all.
A hand fell heavily on her shoulder. Her cape spread out like wings as she whirled. Great buckets of blood, she thought as she stared up at Adam.
“Out for a stroll?” he asked her.
“Why, hello, Adam.” Since she couldn’t disappear, she had to face him down. She tried a friendly smile. “What are you doing out here?”
“Following you.”
“Flattering. But wasn’t Papa entertaining you?”
“He dozed off.”
She stared up at him a moment, then let out a breath. A wry smile followed it. “I suppose he deserved it. I hope you left him comfortable.”
“Enough. Now what’s in the package?”
Though she knew it was useless, she fluttered her lashes. “Package?”
He tapped his finger on the wrapping.
“Oh, this package.