Hot Ice

been right, she realized. It was the winning that counted. She hadn’t lost yet.
    “A man like Lord would’ve fenced all this for a fraction of its value. Peasant.” She lifted her snifter again. “A man like you would have different plans.”
    “Perceptive as well as beautiful.” He’d married his second wife because her skin had been as pure as fresh cream. He’d gotten rid of her because her brain had been about the same consistency. Whitney was becoming more intriguing. Calmer, he ran the necklace through his hands. “I plan to enjoy the treasure. The cash value means little. I’m a very rich man.” It wasn’t said offhandedly, but with relish. Being rich was as important as virility, as intellect. More, he thought, because money could cushion the lack of either.
    “Collecting”—he skimmed a finger over the bracelet and onto her wrist—“things has become a hobby. At times, an obsessive one.”
    He could call it a hobby, she thought. He’d killed time and time again for the box and its contents, yet it meant no more to him than a handful of brightly colored rocks to a young boy. She fought to keep the revulsion off her face and the accusation from her voice.
    “Would you think me a poor sport if I told you I wish you hadn’t managed this particular hobby quite so well.” Sighing, she ran a hand over the glittering jewels. “I’d grown rather fond of the idea of owning all this.”
    “On the contrary, I admire your honesty.” Leaving her beside the chest, Dimitri walked over to pour the coffee. “And I understand you worked very hard for Marie’s treasure.”
    “Yes, I—” Whitney broke off. “I’m curious, Mr. Dimitri, just how did you learn of the treasure?”
    “Business. Cream, my dear?”
    “No, thank you. Black.” Fighting to hold back her impatience, Whitney crossed the room to the coffee service.
    “Did Lord tell you about Whitaker?” asked her host.
    Whitney accepted the coffee then forced herself to sit. “Only that he’d acquired the papers and then decided to put them on the market.”
    “Whitaker was a bit of a fool, but at times he was clever enough. He’d been, at one time, a business partner with Harold R. Bennett. You recognize the name?”
    “Of course.” She said it easily while her mind began to work frantically. Hadn’t Doug mentioned a general once? Yes, there’d been a general who’d been negotiating with Lady Smythe-Wright for the papers. “Bennett’s a retired five-star general and quite a businessman. He’s had some dealings with my father—professionally and on the golf course, which almost amounts to the same thing.”
    “I’ve always preferred chess to golf,” Dimitri commented. In the ivory silk, she shimmered so much that she might have replaced the glass queen that was in shards now. He remembered how well it had fit his hand. “So you know of General Bennett’s reputation.”
    “He’s well known as a patron of the arts, and a collector of the old and unique. A few years ago he led an expedition in the Caribbean and discovered a sunken Spanish galleon. He recovered somewhere around five and a half million in artifacts, coins, and jewels. What Whitaker pretended to do, Bennett did. And very successfully.”
    “You’re well informed. I like that.” He added cream and two generous teaspoons of sugar to his own coffee. “Bennett enjoys the hunt, shall we say. Egypt, New Zealand, the Congo, he’s looked for and found the priceless. According to Whitaker he was in the first stages of working out a deal with Lady Smythe-Wright for the papers she’d inherited. Whitaker had his connections, and a certain amount of charm where women were concerned. He slipped the deal from under Bennett’s nose. But unfortunately, he was an amateur.”
    With a weak heart, Whitney remembered. “So you learned from him where the papers were kept, and hired Douglas to steal them.”
    “Acquire them,” Dimitri corrected delicately. “Whitaker refused, even under duress, to tell me the contents of all the documents, but he did inform me that Bennett’s interest stemmed primarily from the cultural value of the treasure, its history. Naturally, the idea of acquiring a treasure that had belonged to Marie Antoinette, whom I admired particularly for her opulence and ambition, was irresistible.”
    “Naturally. If you don’t plan to sell the contents of the box, Mr. Dimitri, what do you plan to do with it?”
    “Why, have it, Whitney.” He smiled