Midnight Jewels

long time before he could reestablish that degree of wealth and power again.
    Unless he got hold of the book.
    Valley of Secret Jewels
held a priceless shortcut to what Erasmus Gladstone wanted.
    "More port?"
    He opened his eyes and saw Isobel bending down to refill his glass. Her breasts were round and full above the low neckline of her silk dress. He allowed himself the pleasure of just looking at her for a moment. Beautiful women were plentiful for a man of wealth, but few of them came equipped with Isobel Ascanius' particular talents.
    "Thank you, my dear. You'll join me?"
    "Of course." She smiled at him over the rim of her glass, responding as always to the sound of his voice.
    Gladstone had learned early in life that his voice was a most useful tool. People invariably responded to that voice. It caressed the ear, charmed and beguiled the senses. Gladstone made good use of his secret weapon. "You've arranged to have the map ready for our Miss Pennington?"
    "She'll receive it when she rents her car in Denver," Isobel assured him.
    "And the motel?"
    "I told her it was the only suitable one en route. She'll stay there. Why should she question our recommendation?"
    "Why should she, indeed," Gladstone murmured thoughtfully.
    "You're certain you want her to spend the night there before she comes here to us?" Isobel asked. "It seems a waste of time."
    "It will give us a chance to make certain she's alone and is not being followed. If we have any doubts about her at that point we can take the book from her then. She will think she has merely been the victim of a motel robbery. No one will be able to prove anything else. Having her stay the first night at the motel is simply an extra precaution. The book is dangerous, my dear. Extremely valuable and extremely dangerous."
    Isobel wandered over to the window, watching the light fade from the glistening mountain peaks. "I still think we're taking too much of a risk merely to obtain this book."
    "You will understand how important the book is when I have it back."
    "But you won't tell me its significance now, will you?" Isobel asked with a sad smile. "You still don't trust me completely."
    "I trust no one completely, my dear. But rest assured that you are in my confidence to a greater extent than anyone has ever been." Gladstone took another sip of his port. "Everything is in order at the colony?"
    "Of course. The members are all looking forward to the party."
    Gladstone's fine mouth twisted wryly. "Yes, I imagine they are."
    "You're, certain you want to have the party while Miss Pennington is here?"
    "Absolutely certain. It will provide excellent cover in case we decide it's necessary to do anything permanent about sweet Miss Pennington. Just another precaution, my dear. You should be accustomed to my little eccentricities by now."
    "I find your eccentricities quite charming, Erasmus." Isobel smiled at him. "I'm learning much from you."
    "No doubt you are." Gladstone smiled back at her. Isobel was a beautiful woman, but she had known that since she was a young girl. She accepted comments on her beauty with the air of one who took them for granted. They bored her. The real key to charming her was to pay tribute to her intelligence and her various skills. She thrived on such admiration. The key to using her efficiently was to recognize and grant what she really craved: a genuine measure of power. She needed to feel she was finally on the fast track. She needed to know that one day she might have what Gladstone had. Isobel was an ambitious woman.
    Gladstone had another innate talent aside from his compelling voice. He had the ability to find the right key to handle nearly anyone. Gladstone never let any of his talents go to waste.
    Mercy awoke the next morning with the distinct impression that her whole life had undergone a significant change overnight. But the sense of impending fate that seemed to fill her senses was pushed aside almost immediately by a variety of surprising aches and twinges on the insides of her upper thighs.
    Cautiously she flexed her legs under the covers. None of the aches and twinges could be called painful, she decided objectively. More like gentle reminders of the claim Croft Falconer had made on her. There was no real discomfort, but there was a deep awareness in her of what it had felt like to lie in his arms.
    Mercy wondered if Croft knew the full effect he had had on her the night before. She was afraid he did. The man was far too perceptive. He