Sweet Revenge

challenge from a man had always been difficult for Adrianne to refuse. She made the decision on impulse, knowing she’d regret it.
    “I’m at the Ritz,” she told him as she drew away. “I’ll be ready at eight.”
    Philip found himself reaching for a nonexistent cigarette as she walked away. If she jangled his nerves after one dance, it would be more than interesting to see what she did to him during an entire evening. He signaled the waiter for another glass of champagne.
    It took Adrianne over an hour to slip away. She’d been in the Fumes’ London house only once before, but she had a very good memory, which had been refreshed by the floor plans she’d bought. The first problem was to avoid Lady Fume, the ever-anxious hostess, and the staff of efficientservants. In the end, she decided on the bold tack. Experience had taught her that often subterfuge was effective under a mask of brazen action. She took the main stairs as though she had every right to wander the second floor.
    The music was muted here and the hallways smelled more of lemon oil than the mums and hothouse roses that crowded the tables in the rooms below. All the doors were painted Wedgwood blue against the white walls, and all were closed. Adrianne counted down four on the right, then as a precaution, knocked. If anyone answered, she had the ready excuse of a raging headache and the search for an aspirin. When no one answered, she took a quick look left, then right, before pushing the door open. Once it was closed again, she took a slim flashlight out of her evening bag and scanned the room by its narrow beam.
    She wanted to know the placement of every stick of furniture. If she entered the room while her host and hostess were sleeping, it wouldn’t do to bash into a Louis Quinze table or a Queen Anne chair.
    Carefully, she made mental notes of the layout while privately deciding that Lady Fume could use a more creative decorator. Fortunately, the security was no more imaginative. The safe was hidden behind a rather bland seascape on the wall opposite the bed. The safe itself was a simple combination affair that she estimated would take no more than twenty minutes to crack.
    Moving quietly, she checked the windows. They were the same style as those on the main floor, and could be jimmied easily enough if it became necessary. There was a trace of dust on the sill. Adrianne clucked her tongue. Lady Fume’s housekeeper should be more conscientious.
    Satisfied, she took a step back just as she heard the doorknob tam behind her. Swearing under her breath, Adrianne took a dive into the closet and found herself surrounded by Lord Fume’s peer-of-the-realm suits.
    She held her breath. Her eyes, accustomed to the dark, made out the movement of the door through the louvers of the closet. As it opened, some of the dim light from the hallway spilled in. Enough light, as it happened, to allow her to see Philip clearly.
    Adrianne set her teeth and cursed him even as sheracked her brain for some reason for his being there. He simply stood in the doorway while his gaze moved from one end of the room to the other. Alert, she thought again. Too alert, and too ready. And he looked dangerous. It must have been the way the light behind his back haloed his head while condemning his face to the shadows.
    A dangerous man, Adrianne thought as she peered through the slats. No matter how sophisticated his manners or cultured his speech, he would handle himself well on the street.
    Adrianne damned him to hell and back as he stared at the closet door. The fact that he didn’t belong in there any more than she did wouldn’t offset being discovered in Lord Fume’s closet. She damned him again and held her breath. A chance encounter on a deserted street, a one-in-a-million coincidence, and he’d ruined a job she’d planned for weeks.
    Then he smiled, and the smile worried her even more. It was as though he smiled at her directly, personally, through the panel of wood that separated them. She almost expected him to speak, and felt as if she should be searching for some plausible response when he turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.
    She waited a full two minutes before stepping out of the closet. Always cautious, she fluffed out her skirts and smoothed her hair. Perhaps she’d been right to agree to have dinner with him. Something told her she’d be better off keeping an eye on him rather than trying to avoid him.
    Philip Chamberlain was