Sweet Revenge

dinner. The basic black she chose was very slim, interest added by an explosion of multicolored mosaic beading along one shoulder. She clipped on royal blue glass earrings trimmed in gold that would be taken for sapphires by anyone but an expert. She stole the best, the most precious of jewels, but rarely bought them for herself. Only The Sun and the Moon interested her.
    Standing back, she took a long hard look at herself. This image, like the image of Rose Sparrow, was important to her. She decided she was pleased she’d gone with the impulse to have her hair crimped, but changed her mind about her lipstick and applied a darker shade. Yes, she thought, that added just a hint more power. Philip Chamberlain might be a dangerous man, but he wouldn’t find her easy prey.
    When the desk clerk phoned, she was ready, even looking forward to the evening. She insisted on coming down to the lobby to meet Philip.
    He wasn’t dressed so formally tonight. The gray suit was Italian casual and only shades lighter than his eyes. Rather than a shirt and tie, he wore a black turtleneck, which set off his hair well. Too well, Adrianne thought. Her smile was very cool.
    “You’re prompt.”
    “You’re lovely.” He offered her a single red rose.
    She knew men too well to be seduced by a flower, but couldn’t prevent her smile from softening.
    She had a sable over her arm. He took it. As he slid the coat slowly over her shoulders, he let his fingers linger to free her hair from the collar. It was as rich and thick as the fur.
    The warmth spread unexpectedly. Determined to ignore it, Adrianne looked over her shoulder. Her face was teasingly close to his. She let her lips curve as their gazes held.
    She knew how to unnerve a man with a look, with a movement, he realized. He wondered how she’d earned a reputation as unattainable with eyes like that.
    “There’s an inn about forty kilometers east of London. It’s quiet, atmospheric, and the food’s delightful.”
    She’d expected a slick, sophisticated restaurant in the heart of the city. Could it be they would dine in the very spot where Madeline would be waiting for her mystery lover at midnight? Philip caught the sudden humor in her eyes, and wondered at it.
    “You are a romantic.” Carefully, she stepped out of his arms. “But I’d like a drive. On the way you can tell me all about Philip Chamberlain.”
    With a smile he took her arm. “We’ll need more than forty kilometers for that.”
    When Adrianne settled in the Rolls, she let her fur slide down her shoulders. The brisk autumn air couldn’t compete with the warmth. The moment the driver pulled away from the curb, Philip took a bottle of Dom Pérignon from an ice bucket.
    It was too perfect, she thought, and battled back another smile. Red roses, champagne, the plush car, and an evening at a country inn. Poor Madeline, she thought, greatly amused as she studied Philip’s profile.
    “Have you been enjoying your time in London?” The cork came out with a muffled pop. In the quiet interior she could hear the excited fizz of air and wine rise in the neck of the bottle.
    “Yes, I always enjoy it here.”
    “Doing?”
    “Doing?” She accepted the glass he offered. “Shopping, seeing friends. Walking.” She allowed him to spoon caviar onto a cracker for her. “What do you do?”
    He watched her nip into the caviar before he sipped. “About what?”
    Crossing her legs, she settled comfortably in the corner. It was the image she chose to project, lush furs, silk-clad legs, glittering jewels. “Work, pleasure, whatever.”
    “What appeals most at the moment.”
    She found it odd he didn’t elaborate. Most of the men she knew needed only the slightest opening to expound ontheir businesses, their hobbies, and their egos. “You mentioned gambling.”
    “Did I?”
    He was watching her, in the steady, disconcerting way he had before. It was as if he knew the Bolls was a stage and they were only playing parts. “Yes. What sort do you prefer?”
    He smiled. It was the same smile she’d seen through the louvers in the Fumes’ closet door. “Long shots. More caviar?”
    “Thank you.” They were playing a game, Adrianne thought. She wasn’t sure what the rules were, or what form the prize at the end would take, but a game was on. She took the caviar, beluga, the best, as was the wine and the car that was driving smoothly out of London. She trailed a finger along the swatch of upholstery that separated them.