The Art of Deception

blurring landscape. “She’s like a mother to me.” When they came to the main road, Kirby downshifted and swung to the left, tires squealing. “You met Melly, of course. I hope you won’t desert me completely tonight after seeing her again.”
    Adam braced his feet against the floor. “Does anyone notice her when you’re around?” And would they make it to the Merrick home alive?
    “Of course.” Surprised by the question, she turned to look at him.
    “Good God, watch where you’re going!” None too gently, he pushed her head around.
    “Melly’s the most perfectly beautiful woman I’ve ever known.” Downshifting again, Kirby squealed around a right turn then accelerated. “She’s a very clever designer and very, very proper. Wouldn’t even take a settlement from her husband when they divorced. Pride, I suppose, but then she wouldn’t need the money. There’s a marvelous view of the Hudson coming up on your side, Adam.” Kirby leaned over to point it out. The car swerved.
    “I prefer seeing it from up here, thanks,” Adam told her as he shoved her back in her seat. “Do you always drive this way?”
    “Yes. There’s the road you take to the gallery,” she continued. She waved her hand vaguely as the car whizzed by an intersection. Adam glanced down at the speedometer.
    “You’re doing ninety.”
    “I always drive slower at night.”
    “There’s good news.” Muttering, he flicked on the lighter.
    “There’s the house up ahead.” She raced around an ess curve. “Fabulous when it’s all lit up this way.”
    The house was white and stately, the type you expected to see high above the riverbank. It glowed with elegance from dozens of windows. Without slackening pace, Kirby sped up the circular drive. With a squeal of brakes, and a muttered curse from Adam, she stopped the Porsche at the front entrance.

    Reaching over, Adam pulled the keys from the ignition and pocketed them. “I’m driving back.”
    “How thoughtful.” Offering her hand to the valet, Kirby stepped out. “Now I won’t have to limit myself to one drink. Champagne,” she decided, moving up the steps beside him. “It seems like a night for it.”
    The moment the door opened, Kirby was enveloped by a flurry of dazzling, trailing silks. “Harriet.” Kirby squeezed the statuesque woman with flaming red hair. “It’s wonderful to see you, but I think I’m being gnawed by the denture work of your crocodile.”
    “Sorry, darling.” Harriet held her necklace and drew back to press a kiss to each of Kirby’s cheeks. She was an impressive woman, full-bodied in the style Rubens had immortalized. Her face was wide and smooth, dominated by deep green eyes that glittered with silver on the lids. Harriet didn’t believe in subtlety. “And this must be your house-guest,” she continued with a quick sizing up of Adam.
    “Harriet Merrick, Adam Haines.” Kirby grinned and pinched Harriet’s cheek. “And behave yourself, or Papa’ll have him choosing weapons.”
    “Wonderful idea.” With one arm still linked with Kirby’s, Harriet twined her other through Adam’s. “I’m sure you have a fascinating life story to tell me, Adam.”
    “I’ll make one up.”
    “Perfect.” She liked the look of him. “We’ve a crowd already, though they’re mostly Melanie’s stuffy friends.”
    “Harriet, you’ve got to be more tolerant.”
    “No, I don’t.” She tossed back her outrageous hair. “I’ve been excruciatingly polite. Now that you’re here, I don’t have to be.”
    “Kirby.” Melanie swept into the hall in an ice-blue sheath. “What a picture you make. Take her cloak, Ellen, though it’s a pity to spoil that effect.” Smiling, she held out a hand to Adam as the maid slipped Kirby’s cloak off her shoulders. “I’m so glad you came. We’ve some mutual acquaintances here, it seems. The Birminghams and Michael Towers from New York. You remember Michael, Kirby?”
    “The adman who clicks his teeth?”
    Harriet let out a roar of laughter while Adam struggled to control his. With a sigh, Melanie led them toward the party. “Try to behave, will you?” But Adam wasn’t certain whether she spoke to Kirby or her mother.
    This was the world he was used to—elegant people in elegant clothes having rational conversations. He’d been raised in the world of restrained wealth where champagne fizzed quietly and dignity was as essential as the proper alma mater. He understood it, he fit in.
    After