The Art of Deception

no hesitation. He was going to probe, God help him, he hadn’t a choice. “Do you have any idea where he might’ve hidden it?”
    “No, but I haven’t looked.” When she looked at him, she wasn’t the sultry gypsy or the exotic princess. She was only a daughter concerned about an adored father. “He’s a good man, Adam. No one knows that better than I. I know there’s a reason for what he’s done, and for the time being, I have to accept that. I don’t expect you to share my loyalty, just my confidence.” He didn’t speak, and she took his silence for agreement. “My main concern now is that Papa’s underestimating Stuart’s ruthlessness.”
    “He won’t when you tell him about the scene in the library.”
    “I’m not going to tell him. Because,” she continued before Adam could argue, “I have no way of predicting his reaction. You may have noticed, Papa’s a very volatile man.” Tilting her glass, she met his gaze with a quick change of mood. “I don’t want you to worry about all this, Adam. Talk to Papa about it if you like. Have a chat with Harriet, too. Personally, I find it helpful to tuck the whole business away from time to time and let it hibernate. Like a grizzly bear.”
    “Grizzly bear.”
    She laughed and rose. “Let me get you some more brandy.”
    He stopped her with a hand on her wrist. “Have you told me everything?”
    With a frown, she brushed at a speck of lint on the bedspread. “Did I mention the Van Gogh?”
    “Oh, God.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes. Somehow he’d hoped there’d be an end without really believing it. “What Van Gogh?”
    Kirby pursed her lips. “Not exactly a Van Gogh.”
    “Your father?”
    “His latest. He’s sold it to Victor Alvarez, a coffee baron in South America.” She smiled as Adam said nothing and stared straight ahead. “The working conditions on his farm are deplorable. Of course, there’s nothing we can do to remedy that, but Papa’s already allocated the purchase price for a school somewhere in the area. It’s his last for several years, Adam,” she added as he sat with his fingers pressed against his eyes. “And really, I think he’ll be pleased that you know all about everything. He’d love to show this painting to you. He’s particularly pleased with it.”
    Adam rubbed his hands over his face. It didn’t surprise him to hear himself laughing. “I suppose I should be grateful he hasn’t decided to do the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel.”
    “Only after he retires,” Kirby put in cheerfully. “And that’s years off yet.”
    Not certain whether she was joking or not, he let it pass. “I’ve got to give all this a little time to settle.”
    “Fair enough.”
    He wasn’t going back to his room to report to McIntyre, he decided as he set his brandy aside. He wasn’t ready for that yet, so soon after Kirby shared it all with him without questions, without limitations. It wasn’t possible to think about his job, or remember outside obligations, when she looked at him with all her trust. No, he’d find a way, somehow, to justify what he chose to do in the end. Right and wrong weren’t so well defined now.
    Looking at her, he needed to give, to soothe, to show her she’d been right to give him that most precious of gifts—unqualified trust. Perhaps he didn’t deserve it, but he needed it. He needed her.
    Without a word, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his mouth to hers, no patience, no requests. Before either of them could think, he drew down the zipper at the back of her dress.
    She wanted to give to him—anything, everything he wanted. She didn’t want to question him but to forget all the reasons why they shouldn’t be together. It would be so easy to drown in the flood of feeling that was so new and so unique. And yet, anything real, anything strong, was never easy. She’d been taught from an early age that the things that mattered most were the hardest to obtain. Drawing back, she determined to put things back on a level she could deal with.
    “You surprise me,” she said with a smile she had to work at.
    He pulled her back. She wouldn’t slip away from him this time. “Good.”
    “You know, most women expect a seduction, no matter how perfunctory.”
    The amusement might be in her eyes, but he could feel the thunder of her heart against his. “Most women aren’t Kirby Fairchild.” If she wanted to play it lightly, he’d do his damnedest to oblige her—as long as the