Three Fates

stone of misty green hung beneath her breasts.
    Her lips, red as her hair, curved as she held out a hand sparkling with rings.
    She looked, Malory thought, like something out of a very sexy fairy tale.
    “Miss Price. Welcome. Such a thrilling storm, but distressing, I’m sure, to be out in it. Come in.”
    The hand was warm and strong, and stayed clasped over Malory’s as the woman drew her into the entrance hall.
    The light showered down from a chandelier of crystal so fine it resembled spun sugar sparkling over the twists and curves of silver.
    The floor was mosaic, depicting the warriors from the gate and what seemed to be a number of mythological figures. She couldn’t kneel down and study it as she might have liked and was already struggling to hold back an orgasmic moan at the paintings that crowded walls the color of melted butter.
    “I’m so glad you could join us tonight,” the woman continued. “I’m Rowena. Please, let me take you into the parlor. There’s a lovely fire. Early in the year for one, but the storm seemed to call for it. Was the drive up difficult?”
    “Challenging. Miss—”
    “Rowena. Just Rowena.”
    “Rowena. I wonder if I could take just a moment to freshen up before joining the other guests?”
    “Of course. Powder room.” She gestured to a door tucked under the long sweep of the front stairs. “The parlor is the first door on your right. Take your time.”
    “Thanks.” Malory slipped inside, and immediately thought powder room was a very poor label for the plush, roomy area.
    The half-dozen candles on the marble counter streamed out light and scent. Burgundy hand towels edged in ecru lace were arranged beside the generous pool of sink. The faucet gleamed gold in the fanciful shape of a swan.
    Here the floor mosaic held a mermaid, sitting on a rock, smiling out at a blue sea as she combed her flame-colored hair.
    This time, after double-checking to make certain she’d locked the door, Malory did kneel down to study the craftsmanship.
    Gorgeous, she thought, running her fingertips over the tiles. Old, certainly, and brilliantly executed.
    Was there anything more powerful than the ability to create beauty?
    She straightened, washed her hands with soap that smelled faintly of rosemary. She took a moment to admire the collection of Waterstone’s nymphs and sirens framed on the walls before digging out her compact.
    There was little she could do for her hair. Though she’d drawn it back, anchored it at her nape with a rhinestone clip, the weather had played riot with the dark blonde curls. It was a look, she thought, as she dusted her nose. Sort of arty and carefree. Not elegant like the redhead, but it suited her well enough. She reapplied her lipstick, satisfied the pale rose had been a good investment. Subtle worked best with her milkmaid coloring.
    She’d paid too much for the cocktail suit. Of course. But a woman was entitled to a few weaknesses, she reminded herself as she straightened the slim satin lapels. Besides, the slate-blue was right for her eyes, the tailored lines pulled it all together into a style both professional and elegant. She closed her bag, lifted her chin.
    “Okay, Mal, let’s go drum up some business.”
    She stepped out, forced herself not to tip-toe back down the hall to drool over the paintings.
    Her heels clicked briskly on the tile. She always enjoyed the sound of it. Powerful. Female.
    And when she stepped through the first arch to the right, the thrilled gasp escaped before she could block it.
    She’d never seen its like, in or out of a museum. Antiques so lovingly tended their surfaces gleamed like mirrors, the rich, deep colors that demonstrated an artist’s flare, rugs, pillows, draperies were as much art-forms as the paintings and statuary. On the far wall was a fireplace she could have stood in with her arms stretched out to her sides. Framed in malachite it held enormous logs that snapped with tongues of red and gold fire.
    If the woman had looked like a creature from a fairy tale, this was the perfect setting for one.
    She wanted to spend hours there, to wallow in all that marvelous color and light. The uneasy woman who’d huddled in her car in the rain was long forgotten.
    “It took five minutes for my eyes to stop bugging out of my head after I walked in.”
    Malory jolted around, stared at the woman who stood framed in the side window.
    This one was a brunette, with dense brown hair skimming between her jawline and