Midnight Jewels (20 page)

A man could hide in here. Or go hunting.

He rounded a bend in the path and saw Mercy standing at the edge of the pool, peering into the water. The pool was lit with underwater lights. Mercy was obviously enchanted. Her eyes were full of laughter and excitement.

"This is amazing. So real and so huge! Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"Yes, but the last place I saw that looked like this was loaded with insects and one or two snakes. This is a Hollywood version of the real flung."

"I'd rather enjoy this version than the one that has the snakes and insects. Darn it, I wish I'd brought my swim-suit."

Isobel moved out of the foliage behind them. "We keep suits on hand for our guests. You'll find one that will fit you in the cabanas near the sauna. Come. I'll show you where the changing rooms are. Please feel free to take a swim whenever you wish."

Croft trailed slowly after the two women, continuing his examination of the tropical swimming pool. The effectiveness of the illusion did not totally disguise the fact that they were in a huge basement. There were no windows. If the lights were turned off, this place would be a black cavern.

A few minutes later Isobel led the way out of the garden and indicated a large wooden sauna room and two cabanas.

"Check inside the cabana to the right for the women's suits. There are several pairs of trunks in the other one." Isobel smiled warmly at Croft.

Mercy made a pretense of ignoring the smile that was directed at Croft, but he saw the faint narrowing of her eyes as she turned away to open a cabana door. For the second time that day he wondered if she was jealous of Isobel Ascanius. It was an intriguing thought.

There was no time to pursue the idea, however. Isobel was already leading her guests out of the pool area and through another set of glass doors that opened into a very different room.

"Erasmus went ahead to open the library. He'll be getting anxious," Isobel explained with gentle amusement. "He is very eager to show off his collection to people who can appreciate it. We have so few guests."

The room on the other side of a second set of glass doors was furnished like an old-world private library. There were small reading lamps with green glass shades, overstuffed arm chairs and polished wooden tables. The only thing missing were the books. In the middle of one wall a large, walk-in vault had been built. The door was made of heavy steel and there was a sophisticated locking mechanism on it. Croft eyed the mechanism with interest.

Light and air-conditioned air spilled from the open door of the vault. Erasmus Gladstone was inside, waiting. When Croft and Mercy stepped over the high threshold they found themselves in a book-lined room. Ranks of leather bound volumes filled the floor-to-ceiling shelves. It didn't take an expert to realize at once that most, if not all, of the books were very old and extremely valuable. Mercy was immediately enthralled. Croft watched her move over to a row of books and read the titles and authors on the spines.

"Boethius, Chaucer, Marlowe." She breathed the great names reverently, her fingertips hovering just above the leather as if she didn't dare touch the books. "I've never seen anything like this outside of a museum, Erasmus."

He chuckled. "One must acquire a handful of items printed before 1500, of course, if one is to have a respectable library. I confess I'm still working on that portion of my collection."

"But to have so many fine examples," Mercy said with a slight shake of her head. "It's mind boggling."

"Money overcomes many obstacles in the auction rooms, my dear. Personally, I'm more pleased with my first edition of Darwin's
On the Origin of Species
than I am with my Chaucer. It was very difficult to find the Darwin, you know, even though it was printed in 1859 and is therefore relatively new." He crossed the room to another shelf. "Over here I have some rather interesting Henry Fielding, including an original 1749 set of the six volumes of
Tom Jones
. I was also lucky enough recently to pick up the first two volumes of Richardson's
Pamela
. They're dated 1741."

"I'd kill to get my hands on either the Fielding or the Richardson."

Gladstone smiled approvingly. "I like a bookseller with enthusiasm. We will come down here again before you leave and discuss which of the books you would like to take back with you as part of the price of
Valley
."

"You're much too generous." Mercy was obviously shocked. "I couldn't possibly take any of these. Not in addition to what you've already paid me."

"In the world of book collecting everything is relative.
Valley
was almost unobtainable and I wanted it very badly. I have been chasing it for some time. I'm feeling generous because you have given me something I might not otherwise have been able to locate."

Mercy's smile was a little shaky. "I'm overwhelmed."

"Let's put
Valley
in its proper place. I keep my collection of erotica over here." Gladstone went to the far end of the room where a small row of volumes was set apart from the rest. They appeared to be in more tattered shape than their more respectable comrades. "I thank you, Mercy Pennington, for enabling me to add Burleigh's fascinating work to my library. This is a very satisfying moment for me." He eased the book carefully onto the shelf. He stood looking at
it for a long moment. When he turned around, Gladstone was smiling broadly, his unusual blue eyes alive with pleasure. Something about him radiated that pleasure outward, involving others to join in his happiness.

The man definitely had a charismatic charm, Croft thought wryly. From all reports, so had Egan Graves.

"We should return to our drinks, Erasmus." Isobel spoke quietly from the doorway. "Lance has dinner scheduled for seven."

"By all means." Gladstone moved forward, graciously taking Mercy's arm. "Don't worry, my dear. You will have ample opportunity to spend time in my library while you're here. But now I believe Isobel is right. We had best go back upstairs. This is going to be a lively few days for us. Has Isobel mentioned the small party we're giving tomorrow night in honor of my success in finding
Valley
?"

Croft was thinking that he needed more time in the vault to study its contents. The quick scan he'd just gotten wasn't sufficient. He caught Gladstone's question just as he stepped through the vault door. "A party? Here?"

"We entertain very little. As you can imagine, it's rather complicated," Gladstone said genially as he escorted Mercy through the door and turned to seal the vault. "It requires much planning. But I'm afraid I have become something of a patron for a colony of rather talented young artists located about twenty miles from here. Once a year I have them in for an evening. I provide everything, including the transportation. Artists can be such interesting acquaintances as long as one doesn't have to deal with them on a day-to-day basis. Very temperamental people, I'm afraid. Perhaps it goes with the talent. This year you'll be here for the event. I hope you enjoy it."

Croft glanced at Mercy and saw the dazzled expression in her eyes. He felt a surge of anger which he quickly suppressed. It was obvious she had never met anyone like
Erasmus Gladstone and she was more than willing to be charmed.

Croft knew he was going to have to take steps to make certain Mercy didn't fall under Gladstone's spell.

Tonight, Croft decided, Mercy wasn't going to sleep alone. It was time to reinforce the bonds that had been established the night he had made her his.

Mercy was aware of Croft's presence the moment he entered the bedroom that night. He made no sound, but some anticipatory instinct made her open her eyes and turn her head on the pillow. She saw him silhouetted in the open doorway between the two suites, a dark shadow among even darker shadows. She knew then that she had been waiting for him.

The door between the suites had been closed until Croft had silently opened it a few seconds before. She had closed it deliberately after preparing for bed. Croft had been in the bathroom at the time. When he had emerged a few minutes later he had made no immediate attempt to eradicate the poor barrier.

Mercy had lain awake for a long while expecting to have her privacy rudely invaded. She had seen the calculating expression in Croft's eyes during dinner. He had watched her laugh and talk with Gladstone, saying little himself, but making his masculine disapproval clear in subtle ways Mercy hadn't missed. Their hosts might not have noticed the dangerously remote quality of his gaze, but it had burned Mercy's nerve endings.

Croft was either a little jealous of Gladstone or very annoyed with Mercy for having found Gladstone unthreatening. Of the two she had enough common sense to guess the latter was the case. Somehow, she didn't see Croft giving into any emotion as primitive as jealousy. But whatever the reason, Mercy had expected to find herself on the defensive later.

But there had been no sizzling lectures in the bathroom with the shower running to cover Croft's words. And when she had calmly closed the door between the two rooms later, he hadn't kicked it open. Mercy had crawled into bed and waited, but eventually the sense of wary expectation gave way to drowsiness. She didn't know how long she had been asleep, but when she opened her eyes in darkness she knew she was no longer alone.

She watched him leave the doorway and glide soundlessly toward the bed. It wasn't fair
that the man could move like a ghost. What he did to her nerves wasn't fair, either. She could feel heat in her veins and told herself she would not let him sweep her away as he had the other night.

Mercy didn't kid herself. She knew what was behind his presence in her room. He wasn't motivated by an uncontrollable desire, overriding passion or undying love. As far as Croft was concerned, he was on a job. He viewed Mercy's enjoyment of Erasmus Gladstone's company as a potential threat to the completion of his mission. He probably feared she was being charmed by Gladstone. Croft was going to reestablish the claim he thought he had on her. He wanted to be very certain she knew where her loyalties lay.

She could tell him he had nothing to worry about, Mercy thought as Croft came through the darkness toward her. She could try reassuring him
that she was keeping an open mind about Gladstone. But that sort of conversation was difficult
to have when she had to watch every word out of fear of a hidden microphone in the bed.

Croft stopped beside the bed and looked down at her. He was wearing only his briefs. It wasn't difficult to tell that he was already partially aroused. His hazel eyes were devoid of color in the shadows, but Mercy could see the catlike gleam in them.

"Croft," she managed throatily, aware of the tension that was filling the atmosphere around them. It was time to talk. She had better do it quickly. "The bathroom—"

"No." His voice was a whisper of rough velvet. He put one knee on the bed and reached out to stroke her shoulder. The bed gave beneath his weight. "There's no need to talk. Not now."

She read his intent and her tension flared into a strange anger. She rolled out from under his hand, rising to her knees on the far side of the bed. Her breath came quickly as she faced him.