Twice the Temptation (43 page)

 
“It’s not Old Spice,” his smooth Irish voice came to her left. “It’s the very best a bloke could pinch from Harrod’s. Show a bit of respect, will you?”

 
She faced him as he emerged from behind one of the free-standing display cases Rick had added to house his substantial collection of first-edition books. “Why the hell are you still hanging around here? You know you’re never getting into that building.”

 
“Yeah, thanks for leaving the lights on all night. If
that fella of yours had had a taller ladder to hand, I would have had to make a run for it.”

 
Her fella? Dammit, had Rick gone out there again after she fell asleep? That was it; no more sex when there were potential prowlers around for him to stalk. “I was hoping it would rain. Rick hounding you was choice number two.”

 
“Speaking of choice number two,” he commented, walking up and slowly reaching out to run his fingers down her arm, “why him?”

 
“Don’t make me smack you in the face,” she returned, pulling her hand free from his. “It would ruin your one good asset.”

 
“So you still think I’m pretty. Thanks, Sam. You’re lovely as summer days, yourself.” He tilted his head, brown eyes gazing at her speculatively. “You know,” he said after a moment, “back there in Lord Rawley’s wonderland I had me hands on first editions ofJourney to the Center of the Earth and20,000 Leagues Under the Sea . They’re worth a fair penny. You probably wouldn’t even have missed ’em for weeks.”

 
“Probably not. Once I did, though, I’d hunt you down and get them back.”

 
“That might be fun.” He grinned that charming, carefree grin of his—the smile of somebody still in the game, still in top form, and still loving it.

 
She used to have that same grin, until a couple of months before she’d met Rick. Until she’d begun to realize that eventually somebody was going to have to pay for all of the fun she was having, and that it would be her. “More fun for me than for you. I guarantee it. Leave, Bryce. Hit the exhibit next month.”

 
“I thought about that, but the exhibit’s not even the main attraction here anymore, now that I’ve seen you
again. Come on, Sam, we were good together. And not just on the job.” He closed in again, brushing his fingers across her cheek. “Do you still make that sound when you come, my girl?”

 
“Twice as loud, now,” she retorted. “Back off. You’re cute, but not that cute.”

 
“Ah, you disappoint me. I could have a truck here in twenty minutes, you know. We could empty this house without anybody looking sideways at us. Then we could retire to Cannes or Milan or wherever it is you always wanted to retire to. Just lie on the beach and spend our afternoons picking tourists’ pockets for lunch money.”

 
“It was Morocco,” she lied, “and now I can go there anytime I want, and have somebody else pay for lunch.”

 
“Is this all a scam, then? You’re setting up his lordship for a big fall? I had half a suspicion, but when Etienne got killed during that mess in Palm Beach, I wasn’t so sure.”

 
Why was it that her former colleagues and competitors just couldn’t believe she’d gone legit? Why didn’t any of them believe somebody could just decide to quit the game? Even her dad had made it clear that he expected she would return to the fold. And why could no one believe that she would never double-cross Rick, that she actually loved him, and to a kind of frightening degree?

 
“Just leave, Bryce,” she said again. “I’ve been going easy on you because we used to be…friends.”

 
“‘Friends.’” With that deceptive speed of his, he moved in and planted a kiss on her mouth.

 
She could have blocked him, but half of her wanted that kiss. Wanted to know if that spark between them still went that deep or not. He was a good kisser, even in stealth mode. His presence did conjure some pretty
hair-raising adventures, got her heart pumping and the adrenaline flowing.

 
“Ya see?” he whispered. “You just think about it, Sam. I’ll be about.” With another jaunty grin he trotted onto the terrace and down the steps, vanishing around the corner of the house.

 
Samantha took a deep breath, then went over to close the glass terrace doors and latch them. Now she’d have to do a sweep of the house; while Bryce was considerably more skilled than the average tourist, that didn’t mean someone hadn’t gotten lucky and wasn’t currently looking through her underwear drawer. Hell, Bryce might have been looking through her panties. She looked out over the terrace and the lake beyond again. Why couldn’t shit ever just be easy? Simple? Why couldn’t—

 
Her cell phone rang to the James Bond theme. Rick. Jumping a little, she pulled it off her belt and flipped it open. “Hi, stud muffin.”

 
“Does that mean I’ve been demoted?” his low voice returned.

 
“Demoted? From what?”

 
“This morning I was your English muffin.”

 
Get it fucking together, Sam. “I decided that ‘stud’ is more all-encompassing than ‘English.’ So technically you’ve been reinstated.”

 
“Ah. Well, that’s good, I suppose. I forgot to tell you, I’m flying in John Stillwell and Tom Donner for this evening. I just called Sykes to have him prepare two more rooms, but I thought you’d want to know before Tom came walking through the front door.”

 
“And I haven’t even set eyes on that damned diamond for two days. See, it’s wonky after being hidden away for all that time.”

 
“If you hadn’t gone legitimate, I would be comforted
to know that I own at least one item you’d never try to steal.”

 
“Ha, ha, funny man. What time are the spy and the Boy Scout getting here?”

 
“About two o’clock, I would estimate. They’re arriving at Heathrow within twenty minutes of one another, so I’m having them share the limo.”

 
“Next time you suggest fishing in Scotland, we’re going.”

 
“I’ll hold you to that. How’s the exhibit?”

 
“I haven’t killed Larson yet, if that’s what you’re really asking.”

 
“It is. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

 
“Okay. Give Tony Blair a kiss for me. He’s an attractive man.”

 
“Now who’s being oh, so amusing? I love you.”

 
“I love you. Be careful.”

 
“You, too, my lady.”

 
After she hung up the phone she stood in the sitting room for a couple of minutes, trying not to think about anything. Then she went to find the butler. “Sykes?”

 
“Here, Miss Sam,” the scarecrow returned, emerging from the breakfast room.

 
“For the next couple of weeks, we’re going to have to keep the terrace doors closed. Too many tourists walking around the premises.”

 
“My apologies,” he said, grimacing. “I hadn’t thought. I’ll see to—”

 
“I took care of it.” She hesitated. “Rick said there are paintings of Connoll and Evangeline Addison in the portrait gallery. Are they labeled?”

 
“No. I can show you, if you like.”

 
“Yes, please.”

 
She fell in behind him as he climbed the stairs. Tech
nically she should have asked for Connoll, the Marquis of Rawley, and his marchioness, but that took way too long to say, and she needed to call Craigson and have him send somebody in to help her give the house a quick once-over. If you could give a house with a hundred and ten rooms a quick anything.

 
The portrait gallery was actually the upper long hallway joining the north and south wings of the house. Tall windows lined one side, while hundreds of portraits, mostly family or notables who’d stayed at Rawley Park, filled the opposite wall. About halfway down the length of the hall, Sykes stopped. “Connoll and Evangeline Addison, Lord and Lady Rawley,” he intoned, gesturing.

 
“Thanks, Sykes. I’ll take it from here.”

 
He inclined his head and continued along the hallway, probably to oversee the readying of two additional guest rooms. Samantha waited until he was out of sight, then looked up.

 
Wow. Rick definitely got his athletic good looks from his great-great. Merry and self-confident blue eyes gazed straight back at her from a very handsome, tall, black-haired man wearing blue and gray Regency-period formal dress. Seated in the chair beside him, a pretty, half-smiling young blonde woman probably eight or nine years his junior wore equally gorgeous clothes, a soft blue silk with lace everywhere.

 
His left hand covered her right shoulder, and she leaned a little into the embrace, lifting her own hand to touch the back of his. Samantha had read enough faces and postures over the years to recognize two people in love when she saw them.

 
Automatically her gaze dipped to the bottom of the portrait. It was a Lady Caroline Griffin, the premiere
female portraitist of her age, and worth probably a million pounds sterling.

 
Exquisite as the painting was, for once it was the characters within it that interested her more. They were the ones who’d hidden the Nightshade Diamond. Had it brought them bad luck? Had they disagreed over whether it was cursed or not? Had she put it in his pocket the evening that he had an important dinner party in an attempt to prove that the curse wasn’t just stupid superstition?

 
Whatever had happened, they’d put it someplace they’d hoped no one would ever find it—and more importantly, they’d had what according to Rick had been a very good, loving marriage that had produced three children—and ultimately, Rick Addison, the present Marquis of Rawley.

 
She returned her gaze to Evangeline. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you?” she muttered. “To prove a point?”

 
Lady Rawley didn’t answer, but then if she had, Samantha would have gone and checked herself into the nearest psychiatric hospital. She’d seen what she needed to in the portrait—two very sane-looking people who’d been in love, and who’d believed that the Nightshade Diamond was cursed. Now she wanted Rick to believe it, too, if for nothing else than his own good. And hers, of course.

 
Chapter 11

 
Monday, 2:09 p.m.

 
Samantha watched the monitor as Ernest andthe limousine rolled through the front gates, turning up the drive rather than joining the line to the parking lot.

 
“I guess your plan for closing the gates and refusing them entry didn’t work,” Craigson commented.

 
“You’re totally fired,” Samantha returned, cuffing him on the shoulder as she got up and left the room.

 
John Stillwell wasn’t so bad; despite the fact that when she’d first met Rick’s personal assistant she’d thought he was an intruder and tackled him to the floor, so far he was turning out to be a trustworthy and honest guy. And most importantly, he allowed Rick to spend more time with her. She didn’t consider herself particularly clingy or needy—just the opposite, in fact—but she could tell that having backup he trusted left Rick more relaxed.

 
Donner, though—okay, yes, she trusted him, and she
knew Rick considered Tom to be his best friend. But cripes, he was so…superior, and prickly. A Boy Scout. His wife, Katie, was great, and his three kids were fun, but she and Donner would never see eye-to-eye. Maybe it was more fun for both of them that way.