her. Guilt flared again. “All right. You hit a nerve, that’s all.” Deliberately she removed his hands from her shoulders and stepped back. He’d rather she’d slapped him. “Give me a cigarette, will you?”
She took one from him and let him light it before she turned away again. “When I accepted Stuart’s proposal—”
“You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“I don’t leave things half done.” Some of the insolence was back when she whirled back to him. For some reason it eased Adam’s guilt. “When I accepted, I told Stuart I wasn’t in love with him. It didn’t seem fair otherwise. If two people are going to have a relationship that means anything, it has to start out honestly, don’t you think?”
He thought of the transmitter tucked into his briefcase. He thought of McIntyre waiting for the next report. “Yes.”
She nodded. It was one area where she wasn’t flexible. “I told him that what I wanted from him was fidelity and children, and in return I’d give him those things and as much affection as I could.” She toyed with the cigarette, taking one of her quick, nervous drags. “When I realized things just wouldn’t work for either of us that way, I went to see him. I didn’t do it carelessly, casually. It was very difficult for me. Can you understand that?”
“Yes, I understand that.”
It helped, she realized. More than Melanie’s sympathy, more even than her father’s unspoken support, Adam’s simple understanding helped. “It didn’t go well. I’d known there’d be an argument, but I hadn’t counted on it getting so out of hand. He made a few choice remarks on my maternal abilities and my track record. Anyway, with all the blood and bone being strewn about, the real reason for him wanting to marry me came out.”
She took a last puff on the cigarette and crushed it out before she dropped into a chair. “He never loved me. He’d been unfaithful all along. I don’t suppose it mattered.” But she fell silent, knowing it did. “All the time he was pretending to care for me, he was using me.” When she looked up again, the hurt was back in her eyes. She didn’t know it—she’d have hated it. “Can you imagine how it feels to find out that all the time someone was holding you, talking with you, he was thinking of how you could be useful?” She picked up the piece of half-formed wood that would be her anger. “Useful,” she repeated. “What a nasty word. I haven’t bounced back from it as well as I should have.”
He forgot McIntyre, the Rembrandt and the job he still had to do. Walking over, he sat beside her and closed his hand over hers. Under them was her anger. “I can’t imagine any man thinking of you as useful.”
When she looked up, her smile was already spreading. “What a nice thing to say. The perfect thing.” Too perfect for her rapidly crumbling defenses. Because she knew it would take so little to have her turning to him now and later, she lightened the mood. “I’m glad you’re going to be there Saturday.”
“At the party?”
“You can send me long, smoldering looks and everyone’ll think I jilted Stuart for you. I’m fond of petty revenge.”
He laughed and brought her hands to his lips. “Don’t change,” he told her with a sudden intenseness that had her uncertain again.
“I don’t plan on it. Adam, I— Oh, chicken fat, what’re you doing here? This is a private conversation.”
Wary, Adam turned his head and watched Montique bounce into the room. “He won’t spread gossip.”
“That isn’t the point. I’ve told you you’re not allowed in here.”
Ignoring her, Montique scurried over and with an awkward leap plopped into Adam’s lap. “Cute little devil,” Adam decided as he scratched the floppy ears.
“Ah, Adam, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why?”
“You’re only asking for trouble.”
“Don’t be absurd. He’s harmless.”
“Oh, yes, he is. She isn’t.” Kirby nodded her head toward the doorway as Isabelle slinked through. “Now you’re in for it. I warned you.” Tossing back her head, Kirby met Isabelle’s cool look equally. “I had nothing to do with it.”
Isabelle blinked twice, then shifted her gaze to Adam. Deciding her responsibility had ended, Kirby sighed and rose. “There’s nothing I can do,” she told Adam and patted his shoulder. “You asked for it.” With this, she swept out of the room, giving the cat a wide berth.
“I didn’t ask him to come up here,” Adam began, scowling down at Isabelle. “And there can’t be any harm in— Oh, God,” he murmured. “She’s got me doing it.”
Chapter 6
“Let’s walk,” Kirby demanded when the afternoon grew late and Fairchild had yet to budge from his studio. Nor would he budge, she knew, until the Van Gogh was completed down to the smallest detail. If she didn’t get out and forget about her father’s pet project for a while, she knew she’d go mad.
“It’s raining,” Adam pointed out as he lingered over coffee.
“You mentioned that before.” Kirby pushed away her own coffee and rose. “All right then, I’ll have Cards bring you a lap robe and a nice cup of tea.”
“Is that a psychological attack?”
“Did it work?”
“I’ll get a jacket.” He strode from the room, ignoring her quiet chuckle.
When they walked outside, the fine misting rain fell over them. Leaves streamed with it. Thin fingers of fog twisted along the ground. Adam hunched inside his jacket, thinking it was miserable weather for a walk. Kirby strolled along with her face lifted to the sky.
He’d planned to spend the afternoon on the painting, but perhaps this was better. If he was going to capture her with colors and brush strokes, he should get to know her better. No easy task, Adam mused, but a strangely appealing one.
The air was heavy with the fragrance of fall, the sky gloomy. For the first time since he’d met her, Adam sensed a serenity in Kirby. They walked in silence, with the rain flowing over them.
She was content. It was an odd feeling for her to identify as she felt it so rarely. With her hand in his, she was content to walk along as the fog moved along the ground and the chilly drizzle fell over them. She was glad of the rain, of the chill and the gloom. Later, there would be time for a roaring fire and warm brandy.
“Adam, do you see the bed of mums over there?”
“Hmm?”
“The mums, I want to pick some. You’ll have to be the lookout.”
“Lookout for what?” He shook wet hair out of his eyes.
“For Jamie, of course. He doesn’t like anyone messing with his flowers.”
“They’re your flowers.”
“No, they’re Jamie’s.”
“He works for you.”
“What does that have to do with it?” She put a hand on his shoulder as she scanned the area. “If he catches me, he’ll get mad, then he won’t save me any leaves. I’ll be quick—I’ve done this before.”
“But if you—”
“There’s no time to argue. Now, you watch that window there. He’s probably in the kitchen having coffee with Tulip. Give me a signal when you see him.”
Whether he went along with her because it was simpler, or because he was getting into the spirit of things despite himself, Adam wasn’t sure. But he walked over to the window and peeked inside. Jamie sat at a huge round table with a mug of coffee in both frail hands. Turning,