Best Of Nora Roberts Books 1-6. Nora Roberts
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allowed himself to be drawn between her and Kirby, where he wanted to be. “Let’s just say I was looking for more stimulating conversation. I’ve found it.”
“Charming.” She decided she liked him, but would reserve judgment a bit longer as to whether he’d suit her Kirby. “I admire your work, Adam. I’d like to put the first bid in on your next painting.”
He took glasses from a passing waiter. “I’m doing a portrait of Kirby.”
“She’s posing for you?” Harriet nearly choked on her champagne. “Did you chain her?”
“Not yet.” He gave Kirby a lazy glance. “It’s still a possibility.”
“You have to let me display it when it’s finished.” She might’ve been a woman who ran on emotion on many levels, but the bottom line was art, and the business of it. “I can promise to cause a nasty scene if you refuse.”
“No one does it better,” Kirby toasted her.
“You’ll have to see the portrait of Kirby that Philip painted for me. She wouldn’t sit for it, but it’s brilliant.” She toyed with the stem of her glass. “He painted it when she returned from Paris—three years ago, I suppose.”
“I’d like to see it. I’d planned on coming by the gallery.”
“Oh, it’s here, in the library.”
“Why don’t you two just toddle along then?” Kirby suggested. “You’ve been talking around me, you might as well desert me physically, as well.”
“Don’t be snotty,” Harriet told her. “You can come, too. And I… Well, well,” she murmured in a voice suddenly lacking in warmth. “Some people have no sense of propriety.”
Kirby turned her head, just slightly, and watched Stuart walk into the room. Her fingers tightened on the glass, but she shrugged. Before the movement was complete, Melanie was at her side.
“I’m sorry, Kirby. I’d hoped he wouldn’t come after all.”
In a slow, somehow insolent gesture, Kirby pushed her hair behind her back. “If it had mattered, I wouldn’t have come.”
“I don’t want you to be embarrassed,” Melanie began, only to be cut off by a quick and very genuine laugh.
“When have you ever known me to be embarrassed?”
“Well, I’ll greet him, or it’ll make matters worse.” Still, Melanie hesitated, obviously torn between loyalty and manners.
“I’ll fire him, of course,” Harriet mused when her daughter went to do her duty. “But I want to be subtle about it.”
“Fire him if you like, Harriet, but not on my account.” Kirby drained her champagne.
“It appears we’re in for a show, Adam.” Harriet tapped a coral fingertip against her glass. “Much to Melanie’s distress, Stuart’s coming over.”
Without saying a word, Kirby took Adam’s cigarette.
“Harriet, you look marvelous.” The smooth, cultured voice wasn’t at all like the tone Adam had heard in Fairchild’s studio. “Africa agreed with you.”
Harriet gave him a bland smile. “We didn’t expect to see you.”
“I was tied up for a bit.” Charming, elegant, he turned to Kirby. “You’re looking lovely.”
“So are you,” she said evenly. “It seems your nose is back in joint.” Without missing a beat, she turned to Adam. “I don’t believe you’ve met. Adam, this is Stuart Hiller. I’m sure you know Adam Haines’s work, Stuart.”
“Yes, indeed.” The handshake was polite and meaningless. “Are you staying in our part of New York long?”
“Until I finish Kirby’s portrait,” Adam told him and had the dual satisfaction of seeing Kirby grin and Stuart frown. “I’ve agreed to let Harriet display it in the gallery.”
With that simple strategy, Adam won Harriet over.
“I’m sure it’ll be a tremendous addition to our collection.” Even a man with little sensitivity wouldn’t have missed the waves of resentment. For the moment, Stuart ignored them. “I wasn’t able to reach you in Africa, Harriet, and things have been hectic since your return. The Titian woman has been sold to Ernest Myerling.”
As he lifted his glass, Adam’s attention focused on Kirby. Her color drained, slowly, degree by degree until her face was as white as the silk she wore.
“I don’t recall discussing selling the Titian,” Harriet countered. Her voice was as colorless as Kirby’s skin.
“As I said, I couldn’t reach you. As the Titian isn’t listed under your personal collection, it falls among the saleable paintings. I think you’ll be pleased with the price.” He lit a cigarette with a slim silver lighter. “Myerling did insist on having it tested. He’s more interested in investment than art, I’m afraid. I thought you’d want to be there tomorrow for the procedure.”
Oh, God, oh, my God! Panic, very real and very strong, whirled through Kirby’s mind. In silence, Adam watched the fear grow in her eyes.
“Tested!” Obviously insulted, Harriet seethed. “Of all the gall, doubting the authenticity of a painting from my gallery. The Titian should not have been sold without my permission, and certainly not to a peasant.”
“Testing isn’t unheard-of, Harriet.” Seeing a hefty commission wavering, Stuart soothed, “Myerling’s a businessman, not an art expert. He wants facts.” Taking a long drag, he blew out smoke. “In any case, the paperwork’s already completed and there’s nothing to be done about it. The deal’s a fait accompli, hinging on the test results.”
“We’ll discuss this in the morning.” Harriet’s voice lowered as she finished off her drink. “This isn’t the time or place.”
“I—I have to freshen my drink,” Kirby said suddenly. Without another word, she spun away to work her way through the crowd. The nausea, she realized, was a direct result of panic, and the panic was a long way from over. “Papa.” She latched on to his arm and pulled him out of a discussion on Dali’s versatility. “I have to talk to you. Now.”
Hearing the edge in her voice, he let her drag him from the room.
Chapter 7
Kirby closed the doors of Harriet’s library behind her and leaned back against them. She didn’t waste any time. “The Titian’s being tested in the morning. Stuart sold it.”
“Sold it!” Fairchild’s eyes grew wide, his face pink. “Impossible. Harriet wouldn’t sell the Titian.”
“She didn’t. She was off playing with lions, remember?” Dragging both hands through her hair, she tried to speak calmly. “Stuart closed the deal, he just told her.”
“I told you he was a fool, didn’t I? Didn’t I?” Fairchild repeated as he started dancing in place. “I told Harriet, too. Would anyone listen? No, not Harriet.” He whirled around, plucked up a pencil from her desk and broke it in two. “She hires the idiot anyway and goes off to roam the jungle.”
“There’s no use going over that again!” Kirby snapped at him. “We’ve got to deal with the results.”
“There wouldn’t be any results if I’d been listened to. Stubborn woman falling for a pretty face. That’s all it was.” Pausing, he took a deep breath and folded his hands. “Well,” he said in a mild voice, “this is a problem.”
“Papa, this isn’t an error in your checkbook.”
“But it can be handled, probably with less effort. Any way out of the deal?”
“Stuart