Twice the Temptation (26 page)

 
He stared hard at the set of numbers, obviously trying to memorize them, then tucked the card into his inner jacket pocket. “I’ll shred it once we get inside,” he said, obviously reading her expression.

 
He’d better; she was getting tired of reminding him. It continued to amaze her the way most people—even those who had things worth stealing—looked at security. As someone who had once benefited from those same it-won’t-happen-to-me attitudes, it seemed both wrong and extremely vital that she warn them to keep their damn guards up.

 
With a quick, uncertain smile at her, he entered the five-digit code, waited for the alarm light to switch from red to green, and then pulled open the heavy fireproof door. “Will Lord Rawl—I mean Mr. Addison—be joining us?”

 
She shrugged. She was used to living in the shadows, being someone that no one would notice, but she had a legitimate job now, dammit. And it irked her that however good she happened to be at it, everyone’s first
question was still about Richard Addison. Okay, yes, he was one of the richest guys in the world, and yes, he was gorgeous, and yes, they’d been living together for eight months, but this gig was hers. Not his. “He’s pretty busy. I don’t know if he’ll show today or not.” Especially since she’d warned him not to.

 
“Oh, very well. Of course. It was very kind of him to loan the hall to us for the gem exhibit. I think it’s the finest location we’ve had.”

 
They walked into the building. The walls were still old stone, though much of it had been replaced or remortared to accommodate electrical and security wiring. The dirt floor was now a gray slate covering insulated concrete, and the timber roof above the bare oak beams had been sealed with a protective lacquer and reinforced with concealed steel brackets.

 
All along the walls and down a trio of rows running the length of the long building, she and Mr. Montgomery had overseen the installation of displays designed to match the appearance of the old stable, but so wired and sensored that they practically hummed.

 
Samantha punched in another code and swung open a panel set into the near wall. All of the control switches were inside, and she flipped on the display lights.

 
“So this is what it will look like when we go live?” Montgomery asked, strolling between two of the rows of glass-topped displays.

 
“That’s what I wanted to check with you about,” she returned. “The display lighting’s great when it’s just us, but add a couple hundred people all leaning over to look inside, and the room’s going to be dark enough for pickpockets.” It would actually be dark enough for axe-wielding giants, but from his tight-lipped expression, she’d made her point.

 
“The gems are arriving tomorrow, and the exhibit opens on—”

 
“On Saturday. I know. Which is why I brought in an electrician while you were touring with the jewels in Edinburgh. What do you think of this?” She reached into the panel again.

 
“But we said that overhead lighting would…” He looked up as she flipped the switch. “Oh.”

 
The glass covering the displays was of a very expensive non-reflective material, but the gems themselves would be highly reflective, which had meant a very different kind of problem altogether. Her solution had been to install indirect lighting along the upper walls of the stable-cum-museum hall, so that the top half of the room was bathed in soft white light that faded to a barely noticeable glow just above the level of the displays.

 
“I like it,” Montgomery said, turning a circle. “Very innovative. You have quite a knack for this, don’t you?”

 
She shrugged. “I try.”

 
In her time as a cat burglar she’d probably seen every type of artifact lighting known to mankind, and she had a good idea of what worked and what didn’t. That, though, would have to stay a trade secret. As long as she was living with a very high-profile businessman, the fewer people who knew about her nefarious past, the better. And that didn’t even take into account the fact that she’d only been retired for eight months or so, while the statute of limitations for stealing Picassos and Remingtons was, on average, seven years.

 
“The, uh, fire exit area bothers me a bit,” the curator was saying.

 
Samantha shook herself. She knew better than to get lost in self-reflection in the middle of a gig. Even a
legitimate one. The corner he indicated was twice as dark as the rest of the room. “Crap,” she muttered. “The reflector came loose again. I’ll fix it.”

 
“I can—”

 
“No, it was the first one we put up, and we were still kind of experimenting.”

 
Dragging over one of the stepladders that still littered the floor, she climbed up and reached high along the wall to reattach the reflector to its base and push the clip back into the holder. Abruptly the stone she’d been leaning on to steady herself shifted beneath her hand.

 
“Shit,” she muttered, flinging her other hand out to keep her balance.

 
Mr. Montgomery grabbed her around the ankles, nearly making her shriek. She absolutely hated being grabbed, no matter the circumstances. Rather than kick him in the face, though, she took a breath.

 
“I’m fine, Mr. Montgomery. Just a loose stone.”

 
He released her. “We’d best get it remortared before the show—don’t want it falling into a case of diamonds.”

 
“That we don’t.” She tugged on the stone, and it slid out from the wall. With the diffused light pouring down the wall she could clearly see the open space behind it. Or what would have been an open space, if not for the box resting securely inside the hollow. Her heart began beating faster. Anybody would love the idea of hidden treasure, she supposed, reaching carefully in to pull out the box. For her, it was practically orgasmic.

 
“What do you have there?”

 
“I don’t know,” she said absently, brushing dust off the top of the box and stepping to the ground. Mahogany, polished and inlaid—and old. Not some child’s treasure box.

 
“Goodness,” Montgomery said, looking over her shoulder. “Why don’t you open it?”

 
She wanted to. Badly. She was in charge of security for this building, after all, so technically she needed to know about everything inside it. Even old, hidden things. Especially when they were inside the stable walls of Rick’s ancestral property.

 
And a closed box, of all things—she’d spent the last eight months pretty much resisting temptation, but nobody could expect her to ignore a box that had literally fallen into her hands. Rick wouldn’t.

 
Taking a deep breath, she opened the lid. A small velvet bag lay inside. Still hesitating, she reached in to tilt the bag into her fingers. A diamond-encrusted chain spilled out, attached to a blue diamond the size of a walnut. It winked at her.

 
At the same instant the light over her head popped and exploded, showering her with sparks. Gasping, she snapped the box closed again.Christ.

 
Montgomery gaped at the ceiling. “That—”

 
“E-excuse me for a minute, will you?” she stammered, and headed for the door.

 
The box gripped hard in her hands, she crossed the corner of the temporary parking lot they’d put in for the exhibition, opened the low garden gate with her hip, and strode up to the massive house.

 
A diamond. Afucking diamond. That sneak. They’d been dating—hell, living together—since three days after they’d met, and Rick had made it clear that he wanted her in his life for the rest of his life. But he also knew that she had an abysmal track record for staying in one place for very long, and that she didn’t work with partners.

 
If this was his way of giving her a gift without sending her running for the hills…well, it was pretty clever,
really. He knew she liked puzzles—and a hidden box in a secret hole in a wall was definitely a puzzle. But a diamond wasn’t just a gift. Diamonds meant something. And ones this size—

 
“Rick!” she yelled as she reached the main foyer.

 
“What?” A moment later he leaned over the balcony railing above and behind her. “You didn’t kill Montgomery, did you?”

 
For a heartbeat she just looked at him. Black hair, deep blue eyes, a professional soccer player’s body—and all hers. The smart-ass remark she’d been ready to make about the diamond stuck in her throat.

 
“What is it?” he repeated in his deep voice with its slightly faded British accent, and descended the stairs. He wore a loose gray T-shirt and jeans, and his feet were bare. Yep, her billionaire liked going barefoot.

 
Still clutching the box in one hand, she walked to the base of the stairs, grabbed his shoulder, and kissed him.

 
Rick slid his hands around her hips and pulled her closer. She sighed, pressed along his lean, muscular body. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sykes the butler start through the foyer, see them, and turn around to head back out the way he’d come in.

 
Pulling away from her an inch or two, Rick tucked a strand of her reddish hair back behind her ear. “What exactly were you and Mr. Montgomery discussing?” he asked. “Not that I’m going to complain about it.”

 
She took another breath, her heart pounding all over again. “I found it, Brit. It’s…thank you, but…it’s too much.”

 
His brow furrowed. “What are you talking about, Yank?”

 
Samantha moved the box around between them. “This. When did you put it—”

 
Rick took it from her hands, glanced at her face, then opened it. “Good God,” he breathed, lifting the sparkling orb out of the box by its diamond and gold chain. “Where did this come fr—”

 
“You didn’t put it there.”

 
Of course he hadn’t.She was an idiot. Did that mean she’d been hoping for a diamond? So much for independent Samantha Elizabeth Jellicoe.Schmuck.

 
“Put it where?”

 
“It was in a hole in the wall in the exhibit hall. Come on. I’ll show you.”

 
“Hold a minute.” Setting the box down on a side table, he pulled out a folded piece of paper stuck to the lid. “Did you see this?”

 
She shook her head. So not only was she an idiot, she was an unobservant one. What the hell was wrong with her? Leaping to conclusions and missing clues only led to nice ceremonies over pine boxes—or whatever it was they made coffins out of these days.

 
Gingerly he opened it. The edges were crumbled, the paper yellowed and badly creased. “‘To whom it may concern,’” he read, angling the paper to catch the morning light through the generous front windows, “‘The item you have discovered is known as the Nightshade Diamond. It was previously owned by the Munroe family out of Lancastershire, and through my marriage to Evangeline Munroe and with her permission has passed to mine.’”

 
“Who’s Evangeline Munroe?”

 
“Hush. I’m reading. ‘The diamond was discovered by a Munroe in southernmost Africa in approximately 1640, and has been an object of misfortune since that date. Because you have discovered it, the decision must be yours, but I must warn you that touching the diamond, carrying
it on your person, inspires the worst luck imaginable. Conversely, once having touched it and then set it aside, an equal share of good luck results.

 
“‘I advise you, nay, beg you, to replace this letter, and this box, from whence you found it, or if that is impossible, to place it in an alternate safe, secure location. That is the only way to benefit from the Nightshade Diamond. I have witnessed both aspects of the curse, and can vouch for the truth of the legend. May the best of luck be with you. Yours in Respect, Connoll Spencer Addison, Marquis of Rawley.’” Rick glanced up at her, then looked down again. “It’s dated nineteen July, 1814.”