Twice the Temptation (46 page)

 
“To us,” everyone echoed, and drank.

 
Samantha stood at Rick’s right elbow, reviewing the evening thus far. He’d nearly gotten into a fight with Larson, which she couldn’t classify as bad in any form. He’d greeted each of his guests and their significant others and had remembered everyone’s name and relationship—no evil there. And the lobster and steak dinner was fabulous—Jean-Pierre had outdone himself.

 
They all sat, and Rick reached over to take her hand. “I’m glad I did this here,” he said, his smile deepening.

 
She shifted, uncomfortable at the pure happiness in
those Caribbean-blue eyes. And she’d put a curse in his pocket. Maybeshe was the evil part of the evening. “This is great,” she returned easily. “When do the clowns and the party hats come out?”

 
“No clowns, but we do have an orchestra and dancing, some spectacular surprise desserts, and some lovely parting gifts, if I do say so myself.”

 
For a bunch of big-money players, his inner circle was a pretty jovial lot. Except for Donner, who admittedly did clean up pretty well. She’d met most of them before, and as formal evenings went, so far it had been pretty stress—and evil—free. “You’re a nice guy, to do this.”

 
“You’re the one who’s been telling me to be nicer,” he commented, squeezing her fingers. “And they deserve it.”

 
“You two are going to give me a cavity,” Tom Donner said from his seat directly across the table from her.

 
Samantha thought it was pretty brave of him to sit within kicking range, especially with her in spiked heels, but then he probably knew that she wouldn’t want to cause a scene at Rick’s party. While she was deciding on the appropriate tone for her reciprocal zinger, John Stillwell, beside her, touched her hand.

 
“I wanted to tell you, Sam,” he said as she faced him, “the exhibit hall is outstanding. The way you designed the lighting to enhance the visual elements of the displays—no wonder Rick wanted you to design his art gallery here.”

 
Now, there was a man who knew how to give a good compliment. “Thanks, John,” she said with a warm smile. “The overhead lighting was kind of a last-minute change; I thought we were going to have too much light reflection off the gems, otherwise.”

 
“It’s brilliant. The Ashmolean should send someone up here to take a look. They have some reflection problems you could probably help them with.”

 
That could be yet another career for her—lighting designer to the world’s greatest museums. “They’re welcome to come by, but I think I have enough on my plate.”

 
“Speaking of lighting,” Jane Ethridge, Rick’s international personnel coordinator, said from beside Donner, “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off your necklace all evening, Samantha. Where did you get it?”

 
Samantha glanced at Rick. If she’d bought it for herself, she wouldn’t have hesitated, but this question fell well inside the realm of relationship land, and she couldn’t count the number of holes and prickly plants in there.

 
He smiled. “It’s from Cartier, in Paris. When I saw it, I thought it looked exquisite and unusual, which made it perfect for Samantha.”

 
“It is both,” Jane agreed. “It’s absolutely stunning.”

 
“Thank you,” Samantha returned, reaching up a finger to touch it.

 
“While we’re on the subject of precious gems,” Rick continued, “you’ll never guess what Samantha discovered in an old wall here at the estate.”

 
She sent him another look, this one not as affectionate. If he thought he was going to tease her in public about the damned Nightshade and the curse, if he thought she was trapped here because of her obligations to the exhibit, he had a surprise in store.

 
“Tell us,” Jane urged, the request echoed by the rest of the table.

 
“It was a diamond necklace, hidden there by my great-great-grandfather, Connoll.”

 
“Are you sure you didn’t just stash some loot there
and forget about it, Jellicoe?” Donner muttered, so no one else could hear.

 
“Ooh, you discovered my secret,” she whispered back, smiling brightly at him.

 
“My goodness! How did that happen?”

 
“Connoll left a note with it. Apparently it has the reputation for being cursed, and he didn’t want to risk any bad luck for himself or his new bride, my great-great-grandmother, Evangeline. Very romantic, really.”

 
Sam relaxed a smidgen. Okay, no curse jokes so far.

 
“What are you going to do with it now that you’ve found it again?”

 
“I’m not certain yet. It’s a lovely clear blue diamond, and I’d love to display it, but I’m not willing to curse anything by accident.”

 
His guests laughed.

 
“I’d love to see it,” Emily Hartsridge, the wife of Rick’s London administrator, said. “A cursed diamond hidden away in a wall. It does sound very romantic.”

 
Great. Who was supposed to be suffering under the damned curse right now, anyway? If Rick decided to go up to the safe and get the Nightshade, she was up shit creek without a plunger.

 
When Samantha sent a glance back at him, he was gazing at her. She could guess what he was thinking—was showing off a unique sixteen-million-dollar diamond worth the very good chance of pissing her off? All she could do was look straight back at him and be glad he couldn’t read minds. Hers right now was twisting in so many directions it would have made him blow a gasket.

 
“Perhaps if we have time after dinner,” he said. Classic business-guy Rick—noncommittal and polite.

 
Samantha took a breath as the conversation turned
to the diamond industry in general. One crisis averted. Now all she had to do was pick Rick’s pocket, go upstairs, and put the diamond back in his safe before he tried to retrieve it.

 
“If you don’t want it about, I’ll leave it in the safe,” he said in a low voice, stepping on the tail of her thoughts.

 
“Why should I care?” she asked flippantly, keeping her voice low. “Just don’t expect me to touch it. It’syour diamond.”

 
“Are you certain?”

 
“Rick, don’t cater to me like I’m some spoiled little kid. If you want to show it off, then show it off.”

 
A muscle in his left cheek jumped, but otherwise his expression stayed cool and composed. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

 
“I’m not fighting.”

 
“I’ll go and get it after we adjourn to the ballroom, then.”

 
“That’s fine.”

 
“Fine.”

 
She looked across the table at Donner, who was at least pretending not to listen. “Do you still need a dentist?”

 
“No, I think I’m fine now,” he returned.

 
Okay, if she couldn’t fight either of them, she was going to makesomebody uncomfortable. She hated to suffer alone. Henry Larson sat halfway down the table, and while she couldn’t hear every word of his conversation, she did make out “museum” and “trusted position.”Aha . “Mr. Larson,” she said in a carrying voice, smiling, “since we’re on the subject of diamonds, you should explain the selection process for the ones in the traveling exhibit.”

 
For a second he sent her a look of pure hatred. Amid the encouragement from the others at the table, he began a rambling discussion about carats and diamond mine locations that sounded like stuff he’d overheard during three days of standing in the exhibit hall and listening to the actual V & A employees.So there .

 
As dessert ended, Rick announced that he’d arranged for entertainment in the ballroom. The group began trooping upstairs to the second floor. Thinking fast, Samantha leaned up against Rick as he stopped at the foot of the stairs, digging into his pocket as she did so.

 
“I’m going to check in with Harrington,” she said, stepping back and removing the Nightshade from his pocket in the same motion.

 
“Does this mean you’re not angry any longer?” he inquired, taking her wrist in his fingers.

 
“I’m not mad.”

 
“Don’t be long, then,” he returned. “As soon as I get everyone situated, I’m going to get the diamond.”

 
“Like I said,” she commented with a half smile, clenching the diamond in her hand, “just don’t expect me to touch it. You can give it to Donner, though, if you want. In fact, I recommend it.”

 
“Mm-hm. I won’t tell him you said that.”

 
She turned in the direction of the cellar door, but as soon as she was out of the guests’ sight she hurried past it to the old set of servants’ stairs at the back of the house. Hiking up her skirt, she tore up the steep stairs to the third floor where the master bedroom suite stood. Putting aside the thought that it might have been simpler just to tell Rick he already had the diamond with him, she ran into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

 
When she was halfway to Rick’s dressing room, high-pitched violins began a staccato screech from her nightstand. The exhibit alarm on her cell phone. Her blood froze.

 
Oh, so the bad-luck thing worked on her right away. Cursing she grabbed up her walkie-talkie and charged back for the door. It opened as she reached it. And the man standing there wasn’t Rick.

 
“What are you doing here, Larson?” she asked, scowling as she continued forward. “Get out of my bedroom.”

 
Instead he closed the door behind him and locked it. “You are not very nice,” he said.

 
“No, I’m not. And I just got an automated security-breach alarm, so we need to get going. You can tell me how unpleasant I am later.”

 
“It’s probably another cat toy.”

 
“Oh, for crying out loud,” she snapped, gripping the radio harder. “Move!”

 
“He said you would be confident to the point of arrogance.”

 
She paused midway to putting a heel through his shiny dress shoe. “What?”

 
“You heard me.”

 
A different kind of alarm began creeping through her skull and down her spine, fighting with the adrenaline rush of knowing a caper was happening just down the path. “Get out of my way. I’m not asking you again.”

 
“Let’s just stay here and chat for a bit, shall we?”

 
“The alarm went off, Larson. Get that through your skull, will you? I am not going to let you lock me in my bedroom to discuss my manners while somebody robs the exhibit.” While Bryce robbed the exhibit, she was sure.

 
The inspector pulled a pistol from the back of his waistband and cocked it. “You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to, Miss Jellicoe.”

 
In an instant, it all clicked into place. He wasn’t a bumbling detective, but an accomplice. He wasn’t somebody on the lookout for a scapegoat in case of trouble, but somebody ready and willing to make trouble—with a gun. Samantha pressed the walkie’s talk button and thumbed it on. “You really think you can keep me here in my own bedroom, Larson?”