Sweet Revenge (22 page)

Philip Chamberlain was forcing her to change her plans. She took a last glance around the darkened bedroom. Lady Fume was going to keep her emeralds, at least for a while. But she’d be damned if the trip and her time would be wasted. She cast one regretful look at the seascape.

She would keep Philip Chamberlain occupied for a few hours at dinner, return to her suite, and change into her working clothes. Madeline Moreau was going to lose her sapphire pendant a little ahead of schedule.

Refocusing her plans on Madeline Moreau kept Adrianne up late, and had her up and on the job early. Figuring in the factor of Philip Chamberlain might have tilted the odds on the Fume job, but it didn’t mean The Shadow had to leave London empty handed.

As a thief, Adrianne was very successful. Part of the reason was caution. Another part, perhaps a larger part, was flexibility. The blueprints and specs she’d carried over from New York would wait. The Widows’ and Orphans’ Fund wouldn’t.

At eight forty-five, Madeline’s day maid, Lucille, opened the door to an attractive, bearded young man in gray overalls.

“May I help you?”

“Pest control.” Adrianne grinned through a sandy-colored beard and sent Lucille a broad wink. Under a battered cap she wore a straggly blond wig, a bit on the dirty side, that skimmed over her ears. “Got six flats to do this morning, luv, and you’re number one.”

“Pests?” Lucille hesitated, blushing as the exterminator gave her a long, interested study. “The mademoiselle said nothing about pests.”

“Building superintendent ordered it.” Adrianne held out a pink sheet. She wore workingman’s gloves, frayed, that reached past her wrists. “Got some complaints. Mice.”

“Mice?” On a muffled squeal, Lucille snatched her hand back. “But my mistress is asleep.”

“No skin off my nose. You don’t want Jimmy to kill the little buggers, I’ll just toddle along to the next on my list.” She offered the sheet again. “You want to sign this? It just
says you didn’t want the service. Gets the super off the hook if any rodents crawl up your leg.”

“But no.” Lucille lifted a hand to her mouth and chewed on her nails. Mice. Even the thought of them made her shudder. “You will wait here. I will wake up the mistress.”

“Take your time, luv. I get paid by the hour.”

Adrianne watched Lucille scurry off. Setting down her tank, she moved quickly around the room, lifting paintings, shifting books. She smiled a little when she heard Madeline’s voice rise from a room down the hallway, apparently unhappy to have her beauty sleep interrupted. When Lucille came back out, Adrianne was leaning aginst the door, whistling between her teeth.

“Please, you will start in the kitchen. Mademoiselle wishes to leave before you go through the bedrooms.”

“At your service, luv.” Adrianne hefted the tank. “Want to keep me company?”

Lucille swept up her lashes. He was small, and skinny, she thought. But very pretty in the face. “Perhaps. After mademoiselle is gone.”

“I’ll be around.” Whistling again, Adrianne followed Lucille’s direction into the kitchen. Working fast, she slipped into the utility room. The alarm system was hardly more than a toy, making her sigh at the lack of challenge. Quickly, one ear turned for noise, she unscrewed the plate. From the deep pockets of her coveralls she took a pocket computer the size of a credit card and two spring clamps. Forcing herself not to hurry, she clamped the wires, cutting off the power.

She heard the click of heels, and dashed back through the door to pump a fog of organic rose dust into the air.

“Better give me another minute, luv,” she advised when Lucille poked a head into the kitchen. “This stuff needs to settle. Wouldn’t want to make those pretty eyes red.”

Coughing, Lucille waved a hand in front of her face. “Mademoiselle wants to know how long you will be.”

“An hour, tops.” She pumped more, hastening Lucille’s retreat. Counting five, Adrianne slipped back into the utility room and pulled out her wire cutters. It took under two minutes to feed the wires into her computer and change the security code. Getting in would be no problem, she thought as she replaced the face plate. Now all she had to do was find
the safe. With the tank on her shoulder, Adrianne strolled back out to Lucille.

“Where next?”

“The guest room.” Lucille indicated the way, then was interrupted by a stream of French curses.

“Lucille. Goddammit, where did you put my red bag? Do I have to do everything myself?”

“Sounds like a real sweetheart,” Adrianne commented. Lucille only rolled her eyes and hurried off. If she threw a temper tantrum over a bag, Adrianne imagined Madeline would have apoplexy over the loss of her sapphire. Never pays to be greedy, she thought, then went off to search the guest room.

Twenty minutes later she heard the front door slam. It took her less than ten more to locate the safe in Madeline’s fussy red and black bedroom. It stood behind a false front in a vanity covered with pots and jars.

Standard combination, Adrianne mused with a cluck of her tongue. One would have thought Madeline would have spent as much on her security as she had on her wardrobe. Hefting the tank once more, Adrianne went out to find Lucille waiting for her.

The maid had spritzed herself with her best perfume.

“You have finished?”

“Any mouse that tries to sneak in here is dead meat.” This was going to take some delicate footwork, Adrianne decided as Lucille smiled at her. “The mademoiselle is gone?”

“She won’t be back for at least an hour.” The invitation was obvious as Lucille took a step closer. Adrianne felt a giggle well up and had to remind herself this was no laughing matter.

“Wish I had a little free time now. But I’ve got some later. What time does she let you off?”

“She has moods.” Pouting, Lucille toyed with the collar of Adrianne’s coveralls. She’d never been kissed by a man with a beard. “Sometimes she keeps me all evening.”

“She’s got to go to bed sometime.” Since Adrianne had plans for Madeline that evening, she thought it best to make some for Lucille as well. “Can you get out, say, midnight? You could meet me at Bester’s in Soho. We’ll have a drink.”

“Only a drink?”

“That depends.” Adrianne grinned. “I live right around the corner from the club. You could come by and give me … a French lesson. Midnight.” She ran a quick finger down Lucille’s cheek, then headed for the door.

“Maybe.”

Adrianne turned and winked.

An hour later, in a blond wig and pink sweater set, Adrianne paid cash for two dozen red roses and an elegant champagne dinner for two in a private dining room of a country inn an hour’s drive from London.

“My boss wants only the best,” Adrianne explained in a stern British accent as she handed a fistful of five-pound notes to the manager. “And, of course, discretion.”

“Of course.” The manager bowed, careful not to show too much enthusiasm. “And the name?”

Adrianne lifted a brow, a la Celeste. “Mr. Smythe. You will see that the champagne is properly chilled by midnight.” As she spoke, she added a twenty-pound note.

“Personally.”

Stiff-backed, head erect, Adrianne walked out to the car she’d rented for the trip out of London. She couldn’t prevent the briefest of smiles. By now Madeline would have received the first delivery of roses, and the romantic, mysterious invitation to a midnight supper in the country with a secret admirer.

Human nature was as important a tool as limber fingers. Madeline Moreau was very French, and very vain. Adrianne didn’t doubt for a minute that the Frenchwoman would step out of her flat and into the limousine Adrianne had arranged, leaving her flat empty. Madeline would be disappointed, naturally, when her anonymous admirer proved a no-show. But the Dom Pérignon and her own curiosity should occupy her for a while. Adrianne doubted if Madeline would return to London before two. By then Adrianne would have the sapphire, and Madeline a brilliant French temper tantrum.

It took her very little time once she was back in her rooms to go over notes and recheck her timing. The second delivery of roses, with a foolish, lovesick poem and another plea for an intimate evening would be arriving on Madeline’s doorstep within the hour.

She’d never resist it. Adrianne lit a match to her notes
and watched the paper catch flame. Her instincts were right about this, she assured herself. Philip Chamberlains intrusion might have been simple coincidence, but The Shadow preferred tidy calculations. She smiled to herself. At this point Philip was giving her the best possible cover. She’d be seen going to dinner with him, then coming home again. She would make certain no one saw her leave her suite at midnight.

Adrianne was in the best of moods when she dressed for dinner. The basic black she chose was very slim, interest added by an explosion of multicolored mosaic beading along one shoulder. She clipped on royal blue glass earrings trimmed in gold that would be taken for sapphires by anyone but an expert. She stole the best, the most precious of jewels, but rarely bought them for herself. Only The Sun and the Moon interested her.

Standing back, she took a long hard look at herself. This image, like the image of Rose Sparrow, was important to her. She decided she was pleased she’d gone with the impulse to have her hair crimped, but changed her mind about her lipstick and applied a darker shade. Yes, she thought, that added just a hint more power. Philip Chamberlain might be a dangerous man, but he wouldn’t find her easy prey.

When the desk clerk phoned, she was ready, even looking forward to the evening. She insisted on coming down to the lobby to meet Philip.

He wasn’t dressed so formally tonight. The gray suit was Italian casual and only shades lighter than his eyes. Rather than a shirt and tie, he wore a black turtleneck, which set off his hair well. Too well, Adrianne thought. Her smile was very cool.

“You’re prompt.”

“You’re lovely.” He offered her a single red rose.

She knew men too well to be seduced by a flower, but couldn’t prevent her smile from softening.

She had a sable over her arm. He took it. As he slid the coat slowly over her shoulders, he let his fingers linger to free her hair from the collar. It was as rich and thick as the fur.

The warmth spread unexpectedly. Determined to ignore it, Adrianne looked over her shoulder. Her face was teasingly close to his. She let her lips curve as their gazes held.

She knew how to unnerve a man with a look, with a movement, he realized. He wondered how she’d earned a reputation as unattainable with eyes like that.

“There’s an inn about forty kilometers east of London. It’s quiet, atmospheric, and the food’s delightful.”

She’d expected a slick, sophisticated restaurant in the heart of the city. Could it be they would dine in the very spot where Madeline would be waiting for her mystery lover at midnight? Philip caught the sudden humor in her eyes, and wondered at it.

“You are a romantic.” Carefully, she stepped out of his arms. “But I’d like a drive. On the way you can tell me all about Philip Chamberlain.”

With a smile he took her arm. “We’ll need more than forty kilometers for that.”

When Adrianne settled in the Rolls, she let her fur slide down her shoulders. The brisk autumn air couldn’t compete with the warmth. The moment the driver pulled away from the curb, Philip took a bottle of Dom Pérignon from an ice bucket.

It was too perfect, she thought, and battled back another smile. Red roses, champagne, the plush car, and an evening at a country inn. Poor Madeline, she thought, greatly amused as she studied Philip’s profile.

“Have you been enjoying your time in London?” The cork came out with a muffled pop. In the quiet interior she could hear the excited fizz of air and wine rise in the neck of the bottle.

“Yes, I always enjoy it here.”

“Doing?”

“Doing?” She accepted the glass he offered. “Shopping, seeing friends. Walking.” She allowed him to spoon caviar onto a cracker for her. “What do you do?”

He watched her nip into the caviar before he sipped. “About what?”

Crossing her legs, she settled comfortably in the corner. It was the image she chose to project, lush furs, silk-clad legs, glittering jewels. “Work, pleasure, whatever.”

“What appeals most at the moment.”

She found it odd he didn’t elaborate. Most of the men she knew needed only the slightest opening to expound on
their businesses, their hobbies, and their egos. “You mentioned gambling.”

“Did I?”

He was watching her, in the steady, disconcerting way he had before. It was as if he knew the Bolls was a stage and they were only playing parts. “Yes. What sort do you prefer?”

He smiled. It was the same smile she’d seen through the louvers in the Fumes’ closet door. “Long shots. More caviar?”

“Thank you.” They were playing a game, Adrianne thought. She wasn’t sure what the rules were, or what form the prize at the end would take, but a game was on. She took the caviar, beluga, the best, as was the wine and the car that was driving smoothly out of London. She trailed a finger along the swatch of upholstery that separated them. “Your long shots must pay off.”

“Usually.” With her he was counting on it. “What do you do when you’re not walking in London?”

“I walk someplace else, shop someplace else. When one city becomes tedious, there’s always another.”

He might have believed it if he hadn’t seen those flickers of passion in her eyes. This was no bored former debutante with too much money and too much time. “Are you going back to New York when you’re done with London?”

“I haven’t decided.” How dreary life would be, she thought, if she lived as she pretended. “I thought I might try somewhere hot for the holidays.”

There was a joke here, he thought. It was just behind her eyes, just edging the tone of her voice. Philip wondered if he’d find it amusing when he heard the punch line.

“Jaquir is hot.”

It wasn’t a joke he saw in her eyes now, but the passion, swift, vital, and quickly concealed. “Yes.” Her voice was flat and disinterested. “But I prefer the tropics to the desert.”

He knew he could prod, and had decided to when the phone interrupted him. “Sorry,” he said, then lifted the receiver. “Chamberlain.” There was only the briefest sigh. “Hello, Mum.”