Midnight Jewels (19 page)

Mercy glanced involuntarily down at herself and wished
she had put on something—anything—besides jeans that morning.

When Isobel came forward into the sunlight to extend a graceful hand toward Croft, Mercy was uncomfortably aware of what a striking pair the two made. Hie other woman's height, dark hair and eyes were a beautiful, feminine version of Croft's height and coloring. The sleek, bright white outfit Isobel wore only seemed to emphasize the darkness of Croft's chinos and loose-fitting cotton shirt. When Isobel put her hand in his, Mercy thought her nails looked like delicate red daggers against Croft's bronzed skin.

Mercy swallowed and faced the fact that she was experiencing a fierce shaft of what could only be called jealous possessiveness. There in the crystal clear light of the mountains she looked at Croft and understood what was happening to her.

She was falling in love with the man.

Just as Croft released Isobel's hand, he turned his head and glanced at Mercy. She knew in that moment that he had undoubtedly seen what must be showing in her eyes. She was so transparent, he claimed, at least to him. He could see through her as though she were a watercolor painting. Mercy swiftly turned away, not wanting to deal with the speculation she saw in his eyes.

"Won't you come inside?" Isobel asked politely, leading the way into the marble tiled hall.

There was a wide staircase on one side of the hall with flights that led to a downstairs level as well as the upstairs. For the first time Mercy realized the house had what appeared to be a full-sized basement.

"I've had your rooms prepared on the second floor," Isobel was saying. "There's an excellent view to the southwest from there. When you've had a chance to refresh yourselves you must come downstairs for a guided tour. Erasmus is
very proud of his home. And naturally, you'll be interested in the library."

Mercy suddenly remembered the real reason for her visit. "I have the copy of
Valley
in my luggage. I'm sure you're anxious to see it, Mr. Gladstone."

"Erasmus, please."

She smiled. "Erasmus. I'll unpack the book and bring it downstairs in a few minutes."

"No hurry." He smiled. "I've been waiting for it for quite a while. Now that I know it's within reach, I can wait a while longer. Still, I am anxious to view it and I expect you're equally interested in settling the final negotiations."

"Your bid on the book was very generous," Mercy said.

"I meant what I said about offering you one or two interesting items from my collection as part of the price."

Mercy grinned widely. "I can't wait to see them. I'm going to use them as the basis for my new career in the rare book business."

"I'm looking forward to discussing our mutual passion," Erasmus Gladstone said smoothly. "Do you share our interests, Croft?"

"I prefer my books straight off the bestseller lists." Croft reached for Mercy's wrist. "You can talk about books later, Mercy. Let's go upstairs." He pulled her up the wide staircase toward Isobel, who was already on the landing. When he had his captive half way up the steps, out of immediate earshot of both Isobel and Gladstone, he added in a low growl, "You're here to talk about books, not 'mutual passion.' Keep
that in mind."

"Keep what in mind? The mutual passion?"

His fingers tightened warningly on her wrist, but there was no chance for Croft to respond verbally. Isobel Was beckoning her guests down a high-ceilinged corridor. The walls inside the house were as bright as the outside of the structure, their unrelenting whiteness punctuated here and
there by works of art. Mercy was no expert, but one of the paintings reminded her of Picasso and another, one with the bold bars of color, made her think of Mondrian.

She leaned toward Croft to whisper in his ear. "Do you mink they're originals?"

"Yes," Croft said readily, not bothering to lower his voice. "I mink they're originals."

Mercy blushed a fiery red as Isobel turned to smile in amusement. "You're quite right, Croft. The paintings are originals. Everything in the house is of the finest quality, including the artwork. Erasmus likes to surround himself with beautiful things."

"And people," Mercy added without dunking.

"Yes," Isobel nodded. "Erasmus prefers to have attractive people around him, just as he prefers beauty in his physical surroundings."

Mercy held up a hand in a gesture of mock pleading. "Please don't say anything more on the subject, Isobel, I'm traumatized enough as it is about dressing for dinner. I think I may have left the emerald necklace at home with my Saint Laurent gown and wouldn't you know it, the airline lost my little Ungaro number."

"You mustn't concern yourself with such things," Isobel said. "I would be happy to loan you something to wear."

Good grief, Mercy drought. Had the woman taken her seriously? "Um, I was just joking, Isobel."

Isobel nodded serenely. "Still, it's no problem. I will be pleased to open my wardrobe to you."

It was Croft who put an end to the discussion by saying bluntly, "Forget it. None of your clothes would fit Mercy. Is this our room?"

Mercy seethed in silence while Isobel stood back to wave them into a suite done in a light, graceful interpretation of Art Deco. Every item in the sunlit room was in proper geometrical proportion to the others. There was a sense of
ornamentalism in the small sculptured nude that stood by the wide bed, but the overall design was clean and somehow very modern. Outside the window a sparkling backdrop of snowcapped mountains and endless green valleys stretched toward infinity.

"When you mentioned to Dallas that you were being accompanied by a male companion, Mercy, we assumed he was a
close
friend. I hope we assumed correctly?"

"You assumed correctly," Croft said flatly before Mercy could think of a more delicate response. She glared at him as Isobel smiled directly at Croft.

"Then I hope this suite will do. There is a connecting door between this room and the next which should provide the two of you with whatever degree of privacy you wish. Lance has been instructed to put your luggage in the other room, Croft. Feel free to make whatever adjustments you please. Erasmus and I wish only that our guests be comfortable. Now, if you will excuse me, I will go downstairs to make certain everything is prepared for the evening. Join us when you're ready. We will be having cocktails in an hour."

Mercy breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind Isobel. "Better check your wrists to make sure she didn't help herself to a little blood when she shook hands with you. I wonder how she got such perfect nails? The nearest manicurist must be a hundred and fifty miles from here."

"Something tells me Isobel doesn't do much housework," Croft said absently as he began stalking slowly around the room.

"That's an understatement." Mercy frowned. "I wonder who does do it. The housework, I mean."

"Dallas and Lance probably."

"Obviously very versatile young men."

"Obviously." Croft went down on one knee to study the power receptacle in the wall.

Mercy scowled, knowing what he was doing because he had explained it all to her while they waited for the arrival of their escort. He was checking for eavesdropping devices. He had told her he might not be able to locate them if they were planted by a very sophisticated professional and that she was to watch her conversation carefully unless they were outdoors. Mercy had agreed to the terse instructions primarily because she was learning that there was no point arguing with Croft when he was in certain moods.

"Well?" She silently mouthed an inquiry at him as he finished his check of the room.

"I think I'm going to take a shower." Croft calmly began unbuttoning his shirt. He nodded toward the bathroom that separated the two sleeping suites.

"Okay." Mercy casually walked toward the window to examine the spectacular view. "This scenery is absolutely incredible, isn't it?"

Without any warning he was directly behind her, his hand clamping around the nape of her neck. Mercy jumped in surprise. "Honestly, Croft. Must you always sneak up on me like that?"

"I said I'm going to take a shower." The words were low, spoken directly into her ear. "I meant for you to join me."

"Now, see here, Croft," Mercy began heatedly, intending to give him a stern lecture on the subject of the exact status of their relationship. But she never got to finish the tirade. Croft clamped a large palm gently across her mouth and dragged her toward the bathroom. She felt like a kitten being transported by the scruff of its neck.

"Hush, love," he murmured as he pulled her over the threshold of the spacious bathroom. "Sometimes you talk too much." He used one booted foot to shut the door behind them and then made his way to the huge tiled shower. He released his hold on Mercy and turned on the water. "There. Now you can talk all you want."

The roar of the shower made it hard to hear his low voice. Mercy glared at him and started to back away. "What?"

"I said," he reached out and caught her arm again, halting her retreat, "that now you can talk all you want. The shower should drown out whatever we say."

A lightbulb went on inside her head. "Oh." A curious disappointment coursed through her. Croft was clearly all business at the moment. He hadn't intended to hijack her into the shower for a sexy romp after all. A realistic appraisal of the man indicated he probably didn't go in much for sexy shower romps. Croft was more the midnight passion type. She lifted her chin. "Well, as it happens, I don't have anything to say to you. I've got a much bigger problem on my hands at the moment than whispering secrets in the bathroom."

"What problem?"

"I've got to find something I can wear downstairs to dinner." Mercy turned and marched out of the steaming bath. But at the doorway she halted, frowning. "Does he… does he look like him, Croft?"

Croft knew what she meant. "No."

Mercy smiled in relief and went to see if her luggage had been brought up to the room. The first hurdle was over. Erasmus Gladstone didn't bear any resemblance to the man called Egan Graves. Everything was going to be all right, Mercy told herself cheerfully.

Croft followed Mercy down the staircase and into a room that received virtually all of its color from the view
that poured in through the windows. The low, clean-lined furnishings were in the palest shades of peach and sea green and ivory. Normally he liked quiet, understated colors, but somehow when he walked into this room it made him wish he was standing amidst the bright, ecclectic color scheme of Mercy's apartment.

Dallas was mixing drinks at a small bar in the corner. Isobel and Erasmus were seated near the window, talking quietly. They both turned with welcoming smiles as Croft and Mercy walked into the room.

As greetings were exchanged, Croft studied Mercy's dress with a critical eye and decided she needn't have worried about holding her own. She was wearing a narrow dress of some light, summery fabric splashed with yellow and white. It was a simple but sophisticated garment, especially paired with her upswept hair and high-heeled sandals. True, Isobel's ankle-length sweep of deep purple silk had undoubtedly cost a great deal more, but Croft had learned a long time ago not to judge the effect by the price tag.

"Ah, I see you have brought my prize, Mercy." Erasmus Gladstone reached out to take the unwrapped copy of
Valley of Secret Jewels
from his guest. "This represents the end of a long search. I almost didn't see your little ad in that catalog, you know. I've never had much luck with that particular publication and I'd almost decided to discontinue my subscription."

"The man who prints it was kind enough to accept my ad. I could hardly run off a whole catalog of my own." Mercy smiled as she handed over the book. "
Valley
was my first and only item that might have been of interest to a true collector."

Gladstone examined the book. Isobel watched him turn the pages, her gaze intent. When Gladstone finally closed the leather bound volume he looked very pleased. He cocked one imperious brow at Mercy. "There was no problem with the money that was wired into your account?"

"None at all," Mercy assured him.

"Excellent. Come with me and we will find a place in my library for
Valley
."

Gladstone led the other three out into the hall and down the stairs to the lower level of the house. When he opened a
glass door at the bottom of the stairs the scent of chlorinated water wafted through. The heavy odor of lush greenery accompanied it. The small party stepped out onto a small platform and found themselves in the midst of a tropical garden. The only thing marring the illusion was the odd hue of the lighting. It lacked the golden warmth of real sunlight. Croft watched Mercy's eyes widen in appreciation as she saw what was on the other side of the door.

"Good lord, an indoor pool and garden. It's magnificent! It looks like something out of a travel poster ad for Tahiti or Hawaii."

Gladstone smiled complacently and waved Mercy graciously toward the short flight of steps that led down from the platform.

The pool room was a giant, indoor tropical setting occupying most of the bottom floor of the large house. The place was filled with broad leaved plants and a variety of exotic ferns. The lighting was subdued and artfully camouflaged. If it weren't for the lack of a sky overhead, the whole setting might have passed for a small slice of tropical paradise, complete with a designer's idea of a waterfall at one end of the curving pool.

"One can't get all one's exercise skiing," Gladstone explained, descending the steps from the platform. "Isobel and I find the pool a pleasant alternative. In the middle of winter, a few hours in here does wonders to raise the spirits."

"I can imagine." Mercy started toward a path that wound its way through the heavy foliage to poolside. In a moment she disappeared from sight. Then her voice came clearly. "Come here and look at this, Croft. It's incredible."

Croft went forward slowly, moving along a narrow stone path that was bordered by lush plants. The greenery in there was damn thick. A lot of it was higher than a man's head. From the platform near the entrance it was possible to catch glimpses of the meandering path, but once down on the floor, the viewer found himself in the middle of a small jungle. Croft looked around with interest, automatically noting the extent of the realism.