The Art of Deception Read Free Page A

direction. For an instant he was totally and uncharacteristically stunned.
    The woman in the chair was so completely removed from the grimy, pigtailed chimney sweep, he found it nearly impossible to associate the two. She wore a thin silk dress as dark as her hair, draped at the bodice and slit up the side to show off one smooth thigh. He studied her profile as she watched her father rant. It was gently molded, classically oval with a very subtle sweep of cheekbones. Her lips were full, curved now in just a hint of a smile. Without the soot, her skin was somewhere between gold and honey with a look of luxurious softness. Only the eyes reminded him this was the same woman—gray and large and amused. Lifting one hand, she tossed back the dark hair that covered her shoulders.
    There was something more than beauty here. Adam knew he’d seen women with more beauty than Kirby Fairchild. But there was something… He groped for the word, but it eluded him.
    As if sensing him, she turned—just her head. Again she stared at him, openly and with curiosity, as her father continued his ravings. Slowly, very slowly, she smiled. Adam felt the power slam into him.
    Sex, he realized abruptly. Kirby Fairchild exuded sex the way other women exuded perfume. Raw, unapologetic sex.
    With a quick assessment typical of him, Adam decided she wouldn’t be easy to deceive. However he handled Fairchild, he’d have to tread carefully with Fairchild’s daughter. He decided as well that he already wanted to make love to her. He’d have to tread very carefully.
    “Adam.” She spoke in a soft voice that nonetheless carried over her father’s shouting. “You seem to have found us. Come in, Papa’s nearly done.”
    “Done? I’m undone. And by my own child.” Fairchild moved toward Adam as he entered the room. “Cocky, she says. I ask you, is that a word for a daughter to use?”
    “An aperitif?” Kirby asked. She rose with a fluid motion that Adam had always associated with tall, willowy women.
    “Yes, thank you.”

    “Your room’s agreeable?” His face wreathed in smiles again, Fairchild plopped down on the sofa.
    “Very agreeable.” The best way to handle it, Adam decided, was to pretend everything was normal. Pretenses were, after all, part of the game. “You have an…exceptional house.”
    “I’m fond of it.” Content, Fairchild leaned back. “It was built near the turn of the century by a wealthy and insane English lord. You’ll take Adam on a tour tomorrow, won’t you, Kirby?”
    “Of course.” As she handed Adam a glass, she smiled into his eyes. Diamonds, cold as ice, glittered at her ears. He could feel the heat rise.
    “I’m looking forward to it.” Style, he concluded. Whether natural or developed, Miss Fairchild had style.
    She smiled over the rim of her own glass, thinking precisely the same thing about Adam. “We aim to please.”
    A cautious man, Adam turned to Fairchild again. “Your art collection rivals a museum’s. The Titian in my room is fabulous.”
    The Titian, Kirby thought in quick panic. How could she have forgotten it? What in God’s name could she do about it? No difference. It made no difference, she reassured herself. It couldn’t, because there was nothing to be done.
    “The Hudson scene on the west wall—” Adam turned to her just as Kirby was telling herself to relax “—is that your work?”
    “My… Oh, yes.” She smiled as she remembered. She’d deal with the Titian at the first opportunity. “I’d forgotten that. It’s sentimental, I’m afraid. I was home from school and had a crush on the chauffeur’s son. We used to neck down there.”

    “He had buck teeth,” Fairchild reminded her with a snort.
    “Love conquers all,” Kirby decided.
    “The Hudson River bank is a hell of a place to lose your virginity,” her father stated, suddenly severe. He swirled his drink, then downed it.
    Enjoying the abrupt paternal disapproval, she decided to poke at it. “I didn’t