Nights in White Satin: A Loveswept Classic Romance (16 page)

“I didn’t know you enough to trust you,” she said, a spark of vitality back in her voice and eyes. “I thought you would try to stop me. This isn’t something you announce on the telly.”

“But you could get into my bed, though, couldn’t you?”

“I will be damned,” Lettice exclaimed in astonishment.

“I take it,” he went on, “you don’t require trust for making love.” He didn’t bother to glance at his grandmother. Instead, he kept his focus on Jill. Worse than not trusting him to help her, she’d used him, completely and without honor. He doubted he could ever forgive her for that.

And then he realized why he was hurting so badly at the thought of being used. He had fallen in love with her. He should have known. He hadn’t gone to all the trouble of courting her just for sex. He loved her. And she had done whatever
was necessary to implement her plan. Everything he’d thought he knew about her had been false. A face put on to fool. She was as good a con artist as the Colonel, if not better.

Grahame walked into the room just then, carrying a tray of tea things.

“Blimey,” he said, taking in the tense silence. “You all look as if the Queen had croaked.”

“Thank you, Grahame,” Rick said, with a wave of dismissal.

“Gettin’ lordly, ain’t you?” But to Rick’s relief, he set the tray down and began to fuss with the cups and saucers.

“The Colonel has nerve,” Lettice said, returning to the original problem. “Well, now what?”

“Now,” Jill said, “I go pack my bags, take the first flight home, and tell my father the truth. It’s what I should have done in the first place. I knew it, but my brain lapsed momentarily into my mother’s side of the gene pool. She couldn’t have cooked up a crazier scheme if she tried.”

Rick didn’t understand what she was saying about her mother. What he did understand all too well was that she was proposing to leave. And to leave now. He wanted to protest, but his bruised honor and pride refused to allow him.

“No,” Lettice said, shaking her head. “You can’t go home without both necklaces.”

“Lettice, with my luck I’m liable next to lose my condo to the man.” Her weak laugh had an hysterical edge to it. “I just want to creep home, okay?”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Rick, say something to the girl.”

He said nothing, just watching the pain darken
Jill’s eyes. It hurt to know he was the one hurting her now, but that didn’t stop him.

His grandmother glared at him, then said, “I wish your sister were here, Rick. She’d know what to do.”

He snorted. “Right.”

“She’d amaze you, and so would her husband, Remy. Trust me. Unfortunately, we don’t have the experts.…” Lettice snapped her fingers. “I know. We’ll steal the diamond necklace back.”

“What!” Rick and Jill exclaimed at the same time.

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” Jill asked.

“Why not?” Lettice asked in return. “If he can do it, then so can we. All we have to do is go back to Annalissa’s and get it. He’s still there, smug and secure, I bet.”

“Pardon me, dear lady,” Grahame said. “But no self-preservin’ criminal would be caught with the heist anywhere near him. He’d get it to his stash right away.”

“And how would you know?” Rick asked, annoyed that Grahame was still there.

Grahame sighed. “Because at one time in my life, lad, I was a second-story man. Best in my craft too.”

Rick gaped at him.

“
Could
we steal it back?” Lettice asked.

“If you could learn where his hiding place is, then yes, it’s possible.” Grahame sniffed. “Although Benny Hill would have a better bleedin’ chance than you three.”

“Then you can do it for us!” she announced, beaming triumphantly.

“Oh, no! I’m retired from that, and I ain’t goin’ back for anyone. Not even you, Mrs. K.”

“Then show me how,” Rick said, and was immediately shocked at his own words.

“What!” Grahame exclaimed. It was his turn to stare, openmouthed. So did Lettice and Jill.

Rick knew he was possessed by a devil, daring him to prove to Jill that he was trustworthy with her secrets. That he had been all along. On some level he could understand her need to take the law into her own hands. At the manor, he’d been known to extract a rough justice upon occasion—one that didn’t necessarily fit with the law. He also didn’t like the thought of the Colonel getting away with it.

But he silently admitted he wasn’t being noble in his offer. Pride demanded that he show her she should have come to him, then send her home begging for forgiveness. An adolescent had more maturity, he was sure. Still, that didn’t stop the insanity.

“Show me,” he repeated.

“You’re bleedin’ nuts!”

“Probably.”

Grahame stared at him, then said, “I must be bleedin’ nuts.”

“Great!” Lettice said.

“No,” Jill said. “I’m sorry, but I won’t let you do it.”

“You don’t get a vote in the matter,” Rick said, gazing coldly at her. “Call Annalissa and find out where the Colonel is, Grandmother. Tell her you heard about his moneymaker and want to invest or something. Make it plausible, so she’ll tell you. I’ll call an old school friend of mine at the Yard
who really can help us with the Colonel. I don’t know why you went to Dad. He’s only an ambassador; he doesn’t know anybody truly useful. Grahame, in the meantime you get my lessons ready, while we try and find his stash.”

“Pickin’ up the language already, my lad,” Grahame said, approval actually in his voice.

“Just do it.”

“Bossy too.”

When Grahame and Lettice left the room, Jill said, “Rick, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t trust me, Jill.” Bitterness rose in him. “You went to bed with me and let me think you meant it. What was it? A thank-you for using me and my family?”

She looked stricken, then her expression closed. “No. Look, forget all this. I’ll just go home—”

“No. You’ve made it very clear you’re here only to get your damned jewels back. So we’ll get your damned jewels back, lady, and you won’t go the hell home before we do. Understand?”

He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

It seemed the Colonel had a place in Cornwall.

Jill closed her eyes as Rick’s Mercedes sped along the country lane. Rick’s friend had indeed proved more useful than Mr. Havilan, although it had taken three days before he’d discovered the Colonel had a cottage in the Cornish resort town of Falmouth. It had taken only another day to discover the Colonel had gone straight to the cottage after the regatta. He was already back with the Youngs, and the cottage was now empty. It
was easy to guess the purpose of his short visit home. Her head was still spinning at the way Rick had rented a place in a nearby village called Penryn and got all of them down there in the space of twelve hours. He was in this with a vengeance.

Now he and she were heading into Falmouth to check out the Colonel’s possible “stash.” Jill smothered the urge to sigh. During all the preparations, Rick hadn’t spoken a word to her unless he had to. Certainly, he wouldn’t listen to any of her arguments against going to Cornwall. He had stayed closeted with his farm manager or with Grahame. And every night, he had walked down the hallway without even pausing at her bedroom door.

Jill couldn’t blame him for being so angry. He was an honorable man, and she had lied to him and deceived him. Still, she couldn’t shake the thought that her first instincts were right—that he would have stopped her if she had confessed the truth.

She sensed his every movement as he drove … his strong hands sliding over the wheel … his thighs shifting as he braked the car.… She had been a fool. She would have gladly traded both necklaces for Rick, she knew that now. But the gesture would mean nothing. He’d made it very clear that he didn’t want her. She wouldn’t want her either. She deserved this punishment.

“What’s the street name?”

Startled that he’d actually spoken to her, she quickly straightened in her seat. She gazed out the windshield, surprised to see they’d reached Falmouth without her noticing.

“Sea Mist Road, number 27,” she replied, read
ing the map they’d brought. “What if this isn’t where he keeps his stuff?”

“Then why would he go to so much trouble to have his name concealed on the ownership papers for the property the way Jerry says he has?” Rick asked. “Falmouth was smuggler’s country way back, and I bet it’s still a great place to get illegal goods across to Europe. Let’s just hope your things haven’t already made the jump.”

Jill said nothing. What could she say without sounding hopeful, something he wouldn’t want to hear.

Number 27 proved to be one of several cottages fairly far apart on a quiet, hilly lane just on the outskirts of the resort town. Rick drove around the corner and parked the car, then the two of them got out and strolled back, like casual tourists.

“Looks deserted,” Jill said, peering at the small white house set amid several clones. There was no activity in the bright morning sunlight.

“Those high walls between the properties look promising,” Rick said, smiling grimly. “At least, we ought to be able to get in and out without anybody seeing us.”

Jill nodded, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Grahame had refused to go beyond advice and lessons, and Lettice’s age held her back. The two of them were having a culinary marathon instead, while she and Rick were on their own. A house detail caught her eye. “Those French doors don’t hurt either.”

Rick walked faster down the steep incline of the street. “Grahame would call this place a gem. One
would think the Colonel of all people would know better.”

“Why should he?” she asked dryly. “He looks and acts so normal, no one would be suspicious of him. And this little place doesn’t say ‘money’ to an ordinary burglar.”

“You’re the one who knows all about acting,” Rick said, staring straight ahead, “so I guess you’re right.”

She set her jaw against a smart answer. The temporary truce was over. But she was getting just a little tired of the war.

Late that night, Jill decided the details of the house weren’t quite so clear.

“I can’t see a thing,” she whispered, wondering how they’d even found the right house in the pitch-dark night. She bumped straight into Rick’s back.

“Watch!” he whispered fiercely.

She spat out a mouthful of his sweater. “Dammit, I can’t see you.” Both of them were dressed completely in black. “I can’t see anything!”

“That’s because there’s no moon and no street lights here,” he said patiently, then snapped, “Now grab my sweater and hang on and be quiet!”

She made a face at him, but he was already moving away, staying under cover of the bushes on the Colonel’s property. She grabbed hold of his sweater before he completely disappeared into the night again. To her surprise, they slipped through the yard with hardly any sound.

She had insisted on coming along, and it was the only argument she’d won. Now she almost wished she hadn’t, feeling as if she were hampering Rick. Still, Grahame had agreed with her.
He’d even commented that if they were seen, they could act like two lovers who couldn’t wait for the nearest bed.

She could feel her cheeks heating even now at the words. Rick had only scowled and told the man not to be stupid. Wonderful, she’d thought. He’d rather risk being caught then kiss her again.

Her thoughts made her all too aware of his waist brushing the back of her hand as they moved. She slowed a little, letting him stretch ahead and put an inch of space between them.

“Jill!”

“Sorry,” she muttered, closing the gap.

She nearly bumped into him again when he pulled up short.

“French doors.” His voice was a thready whisper.

She peered around him into the blackness. There seemed to be a blacker spot right ahead of them, but she couldn’t be sure. A thin stream of light from Rick’s tiny flashlight made a quick sweep and snapped off, but not before she’d glimpsed brick flooring and a picnic table.

“Patio. Watch for things.”

She nodded and tiptoed behind him. Much as she wanted to smack him, she had to admire him. He was very cool about all of this. In fact, if she didn’t know better she’d swear he was a pro. She resisted the urge to hum the
Pink Panther
theme. Rick probably wouldn’t appreciate it.

She no sooner sensed something looming in front of them than they stopped.

She could hear the tiniest clink of metal as he took out the set of special keys Grahame had given to them. “If these don’t work, nothing will,”
had been the man’s comment. A cool breeze swept up from the Channel, and Jill shivered, grateful for her gloves. Rick tried several keys before he straightened. “Okay.”

“Only one lock?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head. It was as if the Colonel were asking to be robbed. In the States, he would have been.

Rick eased the door open, and they stepped inside. Another sweep of the pencil flashlight told them the room was filled with chintz-covered furniture, candlestick tables, and framed photographs.

Jill frowned. The room was fussy, as if decorated by a woman. She’d been expecting a spartan masculine look.

“Where do we start?” she murmured, feeling overwhelmed.

“Grahame said do one room at a time,” Rick replied softly. “You take this side, and I’ll take the far side. The rug’s wall-to-wall so we can skip the floor.”

She nodded and snapped on her own light. She looked carefully behind all the wall pictures and behind a bulky buffet as best she could. Her heart was beating so loudly, the sound filled her ears. She felt ready to pass out and wondered briefly if the excitement and the terror was giving her a heart attack. Rick would probably kill her if she did.

Grahame’s admonishment to look for anything very ordinary or out of the ordinary as a possible hiding place rang through her brain like a litany. She glanced at the photos on top of one of the
tables, then moved on. She moved back and stared at the young children appearing in several of the pictures. Three were school pictures, but the largest was of the kids in their bathing suits—in front of the Colonel’s patio. Another picture was of an elderly couple with a small Jack Russell terrier sitting between them. The Colonel had relatives?