Shadow Play by Katherine Sutcliffe Read Free Book Online Page B

such a thing.
    Hands gripped in her lap, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. In a voice that sounded level and deter- mined, she said, "Name the price, Mr. Kane. But I must warn you, I haven't much money. There is little left beyond the furnishings you see here. Perhaps I can sell some of the silver pieces—they are quite old, I think—but most of the furniture belongs to the government. We have a town house in London. Those furnishings will bring a nice sum, but that would take a great deal of time..."
    She took another breath, gazed out at the sea, and began again. "There is some money, but not much. Perhaps enough to finance the journey, but beyond that... of course, you'll expect to be paid generously for your trouble. Perhaps some arrangements could be made.''
    "Perhaps."
    Silence fell again while she gathered her courage to face him. She found him watching her intently under hooded eyes. A ribbon of pale gray smoke streamed up from his cigarette and disappeared in the dark above his blacker- than-night hair.
    He took up his whiskey glass arid slid away from the wall, tucked the cigarette between his lips, and walked past her to the doorway where he stood for a long moment, one hand in his pants pocket, the other swirling his liquor as he perused the room's interior. As he entered, Sarah hurried to follow, watching him guardedly. He moved through the house occasionally reaching for a silver candlestick, an ornamental vase, a porcelain figurine, replacing each carefully on its pedestal before returning to the dining room, where he paused in front of her portrait. He removed the cigarette from his mouth before looking at her over his shoulder.
    "How much money do you have?"
    She glanced about the room.
    "Those silver candlesticks won't fetch a farthing," he told her, his eyes on the painting again. "And while the vases may have a great deal of sentimental value, they're worth nothing on the docks. How much cash do you have, Miss St. James?"
    "Five hundred pounds," she snapped.
    "I'll do it for a thousand."
    "But—"
    She bit off her words as he turned his back on her and returned to the veranda. She stalked after him, anger and frustration coloring her cheeks. She stopped abruptly as she came face-to-face with him at the door, and the sudden memory of her body pressing against his the night before flooded through her. Yet she could not look away even for a moment. She could not move. Even as a large moth fluttered in the air between them, battering its wings around the glass of the glowing oil lamp over the American's shoulder, she could think of nothing but the brooding slant of his mouth as it closed around the moist end of his cigarette one last time.
    He inhaled deeply, then flicked the butt away without looking from her face. At last he smiled. "You're a very savvy young woman, Miss St. James, but not quite savvy enough to outfox a fox. You see, I was here a week ago, as you recall." He leaned against the doorframe. "You've replaced the more expensive pieces with a lot of cheap reproductions, no doubt thinking that I might accept a few of these worthless trinkets instead of money. I'm quite certain that even those diamonds twinkling on your lovely little ears are paste."
    She blinked and grew angrier.
    The American laughed, a throaty rumble that vibrated to her toes. He touched her cheek with his fingers. "I might have been born on the wrong side of the river, ma chere, but I'm wise enough to know that the aristocracy doesn't flaunt its wealth to anyone who might have a tow sack tucked down the back of his pants. So tell me, chere, what exactly are you willing to sacrifice to save your father's reputation?''
    He slid his hard fingers around her nape and pulled her closer, so close his whiskey-warm breath brushed her mouth as he looked into her eyes. Instinctively, she braced her hands against his chest and felt his heart hammering against her fingertips. As his shirt turned warm and moist against her