When she’d spoken, she’d been looking at her children. Given their background, the tragic loss of the rest of their family, he had no difficulty understanding that for Honoria, home, family, and therefore children, mattered a great deal—that those things were as important to her as they were to him.
Had she meant that those things were just as important to Caro?
If she did, where did that get him?
What, indeed, was Caro’s deepest need?
19
He returned to Upper Grosvenor Street just before three o’clock, still no further along, either with his inquiries or his cogitations on Caro’s needs. Putting both aside, he took the stairs two at a time; opening the parlor door, he beheld Caro, seated in an armchair and deep in one of Camden’s diaries.
She looked up. Her fine hair formed a nimbus about her head; the sun striking through the window gilded each strand, a quiveringly alive filigree halo for her heart-shaped face with its delicate features and tip-tilted silvery eyes.
Those eyes lit at the sight of him. “Thank God!” Shutting the diary and setting it atop the pile, she held out her hands. “I sincerely hope you’re here to rescue me.”
Smiling, he walked in, took her hands, and pulled her up—and into his arms. Closing them about her, he bent his head; she lifted her lips.
They kissed. Long and slowly, deeply, yet both aware that they had to hold passion at bay, had to keep the flames suppressed.
Their lips parted only to meet again, to taste, take, give.
Eventually, he raised his head.
She sighed. Opened her eyes. “I suppose we must go.”
Her transparent reluctance delighted him. Yet…. “Unfortunately, we must.” Releasing her, he stepped back. “Lucifer will be waiting.”
They’d agreed to show Lucifer around the Half Moon Street house that afternoon at three. When they arrived, he was lounging, tall, dark, and rakishly handsome, against the front railings.
Grinning, he straightened and stepped forward to hand Caro down from the hackney, then bowed gracefully. “Your servant, Mrs. Sutcliffe. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
She smiled. “Thank you—but please call me Caro.”
Lucifer nodded to Michael, then waved up the steps. “I confess I’m agog to view the collection.”
Opening the door, Caro led them into the front hall. “I hadn’t realized Camden was such a well-known collector.”
“He wasn’t, but once I started asking around, he was definitely known, mostly for his eccentricity in collecting as he had.” Lucifer studied a sideboard and the vase that stood upon it. “Most people collect one type of thing. Sutcliffe collected all sorts of things, but for one house—this house.” He gestured at the round table in the hall, at the mirror on the wall. “Everything was chosen specifically to fill a particular place and function in this house. Everything is unique—the collection itself is unique.”
“I see.” Leading the way into the drawing room, she crossed to the windows and dragged back the heavy drapes, letting light spill across the gorgeous furniture, fracture and refract through crystal, gleam across gilt and beaten silver. “I hadn’t thought of it as strange.” She turned. “So what do you need to see?”
“Most of the major rooms, I suspect. But tell me, do you know who he dealt with? I have some names, but wondered which other dealers he used.”
“Wainwright, Cantor, Jofleur, and Hastings. No others.”
Lucifer looked up. “You’re certain of that?”
“Yes. Camden refused to deal with anyone else—he once told me he wasn’t interested in getting bilked, and that’s why he insisted on dealing only with men he trusted.”
Lucifer nodded. “He was right about those four, which means we can forget any likelihood of forgery. If any of them discovered they’d sold him a fake, they would have offered him his money back. If he dealt solely with them, that’s one scam we don’t need to imagine was involved here.”
“One scam.” Michael raised his brows. “There’s another possibility?”
“One that’s looking more likely every minute.” Lucifer glanced around. “Wait until I’ve seen more, then I’ll explain.”
Caro dutifully guided him about the ground floor, answering his questions, confirming that Camden had kept excellent records of all his purchases. In the dining room, waiting while Lucifer studied the contents of a glass-fronted cabinet, she noticed a candlestick normally in the center of the sideboard now stood to the left. She centered it again; thinking back to when she’d glanced in when she and Michael had come to fetch Camden’s papers, she was sure the candlestick had been in its accustomed place.
Mrs. Simms must have called; the housekeeper must have been distracted not to have replaced the candlestick precisely. Nothing was missing, nothing else had been moved. Making a mental note to send a message to let Mrs. Simms know she was back in town, she turned as Lucifer straightened. “Come—I’ll show you upstairs.”