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married to Carlyse Burgess—Burgess Enterprises. They’re divorced.”
    â€œSo, she’s Harriet Merrick’s daughter.” The cast of players was increasing. “Mrs. Merrick’s given the running of the gallery over to Hiller?”
    â€œFor the most part. She dips her hand in now and then.”
    Adam saw that she’d relaxed again, and concentrated on the shape of her eyes. Round? Not quite, he decided. They were nearly almond shaped, but again, not quite. Like Kirby, they were simply unique.
    â€œWhatever my personal feelings, Stuart’s a knowledgeable dealer.” She gave a quick, short laugh. “Since she hired him, she’s had time to travel. Harriet’s just back from an African safari. When I phoned her the other day, she told me she’d brought back a necklace of crocodile teeth.”
    To his credit, Adam closed his eyes only briefly. “Your families are close, then. I imagine your father’s done a lot of dealing through the Merrick Gallery.”
    â€œOver the years. Papa had his first exhibition there, more than thirty years ago. It sort of lifted his and Harriet’s careers off at the same time.” Straightening in her chair, Kirby frowned across the table. “Let me see what you’ve done.”
    â€œIn a minute,” he muttered, ignoring her outstretched hand.
    â€œYour manners sink to my level when it’s convenient, I see.” Kirby plopped back in her chair. When he didn’t comment, she screwed her face into unnatural lines.
    â€œI wouldn’t do that for long,” Adam advised. “You’ll hurt yourself. When I start in oil, you’ll have to behave or I’ll beat you.”
    Kirby relaxed her face because her jaw was stiffening. “Corkscrews, you wouldn’t beat me. You have the disadvantage of being a gentleman, inside and out.”
    Lifting his head, he pinned her with a look. “Don’t bank on it.”
    The look alone stopped whatever sassy rejoinder she might have made. It wasn’t the look of a gentleman, but of a man who made his own way however he chose. Before she could think of a proper response, the sound of shouting and wailing drifted up the tower steps and through the open door. Kirby made no move to spring up and investigate. She merely smiled.
    â€œI’m going to ask two questions,” Adam decided. “First, what the hell is that?”
    â€œWhich that is that, Adam?” Her eyes were dove gray and guileless.
    â€œThe sound of mourning.”
    â€œOh, that.” Grinning, she reached over and snatched his sketch pad. “That’s Papa’s latest tantrum because his sculpture’s not going well—which of course it never will. Does my nose really tilt that way?” Experimentally she ran her finger down it. “Yes, I guess it does. What was your other question?”
    â€œWhy do you say ‘corkscrews’ or something equally ridiculous when a simple ‘hell’ or ‘damn’ would do?”
    â€œIt has to do with cigars. You really must show these sketches to Papa. He’ll want to see them.”
    â€œCigars.” Determined to have her full attention, Adam grabbed the pad away from her.
    â€œThose big, nasty, fat ones. Papa used to smoke them by the carload. You needed a gas mask just to come in the door. I begged, threatened, even tried smoking them myself.” She swallowed on that unfortunate memory. “Then I came up with the solution. Papa is a sucker.”
    â€œIs that so?”
    â€œThat is, he just can’t resist a bet, no matter what the odds.” She touched the wood again, knowing she’d have to come back to it later. “My language was, let’s say, colorful. I can swear eloquently in seven languages.”
    â€œQuite an accomplishment.”
    â€œIt has its uses, believe me. I bet Papa ten thousand dollars that I could go longer without swearing than he could