The smile she sent him in return, complete with wrinkled nose, was halfway between a scold and gratitude. He quite enjoyed it. He always had.
When the lights turned on, Lawrence announced that dinner was over and bidding in the silent auction was now open. So was the dance floor. A string ensemble struck up a waltz.
Soon, Joe and Lauren were the only ones at the table, the others having left to make their bids. He took the last sip of his coffee as Lawrence approached, a twinkle in his eye.
“I’m so glad you came, Lauren. It’s important to me that you understand the importance of what I’m doing.” The elderly gentleman reached for his daughter’s hand, and then lifted it to bring her to her feet. “What do you say? For old times’ sake.”
She hesitated, then agreed.
While Lawrence led her onto the floor, Joe left the table and ambled along the perimeter of the room, making mental notes about who was bidding on the items. A forger could be here tonight, studying the artifacts and the people who would buy them. If Joe was a forger, that’s what he’d do.
Questions filled his mind as he watched the guests orbit the artifacts and one another. Had Joe introduced himself to a crook? Had he told him that he was on the hunt?
No matter. Forgers loved the adrenaline rush. They loved thechallenge. Fooling a New York police detective and a curator for the Met was most likely a challenge a forger would be eager to meet.
Assistant curator.Joe could hear Lauren’s voice in his mind, correcting him. She was far too modest. He scanned the swirling couples until he found her again. That strange hemline, cut to resemble triangles, pointed to shapely ankles as she moved across the floor.
She wasn’t dancing with her father anymore. Her partner was a fellow of middling years wearing a green silk ascot. His brown hair was short but wavy, held in place with enough Brilliantine to reflect the light. Thomas Sanderson, if Joe’s notes were right. Deep, deep pockets. Sanderson was smiling, but Lauren wasn’t. When she turned her head away from whatever Sanderson said, she locked her gaze with Joe’s.
Before he even had time to make a conscious decision, he went to her. “Mind if I cut in?”
Sanderson halted his steps but didn’t release Lauren.
And Joe had asked so nicely. Before he could clarify that his question wasn’t really a question, Lauren pulled free of the man and stepped toward Joe instead.
“I don’t mind at all,” she breathed. To Sanderson, she smiled and said, “I find it best to cooperate with the police at all times, don’t you? Have a lovely evening. I do hope you win your bid.”
A smile tugging, Joe resisted the urge to flash his badge. Or the sidearm breaking the otherwise smooth lines of his tuxedo.
“Yes, quite.” Sanderson gave a small bow, then faded from view.
Lauren turned to face Joe, light glancing off her dangling earrings. She stepped into his hold. “Thanks, Joe.”
He liked the way her hand fit into his. Liked the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled. But he had no idea what to do with the pinpricks in his chest when she directed that smile at him. It was pleasing and painful at the same time, almost like a thaw.
“You’re welcome.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then guided her back into the dance. “How much was Sanderson bothering you?”
“You aren’t going to believe this,” she whispered, leaning in, “butsomehow he’d heard that I found Mr. St. John’s ointment jar to be a fake. He even knew it had been a gift from Theodore Clarke! I was mortified. We promised discretion.”
“Who told him? Someone here?”
“No, several ladies called on his wife this past week—she’s been ill—and it was one of those friends, but he couldn’t recall which. I swear I didn’t tell a soul about it—did you?”
“Outside of the report I had to write, no.”
“Then I don’t understand it. Unless one of Mr. St. John’s servants let it slip to someone. In any case, I begged Mr. Sanderson not to say more about it to anyone else.” Lauren inhaled deeply, apparently recomposing herself. “I do hope you haven’t abandoned something important for my sake.”
She was something important. “Rest easy. My priorities are right where they should be. Besides, this gives me a much better view.” He looked over her head as they turned about the floor, alert for anything unusual. “I thought you were dancing with your father. For old times’ sake.”
A short laugh escaped her. “Veryold times. I only recall dancing with him while standing on his feet when I was five or six years old. If he gave the impression we’d ever been in the habit of dancing, that was false.”
Anger flared. Whatever emotional capital Lawrence had with her, he wanted to use. Why? “Whose idea was it for you to switch partners?”
“My father’s, I’m sure. He waltzed me right over to Mr. Sanderson, but just before we reached him, my father told me to make him comfortable, to impress him, and to put him in a generous mood.”
Joe almost tripped but recovered before stepping on her feet. He spread his hand over the small of her back. “He’s using you.”
“I know.” Her tone held the edge of bitterness, but no surprise. She stayed quiet for the next few turns before adding, “So are you. That’s why you contacted me again, isn’t it?”
