“Too low.”
“I’m only authorized to bid up to fifty.”
“Sold.” Roman fondled Alex’s arm, but otherwise ignored her. “I’m glad you came tonight. You should attend the auction in Atlanta next week. I hear they have a few portraits in the time period your client is interested in, and you can walk with good provenance on any item you buy.”
Atlanta? Would Henry want to search overseas? That would require using Danielle’s passport and possibly surviving another hair appointment. She’d be bald by the end of this adventure.
“I’ll consider it.” Henry sipped his scotch and moved the discussion to the history of the house.
Roman’s hold on her tightened, forcing her to lean into him to maintain her balance on the darn stilettos. His hand migrated south. Henry noticed. His grip on the glass tightened enough to cause the veins on his knuckles to bulge. She smiled blankly at Henry to assure him she didn’t care, but his eyes darkened and his Adam’s apple throbbed.
Simon and his wonderful smile approached, one hand in his pocket and the other carrying a drink. He stepped to her side, and Roman immediately released her. She was thankful he’d come when he did, because Henry was about to make a monumentally bad call.
“I hope to see you in Atlanta, Mr. Fisher.” Roman shook Henry’s hand and turned to Simon. “You have a beautiful companion. Take care of her.” He kissed her on the cheek and walked away to speak with another guest.
Simon began discussing the logistics of the sale with Henry. Standing a few steps behind them, she glanced at a small sketch from an unknown fourteenth-century artist while watching for Brian. A waitress handed her another glass of champagne. She held the glass, but didn’t drink.
She moved to stand with the men, but froze in place as Brian stepped in front of Simon and Henry. She sucked in a sharp breath. Glancing down at the floor, she flipped her hair over her eyes so she could observe him.
“Simon, what a surprise. I didn’t think you liked art, only deals.” Brian clasped Simon’s arm and greeted him like an old friend.
“I don’t, but I promised Colin I’d help him acquire a few pieces for his clients. Brian Fouchet, meet Colin Fisher.”
Brian sized up Colin and must have found him acceptable. They shook hands. Brian pointed to the lounge area. “Come. Let’s all share a drink.”
“I have some business to finish.” Simon slapped Brian on the shoulder. “When I’m done, I’ll meet you in the great hall.”
Simon treated Alex, standing behind him, as though she didn’t exist. She appreciated the gesture. Her legs barely held her in place while she waited for Luc’s right-hand man to leave her vicinity.
Brian, after what felt like seven lifetimes, left to return to the exhibition area. His departure sent the air back into the room. Alex could breath easier. She exhaled, fighting to keep herself from hyperventilating. She’d spent weeks evading Luc’s men, and yet she’d almost walked into her enemy’s grasp dressed as a party favor.
Simon and Henry meandered off to obtain the payment for the Picasso, while Alex hustled to the ladies’ room to regain her composure. She’d meet them out front. A few minutes later, she headed to the main stairway. A large hand clasped her arm and spun her around. Roman? No. Brian. She tried to pull away, but he grabbed her chin. He was never the most handsome man in a room, or the most powerful, but he used those around him with the skill of a puppeteer.
“Alex? You look remarkably well for a dead woman,” he said in French in a volume only she could hear. “Who or what brings you out of hiding?”
She couldn’t let him connect her to Simon or Henry, so she stayed silent. Maybe he hadn’t seen her with them. Maybe.
He remained perfectly still, staring into her eyes with venom. He’d hold her until Luc was notified of her location unless…
She stepped back and pulled him with her. Her foot slipped on the stairs. She let out a loud screech and tried to brace herself for the fall. Brian backed away with wide eyes and a pinched mouth. Her free foot slipped over another step, and she dropped backward, hoping she didn’t break anything as she flung herself down the stairs. She landed in two strong arms. Roman.
“Are you all right?” He carried her to the bottom of the stairs. A minor hero in her continuing tragedy.
She blamed the long folds of her gown and thanked Roman for his assistance with a hug and a gracious smile. Brian hadn’t followed, but he would. The second Roman released her, she headed into the great hall and the crowds of people milling about after purchasing some art. She located Brian at the top of the stairs speaking with two other men. They spoke in angry hushed tones and then all of them bounded down the stairs two and three steps at a time.
She cut into one room and then circled around until she found a small back hallway. One glance back over her shoulder made her blind to the people in front of her. She slammed into someone taller and stronger than her. Henry. Her wrap and his coat draped over one of his arms.
“Ah. There you are. Ready to go?” His body blocked her escape, and she struggled to free herself of his embrace. He clasped her tighter the more she fought. “What’s wrong?”
She reached out to drag him farther into the more private area of the house, but the man was an immovable object, unless he wanted to be moved.
“I’ve been spotted.” She tried to act composed, but words rushed out in panicked whimpers. “We need to leave. Now.”
Was Brian behind them?
“We need to go. Please,” she begged.