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might be seated in the audience,” she finished.
    Yes, she was definitely enjoying herself. “Shh.”
    “And one further announcement,” Ian continued. “We are very excited to report that while our experts were evaluating the Hogarth painting listed in the sales catalog as number 32501, a second Hogarth was discovered stretched on the same frame beneath the first one. After consulting with the owners, Sotheby’s is pleased to announce that they have decided to place the second Hogarth up for sale, as well. The piece will be available for viewing at intermission, and will be designated as item number 32501A.”
    From the sudden chattering and excited murmurings of the crowd, Richard wasn’t the only one surprised by the news. Samantha snatched the sale catalog from his lap and flipped to the appropriate page.
    “The Fishing Fleet,” she said, gazing at the photo of the known Hogarth. “This one’s pretty famous. Do you know who the owner is?”
    Richard shook his head. “Obviously it hasn’t changed hands recently, or someone would have realized there was a second painting tucked behind the first one well before now. The theme of The Fishing Fleet is unusual in itself—William Hogarth’s usual focus was on satirical social commentary. This one’s just…lovely.”
    “That is so cool,” she breathed, handing him back theglossy catalog. “While I was working at the Norton Museum doing restoration, we—”
    “Your legitimate job,” he broke in with a slow smile.
    “Yes, one of the few. Anyway, we discovered a second canvas behind a Magritte, but it was just an unsigned mess, like his kid had been doodling with the paints and he just didn’t bother to take it off the frame before he put up a new canvas.”
    “It does happen, rarely. If I kept the Hogarth under wraps until our gallery at Rawley House opens, it would get us a great deal of free publicity. He is an English artist, after all.”
    Samantha lifted an eyebrow. “Jump the gun much? You kind of have to own it before you can exploit it.”
    Taking her hand, Richard lifted it to kiss her knuckles. “If I like it, I’ll own it.”
    “Mm-hm.” She pulled her hand free none too gently. “Watch that bragging, Brit. I’m here due to a coincidence of mutual insanity. Not ownership.”
    Dammit . Eventually he’d remember that she didn’t need to be impressed by his power and wealth. In fact, their frequent mention was probably the surest way to drive her away. “Apologies, Samantha,” he murmured. “I just meant that you shouldn’t doubt my resolve.”
    She snorted. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’re one resolved guy. Bid away. I’m just here for the view.”
    Thankfully Ian Smythe banged his gavel and opened the auction before Rick could start protesting that he’d never tried to influence her with his money. Samantha sat back a little and blew out her breath. Rick made life easy and safe and comfortable, and the part of her that had been looking over her shoulder for most of her life just wanted to fall into the goose-down pillows and pull the satin sheets over her head.
    Thankfully the other part of her—the one that could count to seven (the number of years before a statute of limitations for a nonlethal crime expired)—knew that she still had about six years to go before she could truly begin to relax. And that same part of her remained deathly afraid that “comfortable” might equal “boring.” It certainly had when she’d talked with Boyden Locke today. And when she’d consulted with the other dozen clients she’d advised over the past two months. The money was good, but compared with the way she used to earn a living, it just felt too…easy.
    Of course, the excitement of her old life had its own drawbacks, too. She’d gotten a couple of hard looks from the more senior of Sotheby’s security staff, but she’d been right that Rick Addison provided a hell of a security blanket. Pressing a little closer against his side,