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Kirby and Adam paused on the bottom landing of the stairs. Kirby eyed the long white box the butler held in his hands. “Not again, Cards.”
    “It would appear so, miss.”

    “Galoshes.” Kirby sniffed, scratched a point just under her jaw and studied the box. “I’ll just have to be more firm.”
    “Just as you say, miss.”
    “Cards…” She smiled at him, and though his face remained inscrutable, Adam would have sworn he came to attention. “I know it’s rude, but give them to Polly. I can’t bear to look at another red rose.”
    “As you wish, miss. And the card?”
    “Details,” she muttered, then sighed. “Leave it on my desk, I’ll deal with it. Sorry, Adam.” Turning, she started up the stairs again. “I’ve been bombarded with roses for the last three weeks. I’ve refused to become Jared’s mistress, but he’s persistent.” More exasperated than annoyed, she shook her head as they rounded the first curve. “I suppose I’ll have to threaten to tell his wife.”
    “Might work,” Adam murmured.
    “I ask you, shouldn’t a man know better by the time he hits sixty?” Rolling her eyes, she bounced up the next three steps. “I can’t imagine what he’s thinking of.”
    She smelled of soap and was shapeless in the sweater and jeans. Moving behind her to the second story, Adam could imagine very well.
    The second floor was lined with bedrooms. Each was unique, each furnished in a different style. The more Adam saw of the house, the more he was charmed. And the more he realized how complicated his task was going to be.
    “The last room, my boudoir.” She gave him the slow, lazy smile that made his palms itchy. “I’ll promise not to compromise you as long as you’re aware my promises aren’t known for being kept.” With a light laugh, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Fish fins.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Whatever for?” Ignoring him, Kirby marched into the room. “Do you see that?” she demanded. In a gesture remarkably like her father’s, she pointed at the bed. A scruffy dog lay like a lump in the center of a wedding ring quilt. Frowning, Adam walked a little closer.
    “What is it?”
    “A dog, of course.”
    He looked at the gray ball of hair, which seemed to have no front or back. “It’s possible.”
    A stubby tail began to thump on the quilt.
    “This is no laughing matter, Montique. I take the heat, you know.”
    Adam watched the bundle shift until he could make out a head. The eyes were still hidden behind the mop of fur, but there was a little black nose and a lolling tongue. “Somehow I’d’ve pictured you with a brace of Afghan hounds.”
    “What? Oh.” Giving the mop on the bed a quick pat, she turned back to Adam. “Montique doesn’t belong to me, he belongs to Isabelle.” She sent the dog an annoyed glance. “She’s going to be very put out.”
    Adam frowned at the unfamiliar name. Had McIntyre missed someone? “Is she one of the staff?”
    “Good grief, no.” Kirby let out a peal of laughter that had Montique squirming in delight. “Isabelle serves no one. She’s… Well, here she is now. There’ll be the devil to pay,” she added under her breath.
    Shifting his head, Adam looked toward the doorway. He started to tell Kirby there was no one there when a movement caught his eye. He looked down on a large buff-colored Siamese. Her eyes were angled, icily blue and, though he hadn’t considered such things before, regally annoyed. The cat crossed the threshold, sat and stared up at Kirby.
    “Don’t look at me like that,” Kirby tossed out. “I had nothing to do with it. If he wanders in here, it has nothing to do with me.” Isabelle flicked her tail and made a low, dangerous sound in her throat. “I won’t tolerate your threats, and I will not keep my door locked.” Kirby folded her arms and tapped a foot on the Aubusson carpet. “I refuse to change a habit of a lifetime for your convenience. You’ll just have to keep