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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.
    â€œThe 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 promisesaren’t known for being kept.” With a light laugh, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. “Fish fins.”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œWhatever 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.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œA 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.
    â€œThis 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.”
    â€œWhat? 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?”
    â€œGood 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 largebuff-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.
    â€œDon’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 a closer eye on him.”
    As he watched silently, Adam was certain he saw genuine temper in Kirby’s eyes—the kind of temper one person aims toward another person. Gently he placed a hand on her arm and waited for her to look at him. “Kirby, you’re arguing with a cat.”
    â€œAdam.” Just as gently, she patted his hand. “Don’t worry. I can handle it.” With a lift of her brow, she turned back to Isabelle. “Take him, then, and put him on a leash if you don’t want him wandering. And the next time, I’d appreciate it if you’d knock before you come into my room.”
    With a flick of her tail, Isabelle moved to the bed and stared up at Montique. He thumped his tail, tongue lolling, before he leaped clumsily to the floor. With a kind of jiggling trot, he followed the gliding cat from the room.
    â€œHe went with her,” Adam murmured.
    â€œOf course he did,” Kirby