"Bailey," Anthony whispered.
"Miss Penelope Hamilton?" he said to her, mopping his upper lip with a handkerchief.
Penny stepped forward, nodding, and Ramsey was there, beside her, like a hungry lion ready to pounce, yet Bailey disregarded him and addressed Penelope.
"Sebastian Bailey, Lloyds of London." He offered his card, shifting his briefcase to his other hand. "Good morning, Mister Wainright," he regarded and Anthony nodded, preoccupied, his gaze flipping from Ramsey to the Lloyd's agent.
"I told Tony yesterday this was a mistake." She returned the card but he wouldn't accept it. "And for reasons I won't divulge, I'm positive this acquisition isn't for me."
Ramsey studied her, curious over her certainty, and the sudden chill about her.
Bailey looked insulted.' 'I assure you, Miss Hamilton, Lloyds of London does not make mistakes. We've been waiting a long time to bestow—" His words faded, Wainright's stunned expression drawing their attention.
"Tony? You okay?" His Adam's apple was bobbing hard enough to make his necktie move.
"Oh my God." His gaze shifted from Bailey to Ramsey and back, excitement racing through his blood. He'd suppressed the thrilling possibility that Ramsey was the Ramsey O'Keefe
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when Penny first mentioned him, for his own sanity and a bit of investigation, but the time had come, he thought, for discovery. "Mister Bailey, this man," he gestured to Ramsey—"is named Ramsey O'Keefe."
The Lloyds agent stared up at the tallest gentleman, his bulging satchel slipping from his lax fingers and crashing to the floor.
"O—O'Keefe?"
Ram frowned. The man had suddenly gone dangerously pale. "Aye. Captain Ramsey O'Keefe." Ram bowed slightly at the waist, then watched as the cultured Englishman staggered back, his legs wobbling like a marionette suddenly without a master.
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"Weak stock, the English," Ram muttered, grabbing Bailey by the shirt front afore he hit the deck.
Bailey straightened instantly, looking surprisingly composed and business-like for a man so out of sorts a moment ago.
"So sorry." His cheeks pinkened. "Not my usual reaction, you know."
"Nay, I do not."
"Yes, well, ah, I suppose so." The faxed report was true. Lloyds routinely searched medical, tax, and police records for beneficiaries and when the British consulate in the Bahamas contacted him yesterday, offering up that name, Sebastian Bailey was prepared to fly to the Bahamas this morning to verify the existence of one Ramsey M. G. O'Keefe. Yet just before his departure he'd received word that his suspect had vanished. Silently he admitted he was utterly destroyed at having come so close, then lose the man. But to find him here, with Miss Hamilton, was an opportunity he never imagined having again.
"Exactly what business do you have with Ramsey?" Anthony said into the silence, unmistakably curious.
"I'm not at liberty to discuss it, until I have absolute proof." Bailey gazed up at Ramsey with something a kin to awe, yet
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the recipient regarded him with little more than annoyance and Penny wondered why he disliked the British with such distinction.
"Proof of what?" His arms akimbo, Ramsey gaze ripped over Bailey from head to foot.
But Sebastian wasn't shaken. He'd a job to do. "That you are in fact, the Ramsey O'Keefe my company seeks?"
Ram severely doubted he was and dismissed the little man as a car sped up the drive, skidding to a halt. They watched a tall slender woman exit the dark BMW with the grace of a dancer.
' 'Miss Clarissa Two Leaf,'' Anthony announced, his bearded face splitting into a smile. "I'm afraid your business will have to wait," he said to Bailey. "She has an appointment."
"Certainly." Bailey understood professional courtesy. He was after all, not expected. "Might I use your phone?" he said to Penelope, glancing briefly at Ramsey. "If Mister O'Keefe is our client, I need to courier some documents from my hotel."
Penny nodded, though she thought this all a huge waste of time.
The woman, distinctively native American Indian and wearing tortoiseshell glasses that continually slipped down her nose, met the porch landing, her gaze going immediately to the familiar. "Mister Wainright." She nodded cordially, shoved the glasses, then tucked a stray lock of hair back into the sleek twist as she moved inside.
She's lovely, Penny thought as they made introductions, then could have kicked herself for jealously glancing at Ramsey. If she'd expected to find his gaze on Ms. Two Leaf, she was dead wrong. God, she thought with a touch of apprehension. What have I done to deserve that look?
He'd recognized the change in her, like the shifting of cloth, the instant Bailey appeared on the door step, increasing with the second visitor. She was reserved, ill at ease with the people filling her home. Her posture was rigid, her stare hooded, and his scowi showed his dislike, but when she met his gaze, employing to understand his harsh expression, Ramsey could do naught but smile reassuringly and come to her side. Though
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she didn't touch him afore strangers, Ram felt her body soften. And he rejoiced in it.
"Call for Meggie," he whispered in her ear and she jabbed the intercom, buzzing the housekeeper and offering coffee and breakfast to the guests. Margaret's squeaking sneakers marked time on the tiled floor as she led Bailey and Two Leaf to the kitchen.
Penny spared a tight glance at Anthony.
"Don't say it. You're just upset over not being consulted til the last minute." Anthony kissed her cheek, then turned her toward the kitchen. "Try to remember Bailey is here to see you, dear, and go play the star for the public." She didn't move. "This is for Ramsey, too, you know," he whispered unfairly, giving her a little push.
Penny stole a glance at Ramsey, who didn't look the least bit ruffled by the early morning intrusion and was staring at her as if searching beneath her clothes, her skin. Yet, just to have him look at her so intensely gave her a deliciously maddening thrill. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she headed toward the kitchen, moving across the floor in her best Cadillac walk. Hell. If he was going to look . . .
Ramsey's lips quirked, his gaze following her smoothly shifting hips, those gloriously sleek bare legs, very aware 'twas a stride fashioned for his pleasure, God love her. "You called her a star," Ram said when she was gone. "Give over, English. What mean you by such a remark?"
Anthony grinned. "Welsh, Ramsey, Welsh, and you know, famous person, a celebrity." Ramsey's features deepened to a scowl. "Penelope is an actress, Ramsey. One of America's finest."
Ram's eyes flared, then drew down to mere slits. He had witnessed plays and operas and considered actors pretentious little weasels out to satisfy their own vanity, and no better than sodomites and bawdy house dancers. And Penelope was neither pretentious, nor vain. 'Twas ludicrous to imagine her performing for money. Surely not.
Deep into his own thoughts, he followed Anthony off to the right, down a short hall and into a paneled room. Polished
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wood, old oxblood leather, and the scent of beeswax instantly surrounded Ramsey, familiar, comforting. It reminded him of his cabin.
Anthony shut the door and went to the desk, resting his hip on the edge.' 'What's the matter, Ramsey? You look confused."
"Is Penelope a widow?" Ramsey dropped into a winged-back chair, the leather creaking as he crossed his legs at the ankle.
"No," Anthony said, taken aback. "Why do you ask?"
"This home. Her wealth. 'Twas earned by this—this acting profession?" His tone disapproved, the words souring in his mouth.
"Sure. Her last film grossed over one hundred million."
Ram straightened in the chair. "Pounds sterling?"
"No. Dollars."
Ram stared, unfocused, his heart racing as he recalled the almanac he'd read this morn and converted pounds to dollars. He lost count, finally lifting his
gaze to ask, "What—God forgive me for asking this—is a film?" His voice was faint, his breathing labored.
"A movie, cinematography. A moving picture," Anthony added carefully when Ramsey continued to stare at him.
Paintings that moved? Ram forced himself to calm down and consider the progress of inventions. Hadn't he read only this morn of a camera instrument that froze images on paper? Hadn't he seen the proof in those books? " 'Tis no matter," he finally decided, dismissing the matter in lieu of a headache. "I imagine I will discover such in due time."
"Good God, Ramsey, where have you been all your life?"
Ram flashed him a grin. Cutting your ancestors to ribbons he wanted to say, but instead changed the subject. "Mistress Two Leaf. Rather unusual name."
Anthony frowned a moment longer, then a secretive smile curved his lips. "She has some information you'll be pleased to hear. And it's best that we deal with her first." Although it galled him not to drag Bailey in here and demand answers, Anthony punched the desk intercom. "Margaret, will you ask Ms. Two Leaf to join us?" A moment later Margaret opened
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the door, allowing the woman to enter. Ramsey leapt to his feet.
"Mister O'Keefe," she said, extending her hand. "It's a pleasure."
" Tis mine, m'lady." Ramsey placed a soft kiss to the back of her hand and she blushed, drawing back in time to shove her glasses back up and offer a tiny smile.
"Well, yes, ahh—" He was not what she expected, Clarissa thought, wishing she'd dressed a bit more femininely as she set her briefcase on the desk, flipped the locks and pried it open. "Mister Wainright allowed me the opportunity to study and analyze your coin at length." She produced the gold coin, laying it on a blue velvet tray, then with a flourish, set notarized documents beside it. "I'd love to know where you got this."
Ramsey folded his arms over his chest, eyeing the wench from head to foot. Why was everyone so interested in this bit of gold? " Twas the payment of a bet."
Delicate black brows rose above the glass frames. "Really? Well, I can attest that you certainly are the winner. This coin is better than eight hundred eighty-five-fine, nearly nine hundred eighty-five, contains hardly any copper, and the mint stamping process is the first of its kind. I'd say it was over two hundred seventy-five years old from my tests. These," she tapped the documents with a manicured fingernail, "are certifications of authenticity."
"Authenticity as to what?" Anthony put in, smiling at Ramsey.
She looked at Anthony. "The coin is a Spanish doubloon, Mister Wainright, and because of its excellent condition and stamping, far better than anything found on the Atocia," she added smugly. "Its worth is frankly, priceless.'*
Ramsey's gaze shifted to the coin before he turned away and dropped into a chair and reasoning that if Penelope trusted Wainright and he this woman, Ramsey would allow him to proceed as he wished. He had nothing to lose and he was desperate for money. But the Atocia? She sank in the Mate-cumbes in 1622. How had anyone been able to recover her cargo?
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"And the sale of it?" Anthony prodded, enjoying every second of this,
"As per our company, I must ask if you're absolutely certain you want to, Mister O'Keefe?"
Staring at the tips of his new soft soled shoes, Ramsey stroked an imaginary moustache with his thumb and forefinger.' 'Aye."
Her eyes sparkled with excitement. "I completed your instructions this morning, Mister Wainright." She fished in her briefcase. "A private auction, sealed bids. I took the liberty of alerting only buyers who could afford such a relic and the bids were air expressed in early this morning." She held out a pair of envelopes. "These were the two highest offers."
Ramsey accepted the missives, flipped open the first and read. His eyes rounded and he straightened abruptly. "Sweet Neptune's mother! You cannot be serious!"
"As you can see they were very competitive bids. It's an extremely rare find, Mister O'Keefe."
Ramsey tore open the second envelope and could do no more than shake his head.
Anthony chuckled softly. The look on the man's face was worth his efforts.
"Do you accept?" she asked politely.
"Aye," he whispered, then a little louder as he came to his feet and handed the paper to Wainright.
"Well, well, Ramsey," Anthony said with as much dignity as he could muster. "How does it feel to be that rich?"
God bless the twentieth century, Ram thought, then burst out laughing. Miss Two Leaf smiled, shoved back her glasses, then held out another envelope. Ram looked puzzled.
"I anticipated that you'd accept and my company has authorized me to deliver a cashier's check in that amount. Less the commission, of course." Ramsey slowly accepted the draft, numbly signing the receipt. The man's shock was a job perk she didn't encounter often, like finding a lost heir or something. "A true pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen." The transaction completed, Miss Two Leaf slipped the coin into a velvet bag, took back the documents and deposited it all in her briefcase. After a snap of the locks she shook their hands, then
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quickly headed for the door. She paused, her hand on the knob. "If you have any other rare coins, Mister O'Keefe—" Ramsey dragged his stunned gaze from the check to her—"I can verify those also, and if you decide to sell, well, you know where to contact me."
There was a message in that last bit, Anthony thought as he walked her to the front door. He returned to find Ramsey in the center of the room still, staring at the check. "Amazing, isn't it?"
"Aye." Ramsey looked up. "An hour ago I was a bjeedin' pauper and now—" He waved the draft. Anthony smiled, pleased he'd eased Ramsey's fears, then moved to a credenza beyond the desk, unaware that Ramsey studied him as the Welshman splashed golden liquor into two short glasses.
Anthony faced him, the small crystals cupped in one hand, yet stilled when he saw the judging look on Ramsey's face.
"Why have you done this for me, Wainright? You owe me naught."
"Because, Ramsey—" Anthony offered a glass. "Whether you like it or not, we are friends."
The corners of Ramsey's eyes crinkled as he said, "The Fins have no words for 'you will trust me,' but say, rather 'you are trusting me.' Are you certain you are not Finnish?"
"God, I hope not. You have enough trouble remembering I'm Welsh."
Ramsey extended his hand and Anthony shook it firmly. "My thanks, Antony. Only this morn—" Ram dug in his pocket—"I was wondering what dishonorable profession I must undertake to square this." He waved the tailor's bill.
"Small change," Anthony said, then heaved a deep sigh. "Prepare yourself, though. Deafing with Lloyds of London isn't going to be this easy."
Ramsey bowed shortly. ' 'I accept the challenge, Welshman," he said and in unison they tossed back the whiskey.
It ought to be a healthy one, Anthony thought. Lloyds of London was legendary. Its beginnings in insuring ships and cargo, Lloyds was now the world's most prestigious insurance brokers, called upon to verity the value and authenticity of
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documents, paintings, artifacts, even people and certain body parts, for insurance, estate claims, and museums. They prided on being the most reputable and forthright, for well over two hundred years. And Anthony couldn't imagine them being incorrect on this delivery for Penny. Damn me, she was going to be hurt by this, he just knew it. The best detectives in this country couldn't find out who Penelope Hamilton really was, and he didn't blame her for her skepticism over a one hundred and fifty-year-old inheritance she didn't deserve. But as to Ramsey and his involvement; so far he was only a name to them and as Anthony punched the intercom button, he could hardly wait to witness the verification Lloyds needed for their records.
Penny opened the door to the study without knocking, Sebastian Bailey trailing obediently. She stopped short when she saw Ramsey. Good God, the man's smile bordered on brilliant. His right shoulder w
as braced against the mantel, arms folded over his broad chest, his position giving his lean hips at a deep slant with his weight resting on one leg. The casually seductive picture strained her ability to walk smoothly toward him. But she did, just because he knew he was aware of his effect on her, damn him.
"Twenty-year-old scotch at nine in the morning, gentlemen?" she murmured, taking the empty glass and handing it to Tony, who looked as if he'd bust a gut any second. "I gather by that smile, your meeting was a success?''
"Oh, aye," Ram said, his gaze shifting briefly to Wainright. Anthony chuckled knowingly, gesturing to the high-back leather chair behind the desk for Bailey. The Lloyds agent immediately laid his briefcase and an enormous courier sealed package on the surface and began preparing his papers.
Penny glanced between Ramsey and Tony. Though the coin was obviously worth mega bucks, she wanted to kick either one for keeping the details secret. Male bonding, she supposed, sliding elegantly into one of the chairs positioned before the desk. She looked at Ram, nodding to the unoccupied seat beside her.
Ramsey slowly shook his head, his gaze skimming her in
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one lush sweep. "I want to look at you," he said for her ears alone and she flushed. A rare occasion he knew, just as he was aware of the sappy smile smeared across his face. He couldn't help it. In the space of a quarter hour, his worries were wiped ciean and he'd set his cap on a new, much more intriguing goal.
And the look in his eyes, the quick darkening to nearly black, struck Penny oddly, almost threateningly, like vulnerable prey before a practiced hunter. Something was different. The hopeless despair she'd witnessed in his eyes when she'd first spied him on the sundeck earlier was gone, and she could actually feel the ease of his burdens, as if he'd shed a heavy coat. The money, she realized. That she could sense this about him amazed her. And warned her. He's getting too close, she thought, and though the consequences would destroy them both, she never enjoyed a man's company like she did his. Men in her past had always had an ulterior motive, a script they wanted her to read, a bigger slice of the gross, a ride on their association. But not him, not Ramsey. He was honest, private and cared less about the world beyond the moment. To the best of her knowledge he still didn't know about that part of her life and she wanted to keep it that way. This worry over what he might think was unfamiliar and she wasn't certain she was prepared for all that dark stare implied. She needed time, yet already realized after the stolen kisses and teasing this morning, that, when Ramsey O'Keefe wanted, he was not a patient man.
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