"I have no intention of leaving town if we have not found Lizzie and recovered the portrait. The time to apprehend the thief is now. And Lizzie must be discovered while we have a trail to follow."

She was aghast. "Of course we must find Lizzie immediately, well before Friday!" She could not imagine the child being missing for much longer. "But you are using this case as an excuse to avoid the weekend with your wife. You need the holiday."

"I need to solve this case and the case of your stolen portrait." He started past her, but she seized his arm before he reached the narrow stairwell.

"Rick, maybe it will be a wonderful weekend. You will never know if you don't go."

He met her gaze. "I cannot imagine sharing that small cottage with her."

She wanted to cry for him.

"And I don't imagine you will be running off for the weekend, either, not if Lizzie isn't home. Not if your portrait is still at large," he said.

"We will find Lizzie very shortly." She was firm. They had to find the little girl. "But if we haven't found the portrait, you're right. I couldn't possibly leave the city."

He suddenly took her hand. "If you stay in the city this weekend, have dinner with me."

She was stunned.

And then he flushed. He released her and gestured at the stairs. "We have a child to locate."

An image of the two of them dining in an empty restaurant came to mind. Shaken, she started past him. "Yes, we do." And she faltered, as her way up the staircase was barred.

"Hello, Francesca," Hart said, his tone mocking.

Her heart raced. "What are you doing here?" she cried. His expression was as dark as thunderclouds.

He stared and she began to realize that he might have been standing above them on the stairs for some time. Tension began. Had he heard their conversation? Had he overheard Bragg asking her out? Did it matter? Why hadn't he stopped by or sent her a note-it had been a day and a half!

Hadn't he missed her at all?

"Sarah Channing called this morning and mentioned that Maggie's daughter had been abducted." His cold gaze moved over her from head to toe, then fixated on Bragg. "Hello, Rick. I can see that the two of you are busy sleuthing away."

Clearly annoyed, Bragg did not answer. Instead, he stepped past Francesca, no easy task as the stairwell was so narrow. She shrank against the wall to allow him to move up the stairs. As she did, Hart shrugged past her as well, going down. Francesca did not move, shaken by the sexual look Hart had given her. It had been dismissive. Bragg gave her a grim look before continuing up to the third floor, where Maggie's flat was. Below, the front door slammed. Francesca turned and raced down the stairs after Hart.

"Wait," she cried, rushing outside.

He turned and stared, his expression cool. "I hope you enjoy your weekend with my brother. As a matter of fact, I hope you enjoy spending this day with him, as well." But he did not turn to go. His eyes were black upon hers.

Her heart lurched with dread. "That isn't fair. We are friends and we are on a case."

He made a disparaging sound.

"I haven't heard from you since Monday night." She tensed. Too well, she recalled their boundlessly passionate lovemaking-and his rejection of her. Being there with him reminded her of how much she loved him and how much she had missed him. His powerful presence was consuming. "I have been worried," she added.

"We are estranged," he said flatly.

"But we are friends," she said pointedly.

His stare never wavered. Finally, almost upon a sigh, he said, "Yes, Francesca, we are friends."

She smiled nervously. "Have you come to help find Lizzie?"

"Yes. I am fond of Joel, Francesca." He was grim. "I am fond of Mrs. Kennedy."

She bit her lip. "And you happen to know how fond I am of them both." His expression did not alter. "You do not have to be angry, Hart. Bragg and I are investigating, that is all. My feelings haven't changed."

He folded his arms. Had his expression softened ever so slightly? "I am hardly angry. I have expected a reversal from you all along. I want you to run about town with my brother. In fact, you should accept his supper invitation."

"You cannot mean that."

"I never say what I don't mean, Francesca, damn it."

"If we dine together, it will be as friends. But that is the last thing on my mind."

"Really? Because your heart is breaking for him, of course. He is in anguish, and your shoulder will be the one he cries upon." He shrugged as if he did not care, but his gaze was blacker than before.

"I will always be there for Rick-and I will always be there for you-and anyone else I care about who needs me," she cried.

Suddenly he touched her cheek. "And that is your allure, is it not?"

His caress vibrated through every inch of her body.

Hart's fingertips slipped down her neck. "He is pursuing you, Francesca," he said softly and seductively.

She inhaled as he dropped his hand, desire slamming through her. He had aroused her on purpose-but why? To prove he could? "He is doing no such thing. We are friends. He is married. Even you have remarked how moral he is. What we are doing is desperately trying to find Lizzie!"

He jammed his hands in his trouser pockets. "Even someone as virtuous as my brother must sometimes give in to temptation."

She choked. "Stop throwing me at him!"

"I'll think about it. Has there been a ransom note?"

She was startled by his abrupt change of topic. "No, there has not. Evan swears he has not been gaming again, and I believe him."

"I hope he is telling the truth. If our thief has done this, there might never be a ransom, Francesca."

She hadn't reached such a horrific conclusion. "Please don't tell me you think that our thief continues to torture me by striking at those I love."

"Our thief is very clever and very ruthless. I am worried about Lizzie."

She reached for his hand. For one moment, he allowed her to grip it. "So am I."

He withdrew his palm from hers. "I remain worried about you, Francesca."

She was relieved. "I have been surprised that you did not call, to find out if we have turned up any new leads."

He was wry. "I did call-just not you. I already know that Randall was in town the weekend the portrait was stolen and that Rick has a warrant out for his arrest."

She gaped.

"I have a telephone, Francesca, not to mention a coach and driver, and I am hardly shy about demanding details from my brother." His gaze held hers. "I spoke with Rick twice yesterday, at some length."

Rick hadn't said a word. "Then you also know about Rose? That she knew about the portrait? Daisy told her."

"It is such a small world," he mocked. "I did not trust Rose in April, and I do not trust her now. You and Rick should speak with her again." A tinge of anger was in his tone. "Isn't it fortunate that fate continues to throw you and my brother together?"

"I want you, not Rick," she said immediately, without thinking.

A terrible pause ensued. Then he said slowly, "I did not hear you turn him down, Francesca."

She felt her heart thudding. "He is one of my dearest friends. That is all."

"Do you really believe that?"

That image flashed, of her and Bragg dining together in some deserted establishment. No, she did not believe that-the affection between them was simply too strong.

"I thought so," he said harshly. He started past her.

She ran after him. "Please wait. I will admit how fond I am of him. But damn it, Hart, you are the man of my dreams."

He whirled. "No, I am not, and I have never been the man of your dreams! You rescued me-as you do everyone. And I used all of my charm and appeal to seduce you."

She seized his arm. "And I am glad!"

His eyes blazed and she realized he was absolutely furious, just as she also realized he was an instant from sweeping her into his arms and kissing her. She went still, her heart thundering, as he stared at her mouth. "Goddamn my black soul."

She cried out. "Don't you say that this is all your fault!"

"But it is. Have you ever considered that if you had not posed nude for that portrait, you and I would now be man and wife?"

He was right. "Damn that portrait!" she cried.

"Ah, so finally, you admit the portrait is a damnable thing." He pulled away from her. "I am not leaving the city either, Francesca, until we have recovered the damn portrait and thrown the thief in jail."

She inhaled. "You would never abandon me in my time of need. I had no doubt."

"No, I would never walk away, not at a time like this."

She touched his jaw. "Then we can dine together this weekend. After all, you are my champion and my defender-you have said so yourself. I need you, Calder."

"That is not possible, Francesca," he warned. He caught her hand, but did not remove it. "Do not think to seduce or manipulate me."

"I miss you terribly," she breathed. "I miss our evenings. I miss being in your arms-you know it. And I believe you miss me, too."

Grimly, he removed her hand from his face. "There will be no such confession."

Francesca did not hesitate. "Yet."

And for an instant, the dark light in his eyes softened.

She smiled. "You are here, Hart. And you called Rick."

He made a sound. "I have an inherent instinct to protect you, Francesca. I will freely admit it. And I doubt that will ever change." But before she could become thrilled, he continued. "Even though the writing is on the wall."

"There is no writing on the wall."

"We will see."

They stared at one another. Hart finally said, "Are you going up?"

Francesca didn't pause to think. "Will you come with me? I could use your help, and I am being sincere."

He hesitated, then abruptly nodded.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Wednesday, July 2, 1902

11:00 a.m.

SHE HAD WON this round, Francesca thought, acutely aware of Hart as they started toward the brownstone where Maggie lived.

"Don't gloat," he said. She felt his breath on her ear and the warmth of his body behind hers.

She smiled to herself. "I am not gloating, Hart. You happen to bring very useful insights into an investigation, jaded as you are."

"Should I be insulted?"

"No. I need a good dose of healthy cynicism now and then."

"Yes, you do. And you are gloating, Francesca, I can feel it. I have never denied that we are friends or that I wish to aid you in your various endeavors, nor will-" He stopped before finishing his sentence.