Free Homeport by Nora Roberts Page A

the foyer. He hung his wet coat on the old oak hall rack, dragged a hand through his hair without glancing in the antique mirror. He could hear the funereal tones of Mozart’s Requiem coming from the parlor.
    If Miranda was playing that, he knew the trip hadn’t gone well.
    He found her curled up in a chair in front of the fire, bundled into her favored gray cashmere robe, sipping tea from their grandmother’s best china.
    All of her comfort tools, he noted, neatly in place.
    â€œYou’re back early.”
    â€œLooks that way.” She studied him. She was sure he’d been drinking, but his eyes were clear, his color normal. At least he was still marginally sober.
    Though he wanted a drink, he sat down across from her. It was easy to spot the signs of simmering temper. But heknew her better than anyone, and could also see the misery under it. “So, what’s the deal?”
    â€œShe had a project for me.” Because she’d hoped he would come home before she went to bed, Miranda had brought two cups. She poured tea into the second now and pretended she didn’t see Andrew’s wince of distaste.
    She knew very well he’d prefer a glass of whiskey.
    â€œAn incredible project,” Miranda continued, holding out the cup and saucer. “A bronze was discovered in the cellar of the Villa della Donna Oscura. Do you know the history of the place?”
    â€œRefresh me.”
    â€œGiulietta Buonadoni.”
    â€œOkay, got it. The Dark Lady, a mistress of one of the Medicis.”
    â€œLorenzo the Magnificent—at least he was her first protector,” Miranda specified, grateful that Andrew’s knowledge of the era was thorough enough. It would save time. “The bronze was of the lady herself, no mistaking that face. She wanted me to do the tests, the dating.”
    He waited a beat. “Elise could have handled it.”
    â€œElise’s field is broader than mine.” There was a hint of annoyance in Miranda’s tone. “Renaissance is my era, bronzes my specialty. Elizabeth wanted the best.”
    â€œShe always does. So, you ran the tests?”
    â€œI ran them. I ran them again. I had top members of the staff assisting me. I did everything, personally, step by step. Then I went back and did it all again.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œIt was genuine, Andrew.” Some of the excitement leaked through as she leaned forward. “Late fifteenth century.”
    â€œThat’s incredible. Wonderful. Why aren’t you celebrating?”
    â€œThere’s more.” She had to take a breath, steady herself. “It’s a Michelangelo.”
    â€œJesus.” He set his cup aside hurriedly. “Are you sure? I don’t remember anything about a lost bronze.”
    A stubborn line dug its way between her eyebrows. “I’dstake my reputation on it. It’s an early work, brilliantly executed—it’s a gorgeous piece, echoing the sensual style of his drunken Bacchus . I was still working on documentation when I left, but there’s enough to support it.”
    â€œThe bronze wasn’t documented?”
    Miranda began to tap her foot in irritation. “Giulietta probably hid it, or at least kept it to herself. Politics. It fits,” she insisted. “I’d have proven it without a doubt if she’d given me more time.”
    â€œWhy didn’t she?”
    Unable to sit, Miranda unfolded her legs and got up to jab at the fire with a poker. “Someone leaked it to the press. We weren’t nearly ready for an official announcement, and the government got nervous. They fired Standjo, and she fired me. She accused me of leaking it.” Furious, she whirled back. “Of wanting the glory so badly I’d have risked the project to get it. I would never have done that.”
    â€œNo, of course not.” He could brush that aside without a thought. “They fired her.” Though it was small