“Friend, then.” He crouched down to scratch behind the beast’s ears and was rewarded with the loudest purr he’d ever heard.

“You like that, don’t you.” A smile pulled at his lips when the cat answered with what sounded like a feline sigh of bliss.

“You must be a lady. You’re much too pretty to be a boy.”

She flicked her tail and moved just out of his reach, then looked at him as if to say, “If you want to continue to pet me, you’ll have to come over here.”

A chuckle tickled Simon’s throat. Definitely a female.

He stretched out his arm and gave the cat one last scratch, then rose. “As grateful as I am that you’re not a large snarling dog, I’m afraid I have no more time for you.”

Precisely. Time was ticking and the alabaster box was nowhere in the sitting room. He moved on to the dining room, library and morning room, with the cat following him, weaving between his legs at every opportunity. Artwork and finely crafted furniture filled each room, but he found nothing resembling the box he sought. Tamping down his frustration, Simon climbed the stairs and made his way to Mrs. Ralston’s bedchamber. After closing the door behind him to keep out the overly curious cat, he glanced around, noting it was the most richly appointed room in the house. Moonlight now streamed in through the windows flanking the four-poster bed covered with a pale-green counterpane and accented with fluffy pillows. Opposite the bed was a dresser and an oval cheval glass. A massive carved-wood wardrobe and dressing screen occupied the far wall, while a feminine escritoire and a chintz-covered chair lined the other.

More framed artwork hung on the pale-gray walls, but the most striking object in the room was a life-sized statue of a woman wearing nothing save a secretive smile. She stood in the corner beside the escritoire, a reigning goddess of pure-white marble that glowed in the moonlight. One of her graceful hands extended outward in invitation, and Simon could almost hear her teasingly whisper Touch me. In her other hand, she held a bouquet of flowers between her breasts, the petals of one bloom curving to touch her nipple. She was so lifelike, Simon found himself tempted actually to touch her to assure himself she wasn’t real.