A Most Dangerous Profession (15 page)

A letter to Robert Hurst from his brother Michael, after finding a mention of the lost Hurst Amulet in an ancient inventory list for the household of Queen Elizabeth.

What I know thus far about the Hurst Amulet fascinates me, and makes my resolve to find it even firmer. The origins of the amulet are still a mystery. Our Mam would have the amulet steeped with the magic of fairies, embellished with a curse or two, and stolen from a white witch, but I’m long past the age of believing in something I can neither see nor touch.

Still, it is interesting to note how many people—some of them very powerful—have had the amulet in their possession, only to quickly give it away, as if it had burned their fingers. It is odd and does make one think.

M
oira awoke slowly to sunlight streaming across the bed and warming her shoulders. She moved over to savor more of the warmth and found that the entire side of the bed was warm, even where there was no light. She lifted up on her elbow and noted an indention on the mattress.
Robert.

She looked about the room, trying to collect her thoughts.
The inn. Dinner with Robert. And . . .
Nothing else came to mind.

She didn’t remember arriving in her bedchamber, undressing to her chemise, or even climbing into bed.

I didn’t drink that much brandy. Did I fall asleep?

She must have; there was no other explanation. She rested her head on her hand as she looked at the pillow beside hers. It gave her a pang to realize that he’d been so close and she’d been oblivious. She’d been waking to an empty bed for so long, it felt odd to share one. Of course, in her own house,
sometimes Rowena would come running into her room in the mornings. Moira could see her daughter’s excited face as she raced into the room and begged to be lifted into the bed.

Moira cleared her suddenly clogged throat. Where was Rowena now? An instant image of her daughter sleeping, her long dark lashes on the crest of her cheeks, filled Moira’s mind. She crossed her arms and imagined Rowena there, snuggled against her, her dear little heart beating against Moira’s. Tears rose, and Moira bit her lip to keep from crying.

No crying. Just get the box. Then, when you have her back, you will make Aniston pay. Focus on that and nothing else.

After a few moments the tears subsided, though the weight of them still pressed behind her eyes. She would never grow used to being away from Rowena. Her fury at Aniston carried her on whenever despair threatened.

Her jaw set, she shoved herself upright, her braid swinging forward.

The sound of horses clopping into the inn yard made her twist toward the window, the covers falling away and the air cool against her short chemise. She climbed from the bed and went to the window. Robert’s groom and another man were harnessing the team.
Damn it, Robert! You will not leave without me!

She reached for her clothes, then paused. She needed the saddlebags from her horse, where she’d packed two gowns and a comb. Though the gown would be horridly wrinkled, it would be better for travel than the men’s clothing she’d worn yesterday. She took the lace-edged shirt and tugged it on, buttoning it at the neck. Perhaps she could call the maid to fetch the saddlebags and—A knock sounded on her door.
Ah, the maid! Perhaps she brought breakfast, too. I can take something with me
—Moira opened the door, standing behind it as she buttoned her shirt. “Please send someone to fetch my saddle—”

Her saddlebags thunked onto the floor in front of her and the door was pushed closed.

Moira blinked up at Robert, who was already shaved and dressed. He looked so like his usual calm, cool self, dressed in the height of fashion, that she had to stem a flicker of frustration.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze flickering over her. “I like that shirt.”

Her face blazed and she hurried to carry the saddlebags to the bed, where she opened one and pulled out a neatly wrapped brown package. “I saw the horses being hitched and thought you meant to leave.”

“I am sending my men on an errand. I thought
the mail coach stopped here, but it doesn’t come this far north, so my men are going off to meet up with it.”

“The mail coach? Why?”

“That was Aniston’s coach you were traveling in, so I knew the servants were his. I won’t have them spying on us. Yesterday, Leeds and Stewart and I convinced Aniston’s men that they were no longer needed and I’m sending them all back to him.”

She couldn’t fault Robert’s logic. “I wish I could see Aniston’s reaction when they return.”

Robert’s blue eyes gleamed. “So do I. Meanwhile, I brought your clothing and ordered you a bath.” His gaze flickered to her hair. “The innkeeper said it would take an hour for the water to be brought, so you’ve time to eat breakfast, should you wish.”

“Thank you.” She undid the ribbon that tied the brown paper package together. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

“You needed it, but I’m glad you’re up now. We’ve much to do before we chase down this onyx box.”

His smile warmed her, and she could think of nothing coherent to say. She didn’t want to examine too closely her happiness at having Robert with her for this task.

She turned her attention to the package. A moment later, she shook out the folds of a round gown of pale green muslin trimmed in darker green silk ribbons. “I’ll need to send for my trunks and—”

She paused when his smile widened. “You already did that, too?”

“I sent a man at dawn. He is to fetch your trunks from the squire’s and rush them to us at Balnagown Castle. He should arrive shortly after we do.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“I try. I trust you have everything in your trunks that you need for this expedition?”

“Yes.” She peeped up at him. “We’ll be good partners.” Satisfaction filled her words.

“We shall see.” He settled into the chair by the fireplace. Robert couldn’t help admiring the sight of Moira in just a chemise and the white shirt. When she crossed to the washstand the sun lit her from behind, and for a startling instant her long, graceful legs were perfectly silhouetted before she crossed into the shadow and the white material became opaque once more.

Damn.
Robert shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Though Moira had slept through the night, he hadn’t. He’d been agonizingly aware of the warm curves pressed against his back—a back he’d
turned to prevent his traitorous body from reacting even more than it had.

Though he could have asked for another room, he’d wished to make certain she was well—or so he’d told himself. The truth was that he’d wanted to feel her body against his once again, even if it was just his back pressed to hers.

She reached up to undo the shirt, pausing when she caught his gaze.

He waved a hand. “Pray don’t let me stop you. I wish to discuss our plans once we arrive at Balna-gown.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Of course.” She tugged the shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor.

The fine lawn chemise offered very little in the way of modesty. The thin material clung to every slope and curve, hugging her skin like a lover’s hands, hinting at the shadows that lay beneath.

His body ached with a new flush of desire, and he glanced at the beckoning bed.
Don’t think of that now,
he told himself sternly, but his cock was already hard and ready.

She spread the gown over a chair by the bed and pulled more items from the saddlebags—a silver comb, a packet of hairpins, and some stockings. “I have a plan to get the real box, not the fake one Ross is likely to try to foist on us.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, but it will be much easier with help. Before I left Edinburgh, I asked about Ross from several people who knew him well and I found out some very interesting things.”

“Such as?”

“For one, he enjoys pursuing married women.”

Robert’s gaze locked on her. “I didn’t know that.”

“He’s been in two duels, both over married women. I think he collects them like he collects objects d’art.”

“Interesting.”

“It’s his weakness. If we go to see him together and I present myself as your devoted wife, it will offer him a challenge—one I will make certain he can’t resist.”

“You will distract him while I search for the real onyx box.”

“You’re better able to recognize it. That was the one weakness of my plan: I wasn’t certain I’d be able to tell the real onyx box from a well-executed fake.”

He had to admit that it was a damn good plan. “Why do you believe that Ross keeps the original box in his castle?”

“For two reasons. First of all, because his
weakness is coveting what other people want. He’s the sort to savor his triumphs, tiny though they may be, so he’d want it nearby to look at.”

That made sense. “And the other reason?”

“He has bragged about his private collection to friends and acquaintances. He’s even told people that he has his collection hidden in the castle, somewhere very secret. I think he has a vault somewhere, or a hidden room.”

Robert was impressed. She had done an excellent job gathering important information.
It’s a pity she doesn’t work for the Home Office. They could use someone with her skills.
“You’ve convinced me. We’ll fetch the box, leave Ross behind, and return to Edinburgh.”

She beamed at him. “Working together, there’s no possible way we can fail.” She began to unbraid her hair. “Once we have the box, we can secure Rowena’s freedom.”

“I’ll be damned if I calmly hand anything over to Aniston.”

“Do not underestimate him,” she returned sharply. “He is cruel. Cold. Calculating. He
likes
to inflict pain. Rowena’s—” Her voice broke, but after a deep breath she continued, her eyes sparkling with tears. “I can’t risk her safety.”

“You really believe he’ll injure her?”

“The only reason he hasn’t harmed her yet is
that he knows that without her, he has no control over me.”

The thought chilled Robert’s heart. There were certain people who could kill without remorse. Some killed for sport, or for even less reason—it took little or nothing to lead them to it.

And such a man had his daughter—a daughter he’d never had the chance to meet or know. A knot formed in his throat: anger for what was, sadness for what had never been.

He realized Moira was watching him. “I will do nothing to harm our daughter,” he said shortly.

She met his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I know.” She sat on the edge of the bed and began to thread her fingers through her hair, untangling the thick strands.

Robert was mesmerized by the sight of her delicate white fingers sliding through her long tresses. Once she had unbraided it, she picked up the silver comb and began to run it through her hair. She caught his gaze and smiled. “You used to tease me about having silver combs. Do you remember?”

He remembered that and much more. He remembered her long legs, wrapped tightly about his hips. He remembered the lavender scent of her skin as he trailed his lips over her. He especially remembered how easy she was to arouse, and how
he’d taken such pleasure in making her gasp for breath.

But all he said was, “You and I enjoy the finer things in life.”

Her gaze flickered over him, approval in her gaze. “We do have that in common.”

“I remember other things we had in common. More . . . interesting things.”

Her thick lashes lowered over her eyes. “Perhaps.”

“You pretended many things back then, but not that.”

Her lips curved in a smile. “I found the physical aspects quite pleasing. I recall very clearly that you were very well”—her gaze flickered over him—“equipped for the part.”

He almost grinned in return. Almost.

But for Moira, it was enough. She’d always felt a deep rapport with him, and that same understanding settled around them now, familiar, yet this time more fraught with tension.

There was so much between them, so much history and so much hurt, that though they could find moments of peace and agreement, a shadow still lurked overhead. Moira finished combing her hair, wishing things were easier somehow.

Robert’s chair creaked as he stood. “If we’re to
become partners in this, then I have a requirement of you.” He came to stand beside her, and she was instantly aware of her lack of clothing and of the warmth emanating from him. He always seemed to simmer, his skin always warm, his gaze flickering from cool to hot with nothing more than a touch.

And oh, how she’d loved to touch him, to run her hands over his broad bare shoulders, the hard planes of his chest and stomach, and farther. The feeling was so powerful that she had to clear her throat before she could ask, “What requirement is that?”

“If we do this together, then I am the one who makes the final decisions. An army with two generals is bound to fail.”

Right now, if he would only touch her, and ease the ache that was growing inside her with every second he stood so close, she would have agreed to anything . . .

Except that. “When I can, I’ll do so, but—”

He placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face to his. “No ‘buts.’ Shall we seal our pact with a kiss?”

She saw the heat in his eyes, felt the hardness of his body. Though her mind said to resist, her body ignored the warning. She lifted on her toes to press her mouth to his.

That was all it took—the touch of his lips set her aflame, unable and unwilling to pull back. She wanted this, wanted him,
needed
to feel him. She’d been alone so long, struggling against so much, that it was heaven to just
feel
.

The second Moira’s lips touched his, Robert decided to have her then and there. He’d wanted this since he’d found her naked in a copper tub by the fire. Feeling her soft curves now, running his hands over her, he regretted that he’d waited so long.

He untied her chemise without breaking their kiss, pulling back to tug it over her head, her hair spilling back to her shoulders in a swath of silken strands. She was so beautiful that it almost hurt to see her.

She undid the button on his waistcoat and tugged his shirttail from his trousers.