A Most Dangerous Profession

by Karen Hawkins

  Panting, she rested on the mound of pillows, feeling drained and weak. What’s happened to me? Where am I? Where’s Rowena?

  Her fingers clutched the thick sheets and she absently noted the fine coverlet, the heavy blue bed curtains. Wherever she was, it was a luxurious bedchamber.

  She turned her head, gasping when pain shot through her temple. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead, finding a thick bandage there. My head. What happened? I was . . . I was chasing Robert, trying to get ahead to gain the onyx box and—Oh. Memories of the crash filled her mind, of pain in her head and Robert’s face looking into hers, concern in his deep blue eyes.

  And Rowena? Moira desperately searched her memory, biting her lip when she remembered. Rowena is still being held by Aniston.

  Tears threatened, but Moira fought them off. Her head ached and her eyes were hot and uncomfortable, and she was so thirsty that her lips and tongue felt swollen.

  She lifted her head and saw Robert asleep in a chair beside her bed, his head slumped to one side. He was disheveled and unshaven, several days’ worth of beard upon his face.

  It was one of the few times she’d seen Robert less than perfectly attired, too. His coat was slung over the back of the settee, his shirt open at the throat, and his loosened cravat had been tossed aside. As she watched, he stirred but didn’t awaken, his thick lashes resting on his cheeks.

  It was a sin for a man to have such lashes, she decided irritably, kicking a little where her night rail was twisted about her legs. She was so hot and uncomfortable and—

  “You’re awake.” Robert’s voice startled her as he came to stand beside the bed. His shirt-sleeves had been rolled up to reveal strong, muscular forearms.

  “Yes,” she croaked, pressing a hand to her throat. “I’m awake. I’m hot and my head hurts and I’m so very thirsty and—”

  He chuckled, and to her surprise, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  The unexpectedly tender gesture made tears well once again. She didn’t know what to say.

  Apparently Robert didn’t either, for he abruptly turned away and poured her a glass of water. “You gave us all quite a scare.”

  “How long have we been here?”

  “Almost five days. Do you remember anything?”

  “I remember trying to pass your coach and the accident.”

  He held the glass to her lips and allowed her a cautious sip.

  “You hit your head and lost consciousness in the coach. After I brought you here, you caught a fever. There was one day when we didn’t know if—” He set the glass aside and put a cloth into a water basin. After wringing it out, he brought it back to the bed.

  She took the cloth. “You are too kind.” She rubbed it over her face, her hands shaking like a blancmange. The coolness felt heavenly and she closed her eyes, savoring it. Finally she sighed and handed the cloth back to him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He placed his hand on her forehead. “The physician was right; he said you’d turned a corner.”

  I don’t remember a thing. “Where are we?”

  “We are the guests of Squire MacDonald and his wife, Anne. The coach overturned half a mile from the drive leading to their house, which was fortunate for us.” He glanced around the well-appointed room. “The house is very nice. They’ve been very nice, as well. The squire is very fond of brandy, so I’ll send him a case in thanks.”

  “I shall do the same,” she said, wondering at Robert’s solicitude. A thought struck her like an icy hand. Did I talk while unconscious? Did I tell him about Rowena? Please God, no. She pressed a hand over her rapidly beating heart. “May I have something more to drink?”

  “If you’re up to sitting, I shall pour you some of the lemonade that our hostess provided before she retired for the night. She seemed certain you would awake this evening.” He paused. “I informed our hosts that we are man and wife.”

  “Oh? You didn’t think they’d welcome us otherwise?”

  “I wanted no questions as to the propriety of my being in your sickroom.”

  “Why are you in my sickroom?”

  “Who else would tend you? The squire’s wife who, while a kind soul, is a stranger?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it, but I didn’t expect you to do it.” Moira put her hands to her sides and struggled to sit. “I’m weak as a kitten.”

  “Allow me.” Robert slipped an arm about her shoulder and helped her, his strong arm warm against her back. Then he moved to one side to stack pillows behind her. “Better?”

  She let out a relieved sigh. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Good.” He flicked a short glance at her and then said, “You can take some tonic while you are sitting up.”

  “I feel fine. A little weak, is all. I’m sure that once I have something to eat and drink—”

  “You also need your rest, and the tonic will help you sleep.” He picked up a small vial and a waiting spoon and prepared a dose. “You like this; you said it was sweet.”

  She took the tonic, more to get him to move away from the bed than any other reason. It was disturbing to see him mussed and unshaven, looking more masculine than ever. “Mmm. It is sweet.”

  He went to fetch her the promised lemonade, and she eyed it thirstily. “After I drink that, I shall get out of bed.”

  “You’ll get up when I say you will, and not before.”

  “You’ve become overbearing.”

  “I’ve always been overbearing.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. She took the glass, but her hand trembled so much that he quickly rescued it from her.

  “Allow me.” He held the glass to her lips and tilted it for her. Her dry lips burned on contact with the lemonade, but she’d never tasted anything so wonderful in her life.

  When she finished, she sighed with satisfaction. “That was lovely.”

  He returned the glass to the small table. “Shall I read to you while you rest?”

  “I’m really not tired.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He lowered himself into the small chair, the wood creaking in protest.

  Beginning to feel the effects of the tonic, she sent him a glance under her lashes and watched as he tried to get comfortable. Robert had grown more muscular over the years, his arms and shoulders wider and more powerful. “You are very healthy,” she said aloud. “Very.” She stirred as a restless feeling settled over her.

  His amused gaze found hers. “Feeling the tonic, are you?”

  “Yessss. I suppose I am.” Every sense seemed heightened. The thick sheets were soft against her legs, the counterpane’s design seemed more prominent under her fingertips, the lemonade scent tickled her nose, and she could hear her own breath. Every moment seemed clear, and oddly sensual. She pulled at the neck of her night rail, which seemed too tight.

  Her gaze flickered to Robert and focused on his firm mouth. He’d always been a sensual kisser, teasing and nipping and driving her mad with—Stop thinking about that! “So . . . have you been here with me the entire time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Without starched cravats, I see.”

  His lips twitched. “Despite the arrival of my portmanteau and my valet, I’ve been too busy to do more than wash and change.”

  “Your valet must feel slighted.”

  “You have no idea. Buffon believes my appearance is a reflection of his value. Needless to say, his sensibilities are a bit bruised.”

  “Buffon . . . I should have known you’d have a French valet. No English valet would allow you to wear so many ruffles.”

  “My valet will never dress me, nor does he attempt to press his style upon me, be he English or else.”

  She eyed him now. “I wish you’d take off that shirt.”

  His brows rose. “Why?”

  “The wrinkles make my head hurt. My eyes try to trace them and it’s impossible.” He started to reply, but she abruptly said, “I’m surprised you didn’t continue after the box. You had a head start.
”

  He stretched his long legs before him, his gaze hooded. “I didn’t wish to leave until I knew you were well. I’m sure you would have done the same for me.”

  I wouldn’t have waited on you.

  She caught his amused gaze and realized that she hadn’t been thinking to herself at all. “I . . . I said that aloud, didn’t I?”

  “Yes. The tonic has an interesting effect on you. You become more . . . honest.”

  “I’m always honest.”

  He raised his brows, and she felt compelled to amend, “Well, most of the time. Sometimes a lie is necessary—especially when a person has a secret.” She knew she should quit talking, but she couldn’t. “I wish I didn’t have so many secrets—far more than the average woman.”

  “You’ve never been honest with me. I’ve found out more about you in the short time you’ve been under the influence of that tonic, than when we were living in each other’s pockets.”

  “What have I told you?”

  A self-satisfied smile settled on his mouth. “All sorts of interesting things.”

  She pressed her fingers to her lips. Had she told him about Rowena? “Were any of the things I told you very surprising?”

  “Very.”

  “I didn’t mention anything really unusual, did I? Because if I did, it was probably untrue. This tonic makes me feel very odd, and who knows what I might have made up while—”

  “Moira, you told me about our daughter.”

  Oh God, no. But one look at his stern face told her he knew.

  “You also called for her during your fever. I know all about Rowena.”

  “I see,” she said wearily. The tonic no longer made her senses stronger. Now it was dulling them and making it difficult to think.

  “Don’t look so forlorn. It explains a lot: why you are so determined to obtain that onyx box, and why you’ve been working for Aniston.”

  “I hate that man.”

  Robert’s jaw tightened. “So do I.”

  For a moment, they were united.

  She closed her eyes to rest and heard Robert say, as if from a long way off, “I’ve made some decisions about our pursuit of the box.”

  She forced herself to look at him, though her eyelids were as heavy as anvils. “Yes?”

  His gaze flickered over her face and he chuckled. “I’ll give you the details when you awaken from your nap.”

  “We should . . . leave . . . right away.” Her lips had gotten difficult to move.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Are you worried . . . that I might still beat you to Ross’s?”

  Robert looked inordinately amused. “If we were to leave this room at the exact same second, I would reach our destination first.”

  “I was . . . beating you . . . before . . . the accident.”

  “You wouldn’t have had an accident if you hadn’t been pushing so hard.” His brows lowered. “You took a very foolish chance.”

  She’d have taken a million other, more dangerous chances to win Rowena’s release. She started to say so, but her mind was already slipping away. And within seconds, she was fast asleep.

  CHAPTER 9

  From the diary of Michael Hurst, awaiting his release from the sulfi holding him hostage.

  I’ve received word that William is on his way with the onyx box. I hate to give it up, but what must be, must be. I hope he also remembers the port I requested last month. Being in such close quarters with Miss Smythe-Haughton is taking a toll. Despite my warnings she has tried to develop a friendship with my captor, with dire consequences. The man now thinks himself enamored of her and has offered to purchase her.

  I must admit, I am sorely tempted. I certainly hope William remembers the port.

  The next time Moira awoke, the sun was well up in the afternoon sky. In Robert’s place by the bed was an overly cheery maid named Firtha, who began to flit about the room and chatter nonstop in a way that made Moira’s mood even less sunny.

  With Firtha’s help, Moira washed and changed into a fresh gown. Though the simple tasks tired her, she felt much better. She should be ready to travel come morning. “Firtha, I’m starving.”

  “Och, miss, I’ll ha’ a tray brought immediately.” Firtha rang a bell and asked the answering footman to bring some luncheon, while Moira moved to a comfortable chair by the crackling fireplace. She hoped for a little peace with her meal, but with her tray came her hostess.

  Lady Anne was a broad-faced woman dressed in a new frilly gown that reflected last year’s fashions to perfection. Obviously glad for some company other than servants, she welcomed Moira and then recounted the exciting events of the day of the accident, asking a myriad of questions.

  Moira answered every inquiry politely, glad that as the conversation continued, her hostess seemed quite content to carry on both sides. That left Moira to her own thoughts.

  Perhaps the time had come to include Robert in her plans to obtain the onyx box. She had a risky idea of how to retrieve it without Lord Ross being any the wiser, and a little help would be welcome. But the truly big question, the one that burned in her heart, was how did Robert feel about Rowena? Once they freed her, would he wish for custody? Panic immediately began to rise at the thought.

  I can’t think about that now; I’ve got to get that box to win her freedom. And the sooner I speak to Robert about it, the better. She picked up her teacup and waited for her hostess to pause for a breath. “Lady Anne, I would like to visit my husband before dinner. We need to plan our travel now that one of the coaches is gone and—” She stopped at Lady Anne’s incredulous gaze.

  “But my dear, I thought you knew. Mr. Hurst already left.”

  Moira set the teacup into the dish so hard that it rattled. “What?”

  “He didn’t say good-bye, but left us a very nice letter.” Lady Anne grimaced. “Oh, dear, he left you a letter, too. I should have thought of it, but I was so happy to see you sitting up that—Firtha! Pray go downstairs to the front hall and bring back the letter addressed to Mrs. Hurst.”

  The maid dipped a curtsy and left while Moira curled her hands about the arms of her chair in frustration. He left me a letter? Why in hell didn’t he just wake me up and tell me he was leaving? But she knew the answer: she would have argued and he didn’t wish to hear her objections. The coward!

  Lady Anne sighed. “I can see you’re upset, and no wonder. Men can be so impatient.”

  “What time did he leave?”

  “Early this morning. I’m surprised I didn’t hear his coach being brought around, for my bedchamber is right off the main courtyard and I’m a notoriously light sleeper. If he hadn’t left a note we would never have known he was gone until breakfast.”

  “He can be very impulsive.” And arrogant, and a great pain in the ass, too.

  Lady Anne must have noticed that Moira’s teeth were clenched, for the older lady looked uneasy. “He said he wouldn’t be long—just a week or a little more.”

  “Ha! With the roads the way they are? He’s mad.”

  “Oh, dear.” Lady Anne fidgeted with the brocade trim on one of her sleeves. “I do hope—”

  Firtha returned and handed a neatly addressed note to Moira.

  She ripped it open.

  Moira,

  I’m off to fetch the onyx box. I’ll return as soon as possible and we’ll make plans to retrieve Rowena. Rest easy; come what may, I shall not allow Ross to keep the artifact. Aniston’s fate, too, is sealed, though he does not know it.

  I know you would have preferred to travel along for this adventure, but I work better on my own. In the meantime, stay with the squire and his wife. I shall bring another coach with me for our return to Edinburgh.

  Yours,

  Hurst

  Moira refolded the letter, resisting the unladylike temptation to wad it into a ball and stomp it into flatness.

  Lady Anne cleared her throat. “I hope the letter explains everything to your satisfaction.”

  M
oira tucked the note into the pocket of her gown and managed to say fairly calmly, “Hurst has continued on our journey and will see about hiring another coach, since we lost one of ours.”

  “Ah. I suppose that explains why he took all of the horses with him.”

  Moira’s teacup was halfway to her lips, but at that, she lowered it. “I’m sorry, did you say . . . he took all of the horses?”

  “Yes. And all of the footmen and coachmen, too.” Lady Anne’s brow lowered. “I still can’t believe we didn’t hear them! That’s quite a retinue.”

  Moira managed a smile, though it cost her dearly. Oh, the things she’d have to say to Robert the next time she saw him. She didn’t know exactly when that would be, but it would be far sooner than he thought.

  “There, there,” Lady Anne said bracingly. “Don’t look so gloomy. You needn’t fear that you’ll languish here while waiting for your husband.” Lady Anne patted Moira’s hand, as if conferring a treat upon a child. “The squire and I are quite well thought of in the neighborhood, and we’re planning a quiet little dinner party for your amusement once you feel more the thing. We won’t have dancing—I fear that would tire you too much—just a nice, snug little dinner party and some music. Mrs. MacDunnon’s oldest daughter is coming. She recently returned from Rome, where she took singing lessons from La Cabrini!”

  On and on Lady Anne went, describing in endless detail all of the things she thought would amuse a woman of the world, which she plainly thought Moira to be. Though she longed to scream, Moira murmured, “How delightful!” at appropriate intervals.

  Lady Anne took this for encouragement. While her hostess babbled on, Moira planned her escape. If Robert thought he could just leave her behind, he was a fool.

  She interrupted, “I beg your pardon, Lady Anne, but I think I should return to my bed.”

  “Oh, dear! It’s your first day up and you must be tired, yet here I’m babbling on and on.” Lady Anne stood. “I’ll leave you to rest. If you want anything, just ring the bell and Firtha will see to it.”

  “Thank you. That’s so kind of you, but I think I’ll sleep for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Very well, my dear. If you’re up to it, we dine at seven.”