A Most Dangerous Profession

by Karen Hawkins

  Ross frowned. “You’re insistent, sir.”

  “I’ve already paid for it, and I must return to London before this treacherous damp air gives me a lung infection.”

  Moira hid her chuckle behind a cough.

  Ross took a deep drink. “I shall give it to you in the morning.”

  “Why not now, pray tell? Unless . . . you do have it, do you not?”

  “Of course I have it,” Ross returned testily. “I just don’t wish to run all the way upstairs and fetch it.”

  Moira said sweetly, “If it will help, I would be glad to ask one of the footmen to fetch it for you.”

  “No, no. No one is allowed in my—” Ross blinked, realizing he was in the process of saying something he shouldn’t.

  Moira leaned forward. “Or if you wish, I could get it for you—”

  “No! No one is allowed there except me.”

  “Allowed where?” Robert asked smoothly.

  “Allowed in—” Ross’s gaze narrowed. “No one except me is allowed near my collection.” He paused, then said in a more measured tone, though his words were slightly slurred, “Mr. Hurst, I didn’t mean to withhold your purchase from you. I was merely enjoying the presence of you and your lovely wife and thought you were doing the same.”

  “I suppose we both needed the rest,” Robert returned in a sulky tone. “Your castle is certainly comfortable, I’ll give you that.”

  “Thank you,” Ross said in a stiff tone that indicated he’d rather punch Robert than smile. “I will have your artifact ready by breakfast. I trust you are satisfied with that.”

  “Perfectly.” Robert sighed. “Moira, I think I will retire. I have quite the headache; I vow this damp country air is poisonous.”

  “You should have Buffon fetch you some lavender water from my chamber. If you rub it on your temples, it might ease your headache.”

  “I shall do that.” Robert stood, pausing when Moira stayed in her seat. “Aren’t you coming, my love?”

  “No, I thought I might stay here, with Sir Lachlan. I’m not a bit tired.”

  Robert shrugged. “Very well. Just don’t be up too late. We’ll be leaving in the morning, and if you don’t get enough rest it makes horrid circles under your eyes.” He bowed. “Good night, Ross. Good night, Moira.”

  Moira’s heart fluttered a bit as Robert left. This is my big chance. She smiled at her host. “I hope you don’t mind if I stay a bit longer?”

  “Of course not. You may stay as long as you wish.”

  “Thank you. You are such a gracious host.”

  He captured her hand and placed a kiss on her wrist. “And you, madame, are a lovely guest.”

  She looked demurely away but left her hand in his possession. “Thank you. W-we should talk about something else, please.”

  “Anything you want, my dear, but first, if you’ll give me a second . . .” He stood, tottering unsteadily for a moment, then walked to the wide doors and shut them.

  She frowned. “Lord Ross, what are you doing?”

  Ross turned and leaned against the door, his hands behind him. “There. Isn’t that better?”

  “Lord Ross, I—”

  “One kiss, Moira. Just one, and I shall let you leave.”

  She was supposed to encourage him a little. Under normal circumstances she would have done so without thinking, but she couldn’t help but imagine that Robert would not be pleased.

  A ridiculous thought; why should she care what Robert thought? She tamped down her qualms. “I might kiss you . . . if you’ll show me your collection.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Why do you want to see that? You keep bringing it up and I wonder—”

  “I keep bringing it up? Oh, no, my lord, you keep bringing it up and I take that as a challenge. Why, this evening over dinner you flatly said that no one—no one—was allowed in the room where you house your treasure. If that’s not a challenge, then I don’t know what is!”

  He laughed. “I suppose it was, of a sort, though not to you.”

  “Oh, to Robert, then? He can be quite rude.” She gestured about the room. “But he’s not here, is he?”

  Ross’s eyes gleamed and his breathing seemed to come harsher. “No, he’s not. There’s no one here but you and me. Come, Moira, one kiss—”

  “Not without seeing your treasure room.”

  He scowled, looking like a child deprived of a candy. “I can’t do that.”

  “Then I can’t kiss you,” she said primly. “I want to see these artifacts you’ve told me about. Hurst says you may have the biggest collection on earth.”

  Ross looked mollified. “It’s tolerable. The room is almost the size of this.”

  Finally, some details. She clasped her hands together and said in a breathless voice, “And it’s filled with antiquities?”

  “To the top.” He tottered back to the table, pausing to steady himself by holding on to the back of a chair. When he reached her, he took her hand and patted it. “One kiss and I shall show you my treasures.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Why not?” He stroked her hand. “You are completely charming, which is why I must kiss you. Something to remember you by, since you and Hurst will be gone as soon as I give him that damned box.”

  The man was an imbecile. He was as subtle as a bullet, which made it hard to pretend the innocence he found so attractive. Better to get this over with. “If you want a kiss, then we should do it quickly, before the servants come to clear the table.” And before I change my mind. She was not looking forward to this at all.

  “You’re an eager little thing, aren’t you?” He took her hands in his and pulled her close.

  Moira tilted her face to his and lifted her lips. To her shock, he grabbed her with both hands and yanked her against him, then kissed her hard, his thick tongue pressing between her lips.

  She struggled, turning her face to one side. “Sir Lachlan, no!”

  He laughed, his hands busy as he shoved aside the neckline of her gown so roughly that he ripped it. The sound seemed to excite him for he began to feverishly press against her, pinching her breast.

  Suddenly Moira knew why Ross had been in two duels: he was planning on taking her right then and there.

  Moira crammed her arms between them and managed to get one hand flat on his chest to give herself some room. She kept moving her head so he couldn’t capture her mouth. “Stop it!” Moira used her most authoritative voice, her words ringing clearly and sharply.

  His expression turned ugly and he tightened his hold, grinding his hips to hers. “You little tease!”

  He held her so tightly that she couldn’t bring her heel down on his instep, so she kicked him in the shin as hard as she could.

  He grunted, his hold slackening as she twisted free. The second she had room, she tugged her pistol from her pocket, pressing the tip firmly against his chest.

  Ross’s eyes widened and he froze. “You—That’s—What do you—” His mouth opened and closed as she cocked the pistol.

  “It’s time for you to retire for the evening.”

  An ugly red flush rose across his neck and cheeks. “You wanted me to kiss you! You practically begged me!”

  “No, I agreed to kiss you once. And I did not invite you to assault me.”

  “I didn’t assault you.” His lips thinned when she lifted her brows.

  She stepped back, keeping the pistol aimed steadily on his chest. “You touched me and ripped my gown and tried to—”

  “Fine!” He eyed her and her pistol with disfavor. “I suppose you’ll tell your husband about this.”

  Of course she was going to tell Robert though she dreaded his reaction. We’ll find that secret chamber without Ross’s help. “Open the doors. In the morning, once Hurst and I have that box, we will leave.”

  “What if I refuse?”

  “Then I will shoot you and leave Hurst to deal with the mess. He’s very good at cleaning up unpleasant situations.”

  “Your husb
and couldn’t butter his own bread, much less deal with any kind of situation. But fine—I’ll open the doors. And you, my little tease, can go to hell!” Muttering under his breath, he walked to the doors and threw them open. “There!” he said in a sharp tone. “Now be gone!”

  Moira backed out, slipping her pistol away as soon as the footmen standing outside the doors came into sight. Ignoring their surprised looks, she hurried up the steps toward her room.

  She paused outside of Robert’s room and pressed her ear to the door, but could hear nothing. He is probably already asleep.

  Her hands shaking, she went to her own room and locked the door behind her. Then she dragged a chair over and pushed it under the knob. Once that was done, she scrubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, catching sight of herself in the gilded mirror over the fireplace. Her hair was falling down, her beautiful gown ripped at one shoulder, her face flushed, her eyes shiny with fear. She’d thought Ross a fool, not capable of violence, yet—She rubbed her lips again, trying to get rid of the memory. Robert had been right; Ross was the worst sort of man and she had been a fool to think she could handle him so easily.

  Out in the hallway, she heard a voice. Her heart leapt in her throat. Had Ross followed her? Her heart beat wildly and her gaze found the window Robert had climbed in before. She wished with all her heart that he was with her now. She would feel safer.

  There are no princes ready to ride up on a white horse. If I want to talk to Robert, I will have to go to him. She kicked off her slippers, jammed her feet into some sensible boots, and scooped up her cloak.

  She blew out all of the lamps, plunging the bedchamber into darkness. Her heart pounding, she opened the window; then with a deep breath she climbed onto the windowsill and stepped out onto the ledge. The icy wind clutched at her, swirling her cloak and stealing all of her warmth. Moira took a hesitant step.

  Was that a sliver of light through his curtains? She took another step, releasing her hold on her own window as she did so.

  Robert had claimed that the ledge wasn’t narrow, but it certainly seemed so, especially in the dark. Well, she’d just have to take her chances. It was fortunate that the rough-hewn stone would provide decent handholds.

  She edged along, one foot after another, and soon she was halfway there. One step. Another one. Another—her foot hit something hard, and for a horrible instant she teetered before regaining her balance.

  Panting, she looked down to find a gargoyle sneering up at her at the edge of the ledge. Gritting her teeth, she stepped over it. Her heart pounded in her ears. She was so far up, and there was nothing to break her fall if she slipped.

  God, what had she been thinking? This was crazy! The gravity of her situation held her immobile, her feet seemingly locked into place.

  The wind whipped up the castle face and sent her robe and skirts swirling, cold air rippling up her bared legs. Damn it, Moira, move!

  She took a deep breath, and began to edge toward Robert’s window again. One step. Another. Yet another. She sang along in her mind. One step. Another. Yet another. Finally, she found herself right where she wished to be.

  She reached down to tap on the glass, then realized she could hear two masculine voices inside the room.

  She pressed against the cold stone wall. What do I do now?

  CHAPTER 20

  A letter from Triona Hurst MacLean to her sister Lady Caitlyn Hurst MacLean, a month ago.

  Hugh wishes to go to Edinburgh and then to London in the near future, which I would enjoy above all things. Pray see if you and Alexander and the children can come, as well. It will give us the opportunity to find out what is going on with those brothers of ours. They are too close with their information, sharing nothing unless you drag it out of them.

  Something is going on; I can feel it. As Mam always says, “Gut is always right.”

  A soft knock announced Buffon’s entrance, and Robert looked up from Moira’s map. “I’ve marked where I’ve searched and where you’ve gone, but the castle’s so large it would take two weeks to search it thoroughly. I want to leave in the morning, but—” He sighed. “Damn it. Where can that chamber be?”

  “It would be delightful to have that information, wouldn’t it, monsieur?” Buffon smiled.

  Robert did, too. “You know something.”

  Buffon looked pleased. “Oui.”

  “Out with it, then!”

  “There is a room in the West Wing, a part of the castle rarely used, that Ross will not allow the maids to dust. He has been known to spend hours there by himself and when he returns he is much invigorated.”

  “It must be there, then.”

  “I think so, monsieur. May I see your map?”

  Robert held it out.

  The valet studied it and then pointed a thin finger to one of the lower reaches of the castle. “It is here, monsieur.”

  Robert picked up his pen and marked the spot. “I shall slip out later tonight. Can you create another diversion?”

  “As you wish, monsieur. Hmm. Perhaps a ghost is in order.”

  “Good. It’s interesting that Ross doesn’t trust the servants.”

  “Non. It appears Sir Ross leads a lonely life, as he deserves.”

  “Indeed. I shall sleep for a few hours and get up at three. Can you do your haunting at that time?”

  “But of course.” Buffon arched a brow. “But first, there is the matter of compensation. You indicated that I would be rewarded.”

  “Of course. Fifty pounds? A hundred?”

  “Your robe, monsieur.”

  Robert blinked. “What?”

  “Oui. The blue one. It pains me to see you wear it.”

  Robert sighed.

  Buffon waited.

  “Very well. Take the damn robe. I shall have Triona make me another.”

  “Thank you, monsieur! Until then, you will wear the red silk one?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  Buffon beamed and wasted no time in removing it from the wardrobe. “Here, monsieur.” He held it out.

  Robert sighed but slipped it on. As he did so, a noise sounded at the window. Robert frowned at the closed curtains.

  Buffon tilted his head. “Did you hear—”

  “The wind, yes. You may go, Buffon. I will be ready at three.”

  “Very good, monsieur.” With a stately nod and a satisfied look at the red robe, Buffon left, holding the blue robe before him like a moldy rag.

  Robert hurried to the windows. One glance out told him all he needed to know; seconds later, he was pulling Moira inside.

  She was shivering, her skin as cold as river stones. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed as he set her upon her feet, wrapping his arms about her to warm her.

  Moira had never been so glad to see anyone in her life, even though Robert was pale with fury. “Y-you climbed across the ledge,” she pointed out through chattering teeth.

  “Not in long skirts and slippers with smooth soles. Damn it, do you never think?”

  “Y-yes, and I n-n-needed to visit you. Furthermore, these”—she showed him her sensible boots—“are not s-slippers.”

  He cursed, swept her up, and carried her to his bed. “Take off those boots.”

  She tried, but her fingers were too cold to undo the laces. He muttered a curse and did it for her, yanking them off and tossing them into the corner.

  Robert supposed he should be grateful she’d at least worn good shoes, but he was too furious at the chance she’d taken. Her skirts could easily have wrapped around her legs, and he had an instant vision of her terrified expression as she plunged off the edge and into the—She could have died, damn it! Died and left me—

  His heart aching in an unfamiliar way, his throat tight, he closed the window and tugged the curtains into place.

  Her gaze locked on his red silk robe. “That’s very . . . bright.”

  “Yes, it is. My blue one is gone.”

  “Oh.” She looked about his room. “This is very cozy.
”

  “It’s a bit larger than a water closet, which our host is well aware of.”

  At the mention of Ross, her expression closed.

  Robert’s anger tightened further. “What happened? Did that ass—”

  “No. But I’m glad I had my pistol.”

  Robert’s hands fisted at his sides as fury raced through his blood. “Damn him! I’ll—” He was almost at the door when she caught up to him, grabbing his arm with both hands.

  “No, Robert! We have to do what’s best for Rowena.”

  In her eyes, he saw that she was barely holding on to her own composure.

  He took a deep breath and then reached for her, holding her close against his heart. He pressed his cheek against her hair, willing away the bloodlust that held him in its grip.

  “I want to kill that man,” he snapped, every fiber of his being screaming for justice.

  “As do I,” she said, her voice soft and soothing. “But we can’t. We have one goal here and that’s to rescue my d—” She took a breath. “—our daughter.”

  Despite his anger, he had to laugh at the reluctance in her tone. Robert lifted her face toward his. “Come, Moira. Was that so very difficult to say?”

  She smiled at his teasing tone. “It will take some getting used to.”

  “I can see that. Well, I’ve made a decision, and this incident with Ross has made me even more committed to it.”

  “What’s that?”

  Robert straightened. “Box or no, we leave in the morning.”

  She paled. “But—”

  “I think I know where that damned box is, and I shall attempt to get it tonight. But if I fail, we leave anyway. I will take care of Rowena, I promise. I will make Aniston give her up, and she will be safe with you once more.”

  Her shoulders sagged and she said in a broken whisper, “I wish I could believe that.”

  He sighed. She still didn’t trust him, which was disheartening. It was odd, for in every relationship he’d ever had, he was the one unwilling to trust, to care, to commit. And yet here he was, yearning for—damn it, what did he yearn for? Well, there would be time enough to think about that once he and Moira were gone from this cursed place. “In the morning I will have Leeds and Stewart ready with the coach. You will wait with them. As soon as I get the artifact, we go. I’m done playing Ross’s game.”