A Most Dangerous Profession

chapter 17





A letter from Mary Hurst to her brother Robert as he became an agent selling antiquities for their brother Michael.


Michael told me he was well pleased with how you are handling all of his sales, and that you’ve made him more money than he thought possible. He attributes it to your unique salesmanship. He said he knew there was something good to come of your dandified ways, even if it was to lure your victims (clients) into a false sense of security before you pounced on them with a steep price.

After Michael mentioned that, it dawned on me that you’ve been playing that part your whole life. He’s right; it has served you well.

It took Robert almost half an hour to reach the study without being seen. Footmen were everywhere. If he was caught sneaking about, Ross would increase the number of his men, and it would be impossible to look for anything. It was almost impossible now.

Robert slipped between two large tapestries adorning a wall and consulted his map. One more long hallway and he’d be at the study door. He tucked the map back into his pocket and peeked around the corner just in time to catch sight of two footmen. They were young and obviously bored, for they wandered down the hall without any air of purpose or urgency.

He pressed back against the wall, obscured from sight by a display of shields on one wall, and listened as their footsteps moved away from him and toward the very far end of the hall.

Keep going.

Fortunately, they took his silent advice and the footsteps faded. Robert looked around the corner again and saw their shadows fading away down the conjoining hallway.

Now’s my chance.

He made a quick dash to the huge study door. Luckily it was unlocked; he wouldn’t have to stop to pick it. He slipped inside, closed the door, and pressed his ear to the cool oak panel to ascertain if anyone had seen him and put up an alarm.

All was blissfully silent. But then, he heard the footmen’s voices growing closer and closer. Another set of footsteps joined the first two, and Robert heard the butler’s impatient voice. “I came to make certain you’ve not strayed from your posts.”

“Och, we’ve been ’ere the whole time, sir,” said the footman. “As ye requested.”

The butler gave a disgusted sigh. “You were in the South Wing when I arrived, so I know that’s not true.”

“No’ fer long. Me and MacPhearson just wished fer a bit o’ fresh air, and the windows were open to the sun so we—”

“Take your post and do not move. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

Now I’m stuck here, and I’ll have to find a way out when I am done.

Robert walked to the center of the room, examining it in a sweeping glance. It was very large, with a fireplace at each end, a very high ceiling, a wheeled ladder to reach the highest shelves with ease, and several cozy furniture clusters that suggested one might find the settee of one’s dreams if one kept searching. At one end of the room several small statues and ancient figurines were displayed on a neat row of shelves. Adjacent to the shelves was a large oak desk, resplendent with carving.

It was the most obvious place to hide something, and he wasn’t convinced of Ross’s ability to think like a thief. That would take some intelligence beyond the norm, and thus far, Ross hadn’t exhibited such.

Robert sat down at the desk and examined every drawer, every nook and cranny, finding no sign that it held anything of value. Too bad. I was hoping this would be simple.

He leaned back in the chair and surveyed the room again. The wall shelves were filled with an impressive assortment of books. He rose and scanned a few titles of the closest. Ross kept a decent collection of research tomes about ancient Greek civilizations, but they were unused-looking. I’d wager my last groat Ross hasn’t read any of these.

He went to the largest, most ornate shelves, which were deeper and held larger books, many of them ancient maps held in binders. It was difficult not to succumb to temptation and get lost in examining them, but Ross and Moira would only be gone another hour, two at the most.

Is that blasted secret chamber here? It certainly looks like the sort of room to have one. The shelves seemed the best place to begin. Could one be hiding a secret doorway?

He felt along the edges, noting any dip or impression along the way. He moved from bottom to top, using the wheeled ladder to reach the higher shelves. On and on he searched, finding nothing.

Frowning, he examined where the final set of shelves met the wall beside two windows. The shelves were flushly mounted, bolted solidly against the wall. Not the shelves, then. Where else? The exposed walls near the windows? A door could be hidden there.

He couldn’t knock along the panels, listening for a hollow spot, due to the footmen in the hallway. So he rolled some thick blotter paper from the desk into a heavy tube, lit it, then held it to the bottom of the baseboards, looking for a waver in the flame to show there was an opening. He had no fear that the smell of smoke might alert the footman because, thanks to Buffon, the entire castle now carried the scent.

Twenty minutes and another rolled tube of blotter paper later, he blew out the flame and sighed. It has to be here. The shelves and walls weren’t the answer . . . what about the floor? A trapdoor could be concealed beneath the polished wood.

He went to one corner and slowly examined each plank, each opening. After he’d walked the exposed portions, he began to work on the clusterings of furniture, all placed on thick rugs. He rolled up first one corner, and then the other, running his hand over the smooth wooden planks. Still, nothing.

Frustrated, he stepped back and surveyed the room again. Where could that blasted thing be? Am I missing something?

The sound of activity outside made him cross to the window and flick back the edge of the curtain. Footmen were scurrying down the front steps, and when a shout went up, Robert followed the direction the men all turned. Moira trotted her bay around the final curve of the drive, patting the horse’s neck. She was alone, having apparently outdistanced Sir Lachlan.

“He couldn’t catch you, could he?” Robert murmured, smiling as Moira pulled her magnificent steed to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. Her red hair drew the eye as did her sapphire blue habit, but she would have commanded attention in sackcloth and ashes. She had presence, that indefinable something that made the eye follow her every move.

Most women had to rely upon artifice or displaying themselves improperly, or drawing attention by adorning themselves with baubles. Moira needed no augmentation. She was a rare woman; one who carried her beauty rather than wearing it.

Ross came galloping around the bend in the drive, his mount foam flecked as he struggled to catch up.

Robert’s smile disappeared. There was no excuse to use a horse in such a way.

Ross paid the horse no heed. He was off his mount as soon as he drew it to an abrupt halt. He then tossed the reins to the nearest footman and pushed two more out of the way so that he, and he alone, was there to help Moira down from her mount.

Robert saw Moira’s cool gaze travel past Ross to his horse, which now stood with its head down, foam running down its neck and dripping from its mouth. Her lips pressed into a straight line before she murmured something to Ross that made him flush a fiery red.

He bowed stiffly, then snapped an order to a footman, who immediately went to talk to one of the waiting grooms. Within moments, the heated horse was being walked up and down the drive, a blanket over his heaving shoulders.

Robert regarded Moira curiously. It was risky to reprimand their host at this early stage, yet that hadn’t stopped her.

She was a woman of great emotion. Robert thought of the pain he’d seen in her eyes when she’d talked about Rowena, and to his surprise, his own throat tightened. He’d reassured Moira for the past few days that Aniston would keep the child safe—physically safe. What Robert hadn’t shared was his fear of the damage being done to the child by being locked away, and the traumatic experience of being separated from her mother for so long. Since Rowena had only one parent, the separation from her mother would be that much more traumatic.

I should have been allowed to be a part of Rowena’s life, damn it. I should have been told about—He swallowed back the thought. I can’t think about that right now. I need to find that damned box.

Still, Robert found himself looking out of the window. Ross reached up to assist Moira from her mount. She unhooked her knee from the pommel and said something that made him laugh as she jumped from the horse’s back, Ross’s hands firmly about her waist as he assisted her to the ground.

Robert scowled when Ross didn’t immediately release her, bending forward to whisper something in her ear. Moira blushed adorably before turning and dashing up the front steps, her skirts fluttering behind her. With a bemused grin, Ross hurried after her, and they disappeared.

Robert realized his hand was fisted about the heavy silk curtain. He released it, disgusted by Ross and irritated by his own reactions. She is doing as she is supposed to do, nothing more. I need to stop this ridiculous possessiveness.

There was something about Ross that infuriated Robert. Perhaps it’s his overanxious air, as if he’s desperate to prove himself. That might explain why he takes such delight in collecting other men’s wives as trophies.

Robert stepped back from the window and glanced at the clock. Buffon had promised a diversion, but not for another twenty minutes. And there was no getting past the footmen without some help.

He looked back outside. There was a ledge here, similar to the one outside his bedchamber, but there were too many men in the courtyard to escape that way.

He’d have to leave through the hallway as soon as Buffon produced the promised distraction. Robert just had to wait and—

Moira’s voice sounded from the hallway, laughing merrily at something, and Robert grimaced. Damn it, they are coming here!

Sir Lachlan patted Moira’s hand. “I look forward to sharing some of my treasures with a true appreciator of art.”

“Egypt is so romantic.”

He laughed indulgently. “It’s certainly profitable.” He allowed a footman to open the study door and gestured for her to precede him. “After you, my dear.”

Just before Moira stepped forward, a movement danced at the corner of her eye and she saw Buffon darting across the end of the hallway.

Ross must have seen the surprise on her face, for he turned to follow her gaze.

If Buffon is nearby, then—She glanced at the open study door and then forced a laugh. “Don’t mock me, but . . .” She pointed to a suit of armor that stood guard by the door. “For a moment, I thought I saw it move. One of your ghosts, perhaps?”

Ross laughed. “Not that I’m aware of. We have no ghosts who fancy suits of armor.”

“It must have been a trick of the light.”

“It had to be, since—” He frowned and wrinkled his nose. He turned to one of the footmen. “I smell smoke!”

The man stiffened and answered immediately, his Scots burr pronounced. “I’m sorry, sir. There was a slight fire in the upstairs hallway shortly after you and Mrs. Hurst left. Actually, there were two fires, both small and quickly extinguished.”

“Who started them?”

“I dinna know, sir, for I’ve been here since, but I’ll run and see what’s been discovered.”

“Do that and report back.”

The man gave a short bow and raced off.

“Goodness,” Moira murmured.

Ross turned back to her, his face an unhealthy red. “I can assure you that wasn’t caused by ghosts, either.” He took her elbow. “Now, where were we?”

She smiled and covered his hand with her own. “You, my lord, were about to show me something from Egypt.”

His expression softened and he squeezed her fingers. “Ah, yes!”

They entered the study and Moira’s gaze instantly swept the room. There was no sign of Robert.

Is he hiding in the curtains?

Her gaze swept across the floor to the curtains. There was no way a person could hide behind them without their feet showing.

Robert would find a better place.

She smiled up at Ross. “Do you mind if I open some curtains? It’s a bit dark in here.”

“Of course. I shall help.”

“Thank you.” She crossed the room, waiting until Ross’s back was turned so she could look for Robert. She bent over to peek under a settee, but saw nothing. Scurrying, she went to another large grouping of furniture and looked under a fringed chaise. She’d just straightened when Ross turned.

She dropped into the chaise. “What a lovely ride! I can’t thank you enough for taking the time to show me your beautiful mountains.”

He beamed as he crossed to her. “They are lovely, aren’t they? Although not as lovely as my companion.”

She pressed a hand to her cheek and said in a chiding tone, “Oh, Sir Lachlan!” Perhaps Robert escaped and we just missed him. He could have—Then she saw the edge of his shoe under the huge oak desk, in the direct line of sight of anyone sitting down.

She hopped up, surprising Ross. “So? Where are these treasures of yours?” she asked.

“A few of them are on display here.” He waved a hand toward the shelves at the far end of the room.

She gave them a cursory glance, not daring to move away from the desk. “I see. Those are . . . nice. But do you have some that aren’t on display?”

“Of course. There’s not room here for all of them.”

“Where do you keep those?”

“Somewhere safe,” he replied in a tone suggesting it was too complicated for a mere female to understand.

She’d love to smack that patronizing look off his face. She walked to where Ross now stood beside the shelves he’d pointed out, making certain she was between him and the desk. “Your collection must be worth a fortune. Is that why you have guards set up outside?”

“Guards? No, no, Mrs. Hurst, you mistake. They’re merely footmen.”

“But there are so many.”

“I dislike surprises. They make sure there aren’t any.” He chuckled, then captured her hand and pressed a fervent kiss to it. “No need to worry your pretty head over it, m’dear. Some things are better left to the men.”

The words grated on Moira’s nerves. She’d never counted on a man in her entire life and was glad of it.

Some of her irritation must have shown on her face, for Ross’s thick brows lowered and he said in a rather uncertain voice, “Is-is something wrong? You seem—”

“I’m fine, thank you. I was just wondering about your artifacts. Tell me about them.”

He launched into a rather thin explanation that made it obvious he knew only minimal information.

While he spoke, she moved to the desk and leaned against it, spreading her skirts a bit to cover the edge of Robert’s shoe. Then she stepped on it lightly.

From where he hid, Robert grimaced and pulled in his foot. Damn it, I thought I was well hidden.

As soon as he moved, Moira whisked away from the desk.

Robert tilted his head so that he could see her standing by a large black marble sculpture of a jackal. Ross’s back was now to Robert, too. Clever girl.

Moira touched the statue’s wolflike head. “Ah, Anubis.”

“Who?”

“Anubis is the god the jackal represents. He was the god of death. Where did you find this piece?”

“I have many sources for my collection. I buy. I sell. Sometimes I keep something special.”

Yes, something you think has extra value.

There were many men who collected artifacts for the sheer pleasure of owning a piece of history. They were very careful with the objects, and many items would be lost or destroyed if not for them. Robert disliked it when men collected artifacts solely for their monetary value, without regard to their historical worth. Their possession of such valuable treasures was like hanging a diamond necklace on a donkey.

Robert watched as Moira sent Ross a look from under her lashes. It was an intentionally sensual look, and yet she made it somehow seem innocent. “I would love to see your private collection. If there are Egyptian items in it.”

“There are a few. Since you know so much about artifacts, what can you tell me about that one?” Ross pointed to the next statue on the shelf.

“The Madonna? Fifteenth century, I’d think. Perhaps Spain.”

“How can you tell?”

“The style, the smoothness of the stone—even the base tells you something about the piece. Hurst is an avid collector, and I’ve picked up information here and there.”

“I’ve no doubt you’re vastly superior in judging such artifacts.” His tone indulged her.

“Not compared to Hurst. When it comes to collections, Robert is an expert though it’s a love of mine, too. Some women love jewels, some houses, some gowns.” Robert saw her elegant shrug. “I prefer antiquities.”

“Perhaps that is the reason you married Hurst. I haven’t been able to see what the attraction could be. He’s not the sort of man I’d think a woman like you would enjoy.”

“He has his uses, as do all husbands. But one should never expect too much from a husband. They can’t answer every need.”

“My dear,” Ross murmured.

The reprobate must have made a move toward Moira, for she spun away and Robert saw only her riding boots as she strode across the room toward the far fireplace, Ross following like a well-trained pup.

The little minx already has him under her spell, Robert thought, amused and annoyed.

He moved so he could watch Moira approach the fire. Something about her carriage sent the unmistakable message that while she was interested in a conversation with Ross, she by no means wished to be touched . . . yet.

Robert couldn’t decide what exactly sent that message. It was a combination of her upright carriage, her expression, and the manner in which she tilted her chin. She was masterful. No wonder I fell for her all those years ago.

He suddenly wondered if she’d played the same tricks on him—but of course she had. He’d been no more important than Ross.

Except . . . Robert had made it through her defenses and to her bed. Which raised a new, far more interesting question: why had she made an exception for him?

Robert saw Ross’s hand curl into a frustrated fist as he faced the invisible wall Moira had erected about herself.

“Ross,” Moira almost purred the name.

The hand relaxed.

“This piece my husband purchased from you, the onyx box. What does it look like?”

“It’s rather plain, though it is inscribed with some interesting runes.” He shrugged. “I can’t imagine it is worth much.”

“That is the problem with Hurst. He never pursues the really fascinating pieces. Just last week someone approached him about a jade funeral mask. Jade. And he would have nothing to do with it.”

“Perhaps it was a fake. There are many of those about.”

“I’m certain that it wasn’t. Besides, the man had to know who he was dealing with. Robert would have called the man out, had he suspected such a thing.”

Robert heard the interest in Ross’s voice as he said in far-too-casual a tone, “Oh, really?”

“Oh, yes. Robert considers people who deal in fakes the lowest form of humanity, and he is quick to exact revenge, regardless of the embarrassment it might cause.”

There was a definite pause before Ross said, “That’s very conscientious of him.”

“You may have noticed that Hurst is a bit . . . particular about things.”

“That had dawned on me,” Ross said drily.

“To him, a person who deals in fakes is like a badly tied cravat. It’s just bad form. And nothing matters more to Hurst.”

Ross made a disgusted noise. “There is little that matters to Hurst. That form should be one of them is—” He stopped, apparently too disgusted to continue.

Moira sighed. “Well, we all have our shortcomings. I fear I often crave excitement. I also possess a bit of a temper, and am impulsive. I’m no angel.”

Robert almost chuckled at Moira’s consummate ability to present herself as the perfect woman to seduce, while throwing up roadblocks to that seduction that were as large as a crypt door.

“Ross, if you don’t mind, I should return to my room now. I would like—”

A shout arose in the hallway, and cries of “fire” sent Ross running to the door. In the hallway footmen ran every which way, a low curl of smoke drifting between their legs.

Ross grabbed the closest footman. “What in the hell is going on?”

“Och, sir, we’ve two more fires on our hands.”

“Two?”

“Aye!” The footman gulped, obviously unhappy to be the one to have to report distressing news. “A tapestry in the main galley burst into flames at almost the same time a rug in the front hall began to smolder.”

“Damn it, that can’t be an accident!”

“Ye wouldn’t think it, sir. But it appears someone put a candle too close to the tapestry and forgot to snuff it this mornin’.”

“And the fire in the front hall?”

“It was caused by a hot coal from the bucket the sweeps carried after cleanin’ the fireplace.”

God bless Buffon. Right on time, too.

“Damn it! I hope that wasn’t one of the Danish tapestries; they cost me a bloody fortune.” Ross turned to Moira. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I must go; I shall have a footman escort you back to your room.”

“Thank you, but I believe I can find my own way.”

Ross took her hand and pressed a hasty kiss upon her fingers. “I hope we may ride again soon.”

She dropped into a curtsy. “As do I, my lord.”

With obvious reluctance, he released Moira’s hand and disappeared down the now-deserted hallway, calling for his butler.

Robert immediately climbed out from under the desk, then smoothed his coat before joining her. “I’ll walk you to the steps leading to our bedchambers, but then I plan on using Buffon’s disturbance to search a few more rooms.”

“I assumed this was his doing. I caught a glimpse of him at the end of the hallway when I first arrived. That’s how I knew you were hiding in there.”

Robert pulled her hand through his arm and strolled into the hallway, through the running servants who paid them no heed. “Thank you for hiding my shoe. I had no idea it was in sight.”

“I take it you didn’t find anything.”

“Not a damn thing. Wherever the secret chamber is, it’s not in that room.”

“So what do we do now?”

“You will return to your room, for you’re far too noticeable wearing that habit.”

“And you?”

“As I said, I shall wander about a bit more and see what I can discover. If anyone sees me, I’ll tell them the noise awoke me and I had to come see the madness for myself. Did you learn anything from our illustrious host?”

“Beyond what you heard in the library? Not really. Riding isn’t conducive to conversation.”

“Perhaps you can lure him into revealing more at dinner.” He turned the corner, where a large tapestry smoldered on a wall, footmen with buckets standing around. A large puddle of water pooled upon the floor, and he carefully led Moira around it and on to the stairs.

As they climbed the stairs, Moira said, “Robert, it might be useful if you have a headache this evening.”

“And excuse myself early?”

“Yes. If I can convince Ross that I must see his secret collection, and that I would find that very exciting, I think he’s fool enough to show it to me.”

“Why wait until dinner?”

“Because I think he will be more foolish after some port.”

“Ah. I will see to it that he imbibes more than his usual amount.”

“Good. Few men can refuse a true challenge.”

“Moira, I don’t like you spending too much time alone with Ross, so pray be cautious. He’s not a nice man.”

“Ah, but I’m not a nice woman.” Moira patted her skirt. “And I have my pistol.”

“You have it with you now?”

“I had a band made for the holster so I can strap it to my thigh.”

That made for an interesting image. “Very well. I’ll leave you alone with Ross after dinner, but only for an hour. I will be awaiting your return in your bedchamber.”

“Hopefully I will have something significant to tell you.” She smiled at him, and he was struck anew by the directness of her expression. She trusts me. The thought unexpectedly made his chest tighten in an odd way.

She paused by the steps that led to their bedchambers. “If all goes well this evening, I should have the necessary information to find the onyx box.”

He bowed. “Until later, madam.”