A Most Dangerous Profession

chapter 21





Letter from Robert Hurst to his brother Michael, who was being held by a sulfi in a foreign land.


William is on his way with the required ransom to win your freedom. The onyx box is a lovely artifact and reminds me of the times we used Mother’s empty jewelry box as our treasure chest when we played at being pirates.

I remember being very angry when one of you attempted to “steal” the treasure chest from me; even then I didn’t like it when something was taken from me . . .

Sir Lachlan awoke with a start in his firelit room, panting hard in the grip of a nightmare where the delicious Moira Hurst turned from a sweet temptress into a pistol-wielding goddess of fury.

Ross pressed a hand to where his heart hammered against his chest, wishing his head didn’t pound so as well. He’d drunk far too much port, egged on by that fool Hurst.

Ross was done with them both. In the morning, Moira and that fop of a husband would be gone, fake box in hand. Who would be smirking then?

Well before the Hursts were awake, he’d leave for his hunting just in case Moira had been right about her husband’s ability to spot a fake. Ross had no patience with fusses, and—

A faint noise tickled his ears, Frowning, he lifted up on one elbow as the ice-cold end of a pistol pressed against his forehead.

Startled, Ross found himself staring at Robert Hurst. The man was sitting in a chair that had been pulled beside the bed. Gone was the fanciful fop who’d irritated Ross since arriving; in the fop’s place was a man who knew how to hold a pistol steadily.

“Good morning, Ross,” Hurst said, his usual bored tone replaced by a deep intensity that made Ross’s stomach tighten uneasily. “Having a bad dream?”

Ross cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to tell you good-bye. Oh, and don’t worry about the onyx box. I fetched it myself.”

Ross’s gaze fell on the box sitting in plain sight on Hurst’s knee. It wasn’t the fake one, either. Damn it! “How did you find that?”

Hurst’s eyes gleamed in the firelight. “When I buy something, I expect to get it. And when I don’t, then I make certain I do.”

It suddenly dawned on Ross that this stern, powerful man had been hiding his true self all along. “You play a deep game, Hurst.”

“Not as deep as you. Move your left foot.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Hurst stood, his pistol never wavering.

Ross moved his left foot and touched something hard. “What’s that?”

“The matching pistol to this one. Do you recognize these pistols? They’re quite beautiful.”

Ross pushed himself upright. “They’re my dueling pistols. So you’re stealing them, too.”

“No, I’m not the thief here,” Hurst said insultingly.

“You can’t prove a damn thing, and you know it.”

“I don’t need to. Pick up that pistol. It’s loaded with one bullet. Just like this one.”

A coldness settled in Ross’s head, making his headache all the worse. “Pick . . . pick up the pistol?”

“Yes. Pick it up and rise.”

Ross looked at how Hurst stood, his body relaxed, the pistol unwavering. This man has killed before.

Hands damp, Ross asked, “And if I don’t?”

“Then sit there and die in your bed. No one touches my wife without her permission.” Hurst’s voice was so icy that Ross had to fight a shiver. There was power in that voice, and a deadly cold determination to exact revenge.

Pale with fear, Ross tried to clear his throat. “Hurst, please. I didn’t—”

“Careful, Ross.” The soft voice almost purred. “I’m in a foul mood and another lie will make it worse.” The pistol cocked loudly. “You don’t want that, do you?”

“N-No.”

“Good. Well, Ross—will you pick up the pistol, or be killed in cold blood in your bed?” Hurst smiled coldly. “The choice is yours.”

Ross tried to swallow but couldn’t. He wished with all of his heart that he’d never met the Hursts. But it was too late for that.

“Madame?”

Fighting her way up from a deep sleep, Moira opened her eyes to find Buffon standing beside the bed. The Frenchman was fully dressed, one of her gowns over his arm.

She blinked rapidly. Where was she? And why was Buffon—Ah, yes. She was in Robert’s room.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she began to sit up, then realized she was naked. “Oh—!” She clutched the sheets to her, her face and neck ablaze.

Buffon had already turned his back and was facing the door, standing as if at attention. “There is fresh water on the washstand. The chemise and gown I’ve placed upon the chair are from your trunk. Monsieur asked that you dress quickly, for we must go before the footmen return.”

She frowned. “Where is Robert?”

“I am not certain, madame. I was only told to fetch you. I shall step outside while you dress.”

“Yes, but I’ll need pins for my hair and—”

Buffon held up a card of pins, then set it on the chair.

Moira looked at the card. “How did you get into my room?”

“Monsieur climbed the ledge and unlocked the door.”

“Oh!”

“Pray get dressed quickly. We are to leave soon.” With that, the valet stepped outside, closing the door softly behind him.

Moira quickly washed by the firelight, then put on the chemise and gown. When she was done she twisted her hair into a knot, then slid her feet back into her boots.

When she finished, she opened the door. “I’m ready.”

Buffon entered again. “Excellent, madame. Your cloak is hanging in the wardrobe. Mr. Hurst is meeting us in the courtyard soon; the coach is ready with your trunks packed and loaded.”

She collected the cloak and pulled it around her.

“We must be very quiet and avoid any servants,” Buffon warned.

He opened the door and they slipped into the hallway, then through the castle. To Moira’s surprise, the entire place appeared to be deserted.

As they walked across the dark courtyard, Moira whispered to Buffon, “What happened to the footmen?”

“The ghost of Balnagown Castle left four kegs of whiskey in the servants’ quarters. Very large kegs.”

“How do they know a ghost left it?”

“He wrote a note saying it was to reward them for their excellent service.”

“They can’t have believed that.”

“Non, madame. But when one is faced with wonderfully aged casks of whiskey, one does not question where they come from. One simply enjoys.”

Her lips quirked. “That was very clever of you.”

“Thank you.”

Moira’s booted feet clicked on the mist-covered cobblestones; the scent of spring heather tickled her nose. Ahead was the coach, the horses’ breath puffy white in the night air.

A muffled pistol shot cracked across the silence, the sound obviously coming from inside the thick castle walls. Moira stopped and sent a wild gaze at Buffon, who continued walking toward the coach.

“It is nothing to worry about, madame.”

“But I heard—”

Another shot rang out.

Buffon took her elbow and gently tugged her on. “Ah, two shots. That is good.”

“Why?”

“Because it means that both participants in the duel got off a shot. It is only fair.”

She came to an abrupt halt, the blood leaving her face. “Duel?”

“Oui. Monsieur could not allow Ross’s insult to your honor.” Buffon glanced at the castle, the light showing respect on his face. “He has a Frenchman’s soul, that one.”

“Buffon, he could be dead or—”

“Monsieur? Pardon, but no.” He pulled her with him, saying in a calm voice, “There is no better shot, no better fighter, no better fencer. I daresay he would wield a battle ax equally well. Efficiently, with deadly force.”

Ahead Stewart stood by the open coach door, looking toward the castle. “Och, it looks as if someone kicked over an anthill.”

Indeed, havoc had broken loose. People were scurrying here and there, excited voices raised.

Moira pressed a hand to her chest. Robert, please don’t be hurt. Don’t be—

Robert appeared from a dark corner of the courtyard and strode toward them, tall and powerful, his black cape swirling about him. The mist seemed to part before him.

Moira closed her eyes and said a quick prayer of thanks.

“Stewart, get us off this mountain as fast as you can.”

“Ye know I’m good fer tha’, sir! Buffon, ye can ride with me.” The groom and Buffon disappeared on top of the coach.

Robert opened the door and assisted Moira inside, climbed in behind her, and banged the flat of his hand on the ceiling. Instantly, they lurched forward. They’d just reached the edge of the courtyard when the front door to the castle opened, spilling golden light across the black cobblestones.

Moira saw Ross standing in his white night rail, the left arm of his shirt covered in blood. His other arm held a long musket. He lifted the musket to his shoulder and aimed it at the coach.

Instantly, Robert scooped Moira from her seat and held her in his lap, curving his body over hers. A huge boom rang off the castle walls and echoed in the courtyard.

The coach turned a corner, and it was dark, except for the moonlight and the lanterns that hung from the coach front.

Moira said, “I think the danger is over now. You can release me.”

Robert laughed softly, his breath warm against her ear. “There was never any danger. That man couldn’t hit the side of a barn.”

“So why are you holding me?” The scent of his starched cravat tickled her nose.

“Ross’s parting shot was wonderfully dramatic, wasn’t it?”

She snuggled deeply against Robert. “You shot him, didn’t you?”

“We had a duel. Unfortunately, he lacked the honor to wait for the ten paces.”

“He shot early?”

“Yes, but his bullet hit the wall beside my left ear.”

“That blackguard!”

“Exactly. Then it was my turn. Because I knew it would please you, I didn’t kill him. Instead, I gave him the chance to select which limb he wanted my bullet in.”

Moira had to smile. “That was very good of you. Astoundingly so, considering he tried to trick you with a false artifact, too.”

“I thought so.”

She suspected that Robert wasn’t completely honest about how close of a call he’d just faced. “You took a foolish risk for nothing. If my honor was impugned, it was my job to satisfy it, not yours.”

“As long as our marriage stands, I will protect you.”

As long as our marriage stands. That implied it was temporary, which made her chest ache, as if her heart were struggling to beat. Don’t be ridiculous. As soon as Rowena is free, Robert will ask for an annulment and I will see that he gets it. Still, her eyes stung, and she had to blink back tears.

Robert reached into his cloak and withdrew a velvet bag, which he placed on her knee.

She opened it, her fingers trembling. “The onyx box.”

“The real one. I found it, along with the fake, in Ross’s secret chamber.”

“How on earth did you find it?”

“Buffon charmed the location from a besotted chambermaid. Now we are ready to take on Aniston.”

Moira looked down at the box. Was Robert right? After all these months, would she finally win Rowena back?

Unaware of how her heart was racing, Robert added, “It will take us a week to get back to Edinburgh, then Rowena will be free and you and I can—”

Moira threw her arms around him and kissed him passionately. Surprised, he kissed her back with equal enthusiasm.

A soft thud broke them apart.

“What was that?” Robert asked, voice husky.

“The onyx box fell. Perhaps we should put it somewhere safe?”

“An excellent idea.” He retrieved the box and put it under the seat across from them, then he settled Moira back in his lap. “We should talk about what will happen after we rescue—”

She placed a hand on his cheek and smiled. “Hurst, has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

And all of his words fled, chased away by a redheaded vixen with eyes the color of a Scottish glen.