A Most Dangerous Profession

chapter 8





A letter from Michael Hurst upon his older brother, Robert, gaining a position with the Home Office.


Now that you’re with the secretary’s office, I’m sure people are asking you right and left to espouse their causes. Fortunately for you, I have no cause except to find the Hurst Amulet. You’ve mocked my ambition, but I’d give up life and limb and honor to restore it where it belongs, with our family.

I know you’re now shaking your head, but trust me on this, brother mine: it’s good to have a purpose in life, and much more amusing than merely existing from day to day. When you get bored playing hide-and-seek with disreputable persons, I suggest you, too, find a purpose for your life. It may be just the thing to settle your restless spirit.

She awoke slowly, blinking in the darkness of the huge, gray coach. It was cold. Shivering, she looked at her hands, neatly gloved, her feet shod in plain, brown shoes like those worn by housemaids. That’s odd. I don’t remember purchasing those.

Disoriented, she looked out the window of the coach. The scenery was idyllic and peaceful. Green hills, blue lakes, summer sun splashing over beautiful fields of flowers. And approaching in the distance, a child riding a big black stallion.

She leaned forward. Was that Rowena? As if in answer the child waved, and Moira waved back, laughing as Rowena rode the magnificent horse up to the coach.

Moira was happy, content that her child was so close and safe. If she reached through the window, she could touch Rowena’s flowing hair . . . but then the carriage began to rumble forward faster, the beautiful horse falling behind.

Moira tried to lean out the window, but she couldn’t. The scenery sped by faster and faster until it was a blur, Rowena falling farther and farther behind.

Moira wanted to call out, but her voice had frozen. The coach began to rock, lurching wildly side to side. She gripped the edge of her seat, clutching it desperately as it overturned and she sailed through the air and—

She gasped, opening her eyes to a darkened room lit only by a fire in a large, ornate fireplace. She blinked, her heart still pounding. It was just a dream.

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.