A Most Dangerous Profession

by Karen Hawkins

  “He is. But he does much to establish me as a worthless fop, while also obtaining the most valuable bits of information from the servants.”

  “Who know everything, regardless what their masters and mistresses think.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Robert, I actually feel . . . hopeful.” At his surprised look, she said, “I haven’t felt hope in so long. I owe you thanks.”

  “You can thank me once we have Rowena back.” His expression softened. “I look forward to meeting her.”

  Moira’s heart gave an odd jerk. She was beginning to realize that her decision to cut Robert from his own child’s life had been made too hastily. She’d assumed many things, among them how he felt about having a child and whether he would be a good father, all without consulting Robert. At the time she’d been so certain she was doing the right thing, what was best for Rowena. Now she wasn’t so certain.

  Robert began to talk about various hidden places he’d found in previous cases, and Moira listened with growing appreciation for his resourcefulness. It would be wonderful if he could find the artifact and they could just slip away, though she knew better than to count on anything being easy. There were too many unknown factors.

  But the nice thing was that she was no longer alone. Together, she and Robert would see this through to the end.

  Moira twisted the ring on her finger. Just a little longer, Rowena. Just a little longer.

  CHAPTER 15

  A letter from Robert Hurst to his solicitor in London, following Moira’s first disappearance.

  Please continue looking for the woman in question. She has gone by many names—Moira Cunningham, Moira Bruce, Mary K. Poole, and Maria Chavez among them. Lately she has gone by Princess Alexandria Romanov.

  While I believe her real name to be Moira MacAllister, I’m not yet certain. I am making inquiries to the four corners of the kingdom and hope to have more answers before long.

  Whatever her name is, this woman crossed the wrong person. A Hurst never quits.

  Balnagown Castle was located in the craggy highlands. Perched on a bluff covered in green ivy, a glass blue loch at its feet, the castle towered over the landscape.

  Moira, who was leaning out the carriage window, pointed at the castle as they rounded a bend. “Oh, you must see it! It has one, two, three, four turrets!”

  Robert, reclining in the corner, didn’t bother to open his eyes. “I daresay it has an unwieldy number of windows, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if Ross’s servants are hard-pressed to keep them all clean.”

  Moira sat back and eyed him with reproach. “Must you ruin every romantic notion?”

  “Only the ones involving clean windows.”

  “You’re hopeless.” She looked back out the window. “It’s beautiful, but so isolated. How can he live here alone?”

  “I think he is more comfortable surrounded by adoring servants than by people of his own class.”

  The coach continued up the long, winding drive, the castle whisking in and out of sight behind the growing clouds. Moira glanced at Robert. The few times he bestirred himself to look out the window, he seemed genuinely unimpressed by the gorgeous castle. What does impress him?

  There was no way to know. He was so carefully put together, so cautious about revealing himself—whether because of his position with the Home Office or some more personal reason—that it was frustratingly difficult to tell what he thought. She’d made her way in life by reading people, and was better at it than most, which made her inability to read Robert all the more annoying.

  Perhaps that was part of their attraction: she was challenged by his closed façade, and he was challenged by the fact that she’d managed to escape him before and could do it again.

  He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his chin sinking into the folds of his cravat, his expression so relaxed that she had no doubt he’d soon be fast asleep.

  How can he sleep right now?

  But that was Robert; always cool, never deeply engaged.

  She wished she felt the same about him. Despite knowing the danger of caring too much, she was deeply intrigued by him. Of course, it didn’t help that he looked like the romantic hero of every lending library novel she’d ever read: tall, handsome, and beautifully built. Even now, she imagined running her hands over his flat, rippled stomach and muscled arms . . .

  She forced herself to look back out the window. She had to control herself if she wished to maintain her role for the next few days.

  She cleared her throat. “Judging by this terrain, I should be able to keep Ross occupied for at least a three-hour ride, perhaps more.”

  Robert tilted his head back to regard her from beneath the brim of his hat. “That would be a very good start, but don’t take any unacceptable risks.”

  “For Rowena, all risks are acceptable.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Rowena will need you alive and well once this is over. From now on, you’ll leave the risks to me.”

  Was that a flicker of relief in her green eyes? He couldn’t be sure; her expressions were quicksilver, gone before he had time to register them all.

  “Tell me, ma chère, can you play an avaricious collector?”

  “A collector?”

  “Yes, of all things Egyptian.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Ah. If I am excited by them, Ross will be encouraged to bring out his Egyptian antiquities.”

  “Exactly. You will be unimpressed by all jewels, artwork, and statuary, unless they’re Egyptian.”

  “I can do that. I had a maid once who was crazed about exotic animals. She frequented Astley’s so often that the ticket takers knew her name. Her eyes would glow when she talked about the elephant, the camel, and other beasts.” Moira clasped her hands together, a blissful expression on her face.

  Robert laughed. “Yes, that will do very well.”

  As quickly as it appeared, the blissful look was gone, replaced by a smug one. “Excellent. We will do this, Robert—I know we will!”

  Robert’s smile froze. She’d said “we” as if they were a true couple. He’d been very cautious not to examine the future; it seemed a dangerous thing to do.

  The coach turned the final corner and the castle was revealed, thick white clouds settling about the turrets. Moira once again leaned out the window. “It really is a beautiful place.”

  Robert looked past her, impressed despite himself. The castle seemed to come from a fairy tale, several stories tall, with well-defined turrets adorned by the Ross flag. Every window seemed to be open, and the wind teased out red and blue velvet curtains, adding splashes of color to the gray stone exterior. But it was the setting that made it truly breathtaking.

  The grass about the castle was a riotous mass of wildflowers. Red, yellow, purple, and blue flowers bobbed in the breeze, dancing as if under some sort of spell, while the clouds swirled above.

  “I wish Rowena could see this,” Moira said, breathless.

  Robert shot her a sharp look. For a moment, he wished he could show her Hurst House. Then he set his jaw and turned away. Hurst House was his secret and no one else’s.

  He’d purchased it four years ago on a whim. He’d been traveling between Edinburgh and London when a chance wrong turn had brought him to a beautiful old house, built in the late sixteenth century, of white stone with narrow windows. He’d purchased it immediately and then modernized it, adding water closets, running water, a roof cistern, and a kitchen that would make the most demanding chef quiver with pleasure.

  He wasn’t certain why he’d bought it, for it was fit to establish a dynasty. Yet he’d been intrigued, and continued to be so, working whenever he could with his man of business on the improvements. He hadn’t even told his family about it, knowing they’d tease him mercilessly for such folly. He didn’t blame them; had any of them purchased such a grand house, he’d have done the same.

  He glanced at Moira again, wondering if she would like Hurst House’s bucolic setting as much as Balnagown’s.
Hurst House was perched upon a low hill, majestic and gleaming, the white stone trimmed with thick green ivy, reflected in the series of glassy ponds that stretched before it, along with thick copses of trees.

  He looked again at the gorgeous castle that towered above them, and an unusual sinking feeling gripped him. No one could compare Balnagown’s splendor to the quiet majesty of Hurst House.

  Not that it matters, he told himself sharply. Moira will never see Hurst House—and why should she?

  “Oh, Robert, look!” Moira pointed up. “The stained glass in the top windows is breathtaking.”

  Indeed, the late afternoon sun caught the colored panes, which glittered as if magic. Robert silently damned every window of Ross’s castle to Hades, at the same time deciding that Hurst House could use some fine stained glass, as well. He’d set his man of business on it as soon as possible.

  The coach rumbled through a wide gate and into the cobbled drive. The shadow of the great building made Moira withdraw into the coach. “This says a lot about Ross that we didn’t know,” she said, her expression thoughtful.

  The castle appeared to be in excellent repair, and a very large number of well-dressed servants scurried around in anticipation of their arrival. “Ross is extraordinarily wealthy.”

  She nodded. “Which explains why Aniston didn’t try to simply purchase the artifact. Ross has no need of money.”

  “Which means that it would be impossible to purchase the real artifact—only a fake.”

  “Which he sells merely to prove that he can best his fellow man.”

  “That explains a lot. Since Aniston couldn’t buy the original box outright, he sent you to fetch it for him.” Robert had no illusions just how far Aniston expected Moira to go in her dealings with Ross. Robert clutched the handle of his cane tightly. He and I will have a reckoning soon.

  The coach slowed to a stop, a swarm of footmen rushing to let down the steps.

  Moira placed her gloved hand in Robert’s. “We’re going to have to play this very carefully. A man with Ross’s resources will be unchecked out here in the middle of nowhere. He’s like a king.”

  “Only not held to public opinion,” Robert replied softly, assisting Moira down the steps. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  Ross was handing his horse to a footman and hurried forward on seeing Robert and Moira alight.

  Moira flashed her breathtaking smile. “Sir Lachlan, I was just telling my dear husband what a lovely castle you have! I am quite charmed. Pray tell me that there is at least one ghost!”

  Ross laughed indulgently. “Oh, there are many of them. I shall tell you about them all at dinner tonight.”

  Robert pulled out his monocle and examined the castle with an absent air. “Yes, it’s quite impressive.” He dropped the monocle and let it swing against his waistcoat. “I do hope there’s port in that large pile of rocks. I’m dying of thirst.”

  Ross bowed, tearing his gaze from Moira with obvious reluctance. “Mr. Hurst, I’ve some of the best port in all of England. I’ll have a bottle delivered to your bedchamber.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I hope the coach ride wasn’t too rough for you.”

  “No, no.” Robert yawned behind one gloved hand. “Though I am a bit saddened there wasn’t more of interest to see to pass the time. I slept the entire way.”

  Ross looked startled. “I thought you’d enjoy seeing the castle from the road and—”

  Moira placed her hand on Ross’s arm. “Oh, do not ask Hurst to express his interest in a mere building.” She gave a merry trill of laughter. “My husband prefers a good cravat to architecture.”

  Though she was playing her part to perfection, Robert felt a flicker of annoyance. He met Ross’s interested gaze with a shrug. “I’m afraid I don’t enjoy a bucolic existence.”

  “Unless it has to do with fashion, gaming, or antiquities, Hurst is likely to be cursed with boredom,” Moira said playfully.

  “I also like port,” Robert said loftily. “You cannot forget that.”

  Ross laughed and led the way inside, past the two footmen who held open the monstrous arched doors. “Och, Hurst, you’ll find yourself with enough port to swim in. I have plenty of antiquities, too. But I’ve no patience with fashion and gaming.”

  More footmen came forward to take Moira’s pelisse and gloves. As Robert handed over his gloves and hat, he saw that the great hall was resplendent with symbols of heraldry. An impressive display of flintlock pistols and muskets were arrayed upon the tall walls in an intricate circular design. A similar design on the opposite wall was comprised of swords of varying sizes.

  “Goodness,” Moira said, staring about wide-eyed. “You certainly have a lot of weapons. Have you used them all?”

  Ross had handed his coat to a servant and turned to answer the question, dumbstruck as his gaze fixed on her with avid interest.

  Robert almost chuckled. Moira had strategically placed herself in a pool of light that poured through a circular window. Her green gown seemed ethereal, and the golden light made her look like a fairy rising from a sunbeam.

  But it wouldn’t do to allow their host to see too much of her. Robert sighed. “I vow, I am exhausted.”

  “Of course.” Ross turned to the waiting butler. “Escort Mr. Hurst to the blue suite and Mrs. Hurst”—his gaze lingered on her—“to the yellow suite.”

  The butler bowed and turned to leave, but Robert forestalled him. “I beg your pardon, but is my wife’s room close to mine?”

  Ross’s smile faded. “They’re down the hall from one another, of course.”

  “I wish them to be adjoining.”

  “The room adjoining your wife’s is very small.”

  “I’ll make do, whatever it is.”

  Ross bowed stiffly. “Very well.” He turned to the butler. “Escort Mr. and Mrs. Hurst to the yellow suite. Mr. Hurst will take the smaller of the rooms.”

  Robert ignored his almost challenging tone and nodded. “Excellent.” He walked over to Moira and offered his arm. “My dear, shall we?”

  “Yes, of course.” She took his arm and smiled at Ross. “Until dinner, then.”

  He brightened immediately. “Yes! We shall serve at seven, but if you’d like a tour of the castle I would be happy to meet you at five.” He sent a reluctant glance at Robert. “And you as well, of course, Mr. Hurst.”

  Robert yawned delicately. “I daresay I will still be napping, but Mrs. Hurst is free to do as she wishes. She enjoys old houses. I’m more interested in the quality of your port.”

  “Very good. I trust that neither of you will be disappointed.”

  “I should hope not.” Robert gestured to the butler. “Lead the way.”

  They were quickly led up the stairs. After they’d reached the landing, he leaned close to Moira. “This might be easier than we thought.”

  She gave him a tense smile. “I hope so.”

  They turned down several more halls, and climbed two more sets of stairs before the butler paused outside a set of wide double doors. “Mrs. Hurst, this is your room.” He opened the doors and they passed through. It was a huge chamber; over a dozen large beds could have made their homes here without crowding. The lone bed was set upon a platform at one end of the room, the pale blue and yellow silk draperies fluttering in the small wind stirred by the roar of a truly humongous fireplace edged with white marble. Four pairs of wide windows overlooked a small faux balcony and allowed light to spill over several clusters of gilt-edged furniture. “My,” Robert said, lifting his monocle. “This is certainly impressive. I think more and more of our host.” He turned to the butler. “And my bedchamber?”

  The butler bowed and nodded to the doorway. “Your room is next door.”

  “I don’t see an adjoining door.”

  The butler bowed again. “There isn’t one, sir. However, the hallway doors are adjacent to one another.”

  Robert strolled to the wide windows, opened one, and looked outside. They were s
everal stories up. A wide stone ledge ran the length of the castle wall, punctuated by large, snarling gargoyles. Judging by the closeness of the window-sills lining the ledge, every room had at least one window.

  “The wind is brutal at this height.” Robert closed the window with a snap and turned to the butler. “I will see my room now.”

  “Yes, sir. Madame, your luggage will be brought up once it arrives. A maid will arrive shortly in case you need anything until then.”

  “Thank you,” Moira said.

  The butler bowed and crossed to the door. He held it open and stood to one side, staring stoically ahead.

  Robert bowed to Moira. “I shall give you a few hours to rest. I know you must be tired.”

  She smiled. “I am. We’ve traveled a long distance over the last week.”

  “Yes, we have.” He looked at her narrowly, noting the faint circles under her eyes. “Our luggage is still a good two or three hours behind us. You should use that time to rest.” Aware that the servant watched, he said in a cool tone, “You don’t wish to look haggard. That will never do.”

  Her eyes sparkled, but she kept in character and merely said in a repressed tone, “We should take advantage of Lord Ross’s offer for a tour of the castle. It was quite kind of him.”

  “I’ve already seen that ghastly entryway. I don’t think I could stomach more of the same.”

  “I thought the entryway was beautiful.”

  Aware that the servant could hear every word, Robert replied in a bored tone, “You would. Do as you will. It will be drafty. You might want to wear your pelisse.”

  She murmured, “Of course.”

  “I shall return to collect you at dinnertime.” He left the room and followed the butler.

  His bedchamber was tiny compared to Moira’s, though no less luxurious. He suspected it was actually a maid’s quarters, though a generous one.

  He opened his windows, which overlooked the courtyard below. The wind whipped his hair and the curtains on either side of him when he leaned out. He was high enough that no noises drifted up from the courtyard.

  He leaned out farther over the ledge to look down the long, winding road. In the distance he could already see two heavily loaded coaches. Buffon has made excellent time, as usual. Robert had no wish to trust his cravats to Ross’s laundress.