A Most Dangerous Profession Read online

  Miss Smythe-Haughton might be a crack cryptographer and have a way with winning support from the locals, and she may be the only woman I know who can ride camels as if born to it, but the woman dances like a lame bear. Since the sulfi did not order her beaten, I must surmise that he has an excellent sense of humor.

  An hour later, Robert rode into the inn yard. He cast a quick glance around and saw Leeds idly grooming a horse in direct sight of the door.

  Leeds flicked Robert a glance from beneath the brim of his hat and nodded toward the wide door.

  Robert touched the brim of his own hat and dismounted, tossing the reins and a coin to a waiting linkboy before entering the inn.

  Mr. King, the proprietor, bustled forward. “Och, if ’tisn’t Mr. Hurst! How good to see ye, sir.”

  “And you. I trust you’re busy this time of year.”

  “Filled every room,” the innkeeper said proudly.

  “Excellent.” Robert removed his hat and set it upon the hall table, his gloves neatly placed across the brim, and then allowed the innkeeper to assist him in removing his greatcoat. “I came to visit a certain guest of yours, and I must ask for your discretion.”

  Knowing well how generously “discretion” could pay, Mr. King beamed. “Indeed, sir, I’ll no’ breathe a word. Which guest are you wishin’ to visit?”

  Robert took a shiny guinea from his pocket and dropped it into the landlord’s hand. “Her name is Mrs. Randolph. If you’ll give me the room direction, I shall announce myself.”

  “Ah, Mrs. Randolph. She’s a loverly woman. In fact,” he added archly, “the porter just delivered her bath. She’s in room seven, top of the stairs to the right.”

  “Thank you. Do you happen to have an extra key?”

  “Of course!” The landlord scurried to a small room off the foyer and returned with a large iron key. “Here ye are, Mr. Hurst. If ye need anything else, jus’ say th’ word.”

  “Thank you.” Robert took the key and crossed the foyer. So Moira still had a weakness for a hot bath. He wondered what other things about her were the same. Did she still enjoy warm, buttered bread? Reading the morning paper over hot tea and crumpets? Lolling in bed until the afternoon?

  Of course, Moira’s idea of lolling was rather vigorous, and the memories warmed him as he headed up the stairs.

  After he found her room, he pressed his ear to the door. He heard humming, followed by a splash.

  Good. She won’t have that damned pistol on her. Still, he’d take no chances. He pulled out his small silver mounted pistol and checked it quickly. Then he slipped his key into the lock, turned it, and swung the door open.

  Moira was indeed naked and glorious in the bath . . . and holding a pistol aimed right at his heart. “What an unpleasant surprise,” she murmured, her smooth voice at odds with the anger that sparkled in her green eyes. “May I suggest that the next time you decide to surprise a person, that you have your pistol ready before you get to their door? I heard the chamber click.”

  He closed and locked the door behind him, his own pistol held steady. “You heard that, hm?”

  “Barely, but it was enough.”

  He noted that water dripped from her fingers. “Do you think you can fire accurately with a wet hand?”

  “I am willing to try. In fact,” she smiled as she lowered the pistol so that it pointed to his crotch, “we could up the stakes a bit just to make it interesting.”

  “No, thank you. I prefer not to tempt fate, especially where my, er, parts are concerned.” A faint quiver of amusement crossed her face and to his chagrin, he found himself smiling in return. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

  “Again. It’s getting a bit old. Sooner or later, one of us will have to best the other.”

  “One would think.” He crossed to a chair and sat. “Very comfortable.”

  “I don’t want you comfortable. Robert, please leave.”

  He merely uncocked his pistol and replaced it into his coat pocket.

  Moira’s lips tightened, a flash of disappointment crossing her expressive face. Robert hid a grin. By putting his gun away and sitting so innocuously in a chair a good distance from her, he’d removed himself as an immediate threat. For all of her faults, Moira would never shoot someone without a damn good reason.

  Of course, if she had perceived him as a danger, she’d have shot him without a qualm and with deadly accuracy.

  She sighed and set her own pistol on the small chair beside the tub. “Stay if you must. I’m going to finish my bath.”

  “Feel free.”

  “You are too kind.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I can’t think of how to thank you.”

  “Oh, I can think of a way.” His gaze traveled over her. She was indeed now a brunette, though the tub reflected the copper light of her hair through the dyed strands. She’d piled her waist-length hair on her head and pinned it there, but there was no containing the wealth of silken tendrils, and several had found their way to her creamy shoulders, where they clung as if afraid to let go.

  Robert realized he was staring, and dropped his gaze to her pistol. “Still armed everywhere you go? That must be a weighty habit.”

  “It serves.” She soaped a large sponge. “So why are you here?”

  Robert stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle. “I came to tell you that your journey tomorrow has been canceled.”

  Her green gaze locked on his. “How did you know I was going on a journey?”

  “I know many things.”

  “Oh, for the love of Saint Christopher, stop being so damn mysterious.” She rubbed the sponge along one elegant arm. “It’s annoying.”

  He chuckled. “I knew you were leaving because I discovered George Aniston’s lair yesterday and I’ve been having him watched. One of my men overheard him instruct his groom to bring a coach to you in the morning.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, indeed. Why are you still working for George Aniston?”

  She placed her slender foot on the edge of the tub and began to wash her leg.

  She had wonderfully long legs. They were outstanding, too—curved just so, exquisitely feminine and made for wrapping about a man’s waist.

  Robert shifted and forced his gaze back to her face. What were they talking about? Oh, yes. “Moira, enough of this. Tell me about Aniston.”

  “Why should I? I don’t owe you anything, and you don’t owe me.”

  “I would agree, except for one little fact: you tricked me into marriage.”

  She sighed. “That was years ago. And I’ve never asked for a penny in support.”

  “That’s the curious part. It made me wonder why you even went to all of that trouble.”

  She hesitated. “I had my reasons.”

  “Which are?”

  She slanted him a look before rinsing the soap from her legs.

  It was all Robert could do not to react to the way she was slowly pouring water over her smooth, silken skin. He’d forgotten that it was almost impossible to keep a sane thought in his head when she was naked. Thank God the deep tub covered more than it revealed. All he could see were her head, shoulders, one arm, and one long leg. But even that was distracting in the extreme.

  He collected his thoughts. “I’ve been looking for you all these years. The least you can do is answer a few simple questions.”

  “So ask them. But I’m going to get out of the tub first. It’s getting cold.”

  “No, you can get out when I leave. If it’s getting cold, then answer quickly. You went through an elaborate ruse to get me to marry you.”

  She’d charmed him into dressing as the King of Hearts to her Queen for a fancy dress ball at Vauxhall Gardens. It had been a foolish costume, but she’d been adamant about wearing them and he’d allowed it because he was already under her spell.

  That had been his almost-ruin. The Home Office had grown suspicious of Moira, who had somehow convinced all of London that she was a Russian princess. Because of hi
s connections to the ton through his sisters, who’d all married quite well, Robert had been asked to discover what he could about this mysterious woman.

  It had been his first major assignment and he’d thrown his heart into it. Perhaps too much so. The instant his eyes had met hers, something had flared between them—and was flaring between them right now. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her glistening shoulders as they rose above the edge of the huge tub.

  He shifted in his chair. “As far as weddings go, ours was a paltry affair.”

  She chuckled low. “Don’t be bitter. The gardens were lovely and . . .” Her smile faded. “You looked very handsome.”

  And she’d looked like a fairy that night, her eyes sparkling more brightly than the diamonds about her neck. “I was a bloody fool.”

  Something flickered in her gaze but she merely shrugged. “Nonsense. It was an elaborate deception and you didn’t expect such a thing. How could you?”

  He must have asked himself that question a thousand times. While wandering Vauxhall’s famed dark gardens, they’d run into an obviously drunk man dressed as a vicar, who swore they were the most beautiful couple he’d seen that night. He then demanded to be allowed to “marry” them.

  Robert had thought the man mad, but Moira had laughed and teased him that he was afraid. Drunk from both her beauty and the fact he was embarking upon his first assignment, he’d agreed to the unthinkable—to allow the “vicar” to marry the two of them on the spot. The vicar was quick to comply and even produced a false marriage license, demanding that it be signed.

  Moira’s green gaze met his as she swiped at a curl across her cheek. “How did you discover that silly wedding wasn’t a mockery? I didn’t think you’d give it a second thought.”

  “When you disappeared the next morning, I began to investigate everything you’d said and done. That night kept coming back to me. Something about it . . . it seemed wrong somehow.” How Moira must have laughed at his naïveté. “To my surprise, I found the marriage license. You went to a lot of trouble to make our false marriage seem valid.”

  Her lashes dropped to shadow her expression. “I knew you would be angry, but—”

  He waited, but when she didn’t offer more he said sharply, “But what?”

  She looked away and waved a hand as if banishing an annoying insect. “It was fun while it lasted.”

  He scowled. “Which part? The bedding? Or the sham of a relationship that never was? Frankly, neither was all that memorable to me. If I didn’t feel that you’d stolen something from me, I would never think of either.”

  Color stained her cheeks and her lips folded into a straight line. “There was nothing wrong with our performances in bed. I still cherish those memories.”

  So that hurts, does it? Good. He couldn’t help being pleased. “When all was said and done, I found myself the most sorry for the vicar.”

  At her surprised look, Robert added, “I found him not long after you disappeared. He told me how you’d contacted him and offered him a fortune to do this one thing. How he said no, but you were determined.”

  “He said yes quick enough once we began talking money,” she said sharply.

  “His little sister was ill. He needed it to pay for her care.”

  A shadow crossed Moira’s face. “I didn’t know.”

  “He admitted that. But that’s neither here nor there. You set everything in motion, including posting banns and filing the license, so that our marriage appeared to be legal.”

  She began to speak, but he held up a hand. “I realize I could have it set aside, but only if I was willing to face public scrutiny. You knew I wouldn’t do it. Why, Moira? Why go to so much trouble?”

  “Perhaps I just wished for a husband—someone to watch over me.”

  “You ran off immediately after. I saw you two weeks later, when I caught up with you in Bath, but you escaped again. So no, you didn’t want someone to watch over you.”

  She sent him a hard look. “I still can’t believe you turned me over to the authorities.”

  “You were a spy.”

  “Which was why you were assigned to woo me in the first place, wasn’t it?” Her cool, disdainful voice held another emotion, but he couldn’t quite identify it.

  “In the beginning, that is why I began to pursue you. But after the second month, no.”

  Her gaze slashed across the room. “Don’t tell me you ‘cared,’ for I won’t believe it. If you’d cared, you wouldn’t have had me arrested.”

  He set his jaw. “My feelings for you didn’t change the fact that you’d been filching information for a foreign government.”

  “By the time you caught up with me, I had quit,” she returned hotly. “I wanted to begin anew, and this time I wanted to do things right.”

  “I wish I could believe that. But truth hasn’t been your strong point, has it?”

  “I’ve only done what I felt needed to be done.”

  “Such a short sentence, yet such a long meaning. You used me, Moira. You tricked me into giving you my name and then you left. You may be angry that I tracked you down and then turned you over to the Home Office, but it was no less than you deserved.”

  “I didn’t stay captive for long.”

  “No. I shouldn’t have allowed anyone else to guard you but me. Apparently I am the only man in England able to withstand your charms.”

  Her face pink, she shifted in the tub, water glistening on her bare shoulders. “I didn’t think you’d ever realize our marriage at Vauxhall was in earnest.”

  “You didn’t know me as well as you thought. But your actions presented a conundrum as there was no reason why you’d go to such lengths.” Robert paused. “Later on, though, a thought occurred.”

  Her gaze was locked with his and he had the impression that she held her breath.

  “Moira, where’s our child?”

  CHAPTER 6

  A note slipped into a birthday gift from Robert Hurst to his brother Michael for his sixteenth birthday.

  Since you are so enamored of travel tomes, I have sent you these. Consider them your birthday gift, as I ate the Turkish delight I had purchased for you last month from a London confectionery shop.

  I’m sure you will prefer the books anyway, so enjoy your dry, dusty tomes and I hope they sweeten that soured disposition of yours.

  Moira couldn’t breathe. How had he guessed the truth?

  He cocked a brow at her. “Well? Do we have a child or not?”

  “Don’t be silly.” She dipped the sponge into the water to give herself time to think. “Us, with a child? I can’t even imagine it.”

  He frowned, his gaze narrowing. “There is no child?”

  “No. I’m not a very maternal sort of woman. What would I do with a brat?” Even saying the words seemed a betrayal to Rowena.

  “I don’t know if I believe you.”

  She forced a chuckle. “Feel free to search my luggage, my apartment, whatever you wish. I prefer my life unfettered, as do you, I thought.”

  He was silent a moment, his gaze assessing her. “So you tricked me into marrying you because . . .”

  “It was a challenge. I just wished to see if I could do it.”

  “Ma chère, allow me to disabuse you of the notion that that makes any sense. You tricked me and left me for some purpose. The only purpose you could have is that you were with child.”

  For one wild moment Moira thought about telling him the truth, but even as she had the thought, her sponge slipped from her fingers onto the floor. The splash brought her back to her senses. She was so close to getting Rowena back; all she needed was that damn onyx box. There was no need to deal with this complication.

  What if he decides he wants to keep her? Moira’s heart stuttered. I can’t get her back only to lose her again!

  The courts would never be kind to a woman alone, especially with her dubious history. Robert had connections in the government and he would use them to his benefit. I ca
n’t chance it. He must never know about Rowena.

  Moira leaned over the edge of the tub for the dropped sponge, stretching to reach it. When she slid back into the water, she caught the faint flush on Robert’s face.

  So you aren’t immune to me.

  Watching him from under her lashes, she pulled her hair to one side and laid an arm on the rim of the tub, baring her breast.

  His lips tightened slightly, a significant response for a man who was always in control. Satisfaction buoyed her. “Perhaps I married you because I knew it would inflame you,” she said calmly, rubbing the lavender soap on the sponge and then circling it around her breast.

  This time he visibly caught his breath. You aren’t made of stone, are you?

  “Stop that right now.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Distracting me. I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work. If you don’t wish to discuss why you tricked me into marriage, then let’s talk of something else.”

  “Please, let’s.”

  “Good. Tell me about George Aniston. Why is that scoundrel in your life? And don’t pretend you’re in his employ. I know you and if there’s one thing you possess, it’s pride. You’d never work for a worm like him.”

  Suddenly, Moira was tired . . . tired of dissembling, tired of always being wary, tired of hating George Aniston and yet having to be polite to him while having to be hateful to Robert, when all she really wanted to do was—

  No, don’t, she told herself severely. “As you’ve already guessed, I’m assisting Aniston in collecting the onyx boxes.”

  “That tells me what, not why.” Robert leaned forward and she was struck by his strength. Despite his lace and fine clothing, there was no mistaking that he was a man through and through. He’d proven that to her between the sheets and in other ways as well. He might look a dandy, but he was hard-bodied, cool-mannered, and deadly when the situation warranted it. Anyone who thought differently was a fool.

  He fixed his blue, blue gaze upon her now. “Moira, whatever Aniston has over you, it can’t be worth degrading yourself to doing his bidding. Nothing is worth that.”