A Most Dangerous Profession Page 6

  Oh, but there is, she thought, her chest tight with anguish. “There’s nothing to tell you about Aniston. He and I’ve done business a few times. That’s all.”

  “So you’re friendly.”

  “No.” The word cracked through the air.

  Robert’s brows rose and she knew she’d betrayed her feelings too much.

  She scowled. “He’s a cheat and no friend of mine. He never has been.”

  “I can see that.” Robert’s soft voice held a wealth of meaning. “Then why do you assist him? It can’t be the money, for you’re quite capable of making money whenever you wish. You’re very resourceful.”

  She sighed. Perhaps part of the truth would assuage his curiosity. “Aniston is blackmailing me. He specializes in that low art.”

  “True. He was using it against my sister-in-law, from whom you stole the first onyx box.”

  “Miss Beauchamp is married to William?”

  “Yes, though she keeps her maiden name for her career upon the stage.”

  “Her marriage must be a blow to Lord Covington. Wasn’t she his mistress?”

  “In name only. Covington is more likely to get engaged to George Aniston, if his preferences are any indication.”

  Moira started. “Covington and Aniston are lovers?”

  “For almost two years. Covington dropped Aniston after his blackmail schemes were revealed. It was then revealed that not only was Aniston blackmailing Miss Beauchamp, but he was also pledging Covington’s funds around town and had run up a huge number of bills. Once Covington dropped Aniston, he was forced to leave London or be thrown into debtor’s prison.

  “Which brings us back to: Why is Aniston blackmailing you? Forgive me if I indulge in some speculation, but you seem to be unable to share the truth.” Robert templed his hands, resting his fingers against his chin, his dark blue eyes agleam. “You say Aniston is holding something over your head in order to secure your very considerable services.”

  “Yes.” More or less.

  “Hmm. Forgive me for stating the obvious, but it’s not as if you have a reputation to uphold or a family to protect. And I cannot imagine you abide him for the money. As you said, you had retired, so I’m assuming you had sufficient funds stashed away to do so.”

  She didn’t answer, and he smiled. “I know for a fact that you did retire, because there has been no mention of you for over five years in any investigation run by the Home Office.”

  “I could have been overseas,” she said waspishly, hating that he had deduced so much from so little.

  “I had people watching even there. You disappeared and then about six months ago, there you were, back in business and in a big way. There has to be a reason.”

  “Perhaps I was bored.”

  He shook his head. “No, Aniston has something he is holding over you, forcing you to fetch and scheme for him. Something significant.”

  She puffed a frustrated sigh. “I’m done with this conversation. If you’ll excuse me, I must get out of this cold water.” She grasped the sides of the tub and stood, water running down her skin, her nipples peaking in the cold air.

  Robert had thought he was completely under control, but the sight of her naked body glistening, as if she were Venus arising from the ocean, made his heart stop. Every drop caught his attention as they slowly ran down the top of her full breasts, slid down the flat plane of her stomach, then caressed the smooth curve of her hips and thighs.

  Robert’s body tightened, his cock hardening.

  She wrung her wet hair over the tub, then flipped it over one shoulder before she picked up a towel and dried herself.

  “I don’t know that brunette hair is your best look. It makes you appear a bit witchy.”

  She slipped on a silk robe. “It will fade within two weeks.” She rubbed the towel on her hair and showed him the faint dark smear left upon the cloth. “See?”

  The long robe belted about her narrow waist, her hair wrapped in a towel, she sauntered across the room to take the settee next to him.

  She had no shame. Nothing but the thin silk of the robe separated her from him, a maddening thought.

  As if she knew, she tucked her legs beside her into the settee, the movement tugging the robe open so that the deep cleavage between her breasts was revealed. The thin robe clung to her damp skin and her nipples were clearly outlined.

  No other woman he knew was so comfortable being nearly nude before a male. Not the opera singer he’d sponsored for a year, not the ballet dancer, nor the actress. Or the many others he’d bedded.

  Only Moira.

  “Enough of this,” he snapped. “I can see you’re not going to be honest about your connection to Aniston. There is another reason I came here. There’s no need to visit Ross tomorrow, as you were instructed. That onyx box will be mine.”

  Her lashes flickered, then she shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  “Ma chère, I’m doing you a favor—there’s no need for you to waste your time. If I see you in the highlands, I will personally tie you up, put you in my coach, and have you delivered to the Home Office to face the charges of treason which still await.”

  She leaned back, sleek and elegant. “Am I to suppose that you’ve already found a way to acquire the box?”

  “Ross and I have already agreed upon a price. I have but to deliver the funds and it is mine.”

  Robert saw the fleeting disappointment in her eyes. Good. That’s all I need. He stood. “I believe I’ve been quite clear. You’ll inform Aniston that the onyx box is not available to him.”

  “And if I can’t?”

  “Tell him now or tell him later, after you have failed to fetch the box. It doesn’t matter.”

  Very real fear crossed her face, surprising him. What in the hell is she hiding? Moira was no coward, so if she feared Aniston, then she had good reason.

  Robert grasped her wrist and hauled her to her feet, the scent of lavender tickling his nose, her body pressed to his. His temperature rose, his breath quickening as his body reacted to her. This is not why I pulled her into my arms.

  He held her away from him and gave her a little shake. “Damn it, stop being so stubborn. Tell me what hold that fool has over you.”

  Her gaze went to his and held it. “Why do you care?”

  He didn’t know why. He only knew that when he saw the fear in her eyes, he was overcome with the need to act, to take charge, to protect her.

  Which was entirely foolish.

  A look of amazement arose in her gaze. Then, before he knew what she was about, she slipped an arm about his neck, lifted onto her toes, and kissed him.

  The kiss was bold, like Moira herself. She made full use of her curves, pressing against him as she pulled one of his hands to her hip.

  Robert’s resolve fled. God, she drove him mad with desire. He still wanted her, desired her, dreamed of her—he’d never stopped.

  He wrapped himself around her, deepening the kiss, molding her to him, the thin silk urging him on.

  She moaned, her thigh rubbing his rigid cock. Robert cupped her rounded ass and lifted her, carrying her to the bed, where he joined her on the coverlet, his hands roaming over her body like a starved man gorging himself. God, how he’d longed to have her like this. How he’d dreamed of it.

  No other woman could inflame his passions as quickly as this one. She knew just where to touch, how to stroke; even her kisses were more intoxicating than any others.

  He ran his hands up to her breasts and impatiently pushed aside her robe. Her creamy breasts were revealed, the dusky rose-colored nipples begging for attention. She didn’t have the overly large breasts some men craved; hers were more delicate in size, fitting the palm of his hand perfectly.

  He bent and captured one of her nipples between his lips, teasing her to gasping moans, his body aflame as she tugged at his trousers, releasing his shirt.

  He slipped his knee between hers and opened her thighs. Her robe slipped even more, revealing her body to his hungr
y gaze. God, but she was seductive; he ached for her touch even as she gave it. Her hands never stilled, seeking, stroking, undoing buttons until she’d opened his breeches.

  The feel of her hands on his bared waist brought him to his senses.

  This was how she tricked me before. It is how she will trick me again. The thought was like ice water upon his passion.

  He pushed himself away and looked down at her. She appeared somehow vulnerable, her eyes were half closed, her face flushed with desire, her lips swollen from his kisses. Her skin white against the blue silk robe, her dark hair making her eyes appear almost emerald.

  Never had any woman worn the flush of passion better, yet Robert found the strength to leave her by remembering the last time she’d been like this, moaning beneath him. He’d been enthralled, enraptured . . . and at the end of that day, she’d tricked him into marriage and disappeared.

  Ignoring the thundering of his heart, he rose from the bed and adjusted his clothing, saying with a coolness he was far from feeling, “I shall send my carriage in the morning to convey you wherever you wish. Just don’t make the mistake of appearing at Ross’s.”

  She sat upright, tightening her robe, her cheeks pink. “And what am I to tell Aniston?”

  “The truth; that I informed you that it would be a wasted effort.” He lifted his brows. “Or you can tell me what that cretin holds over you, and I will deal with him for you. However you wish it.”

  Her lashes dropped as she looked down at the robe sash between her fingers. “No. I will deal with Aniston. He is my problem, not yours.”

  Robert shrugged. “Have it as you will.” He went to the door and unlocked it. “When I’ve retrieved that damned box, I’ll return.”

  “I won’t be here,” she said sharply.

  “Go where you will; I will find you nonetheless.” He smiled. “I always have.”

  And with that he was gone, the door closing firmly behind him.

  CHAPTER 7

  A letter from Alexander MacLean to his brother-in-law, Robert Hurst.

  The last time you came to visit Caitlyn, you wondered if there were some interesting research tomes in my library. Naturally your sister would not allow such an innocuous question to rest, and she has combed the shelves to make a list of all of the books that might be of interest to either you or any of your brothers. That is, she has combed all of the lower shelves. She left it to me to do the higher ones.

  May I point out that the library is very large? And that this little task took me hours?

  It would be easier to cut off my own leg than disappoint my wife, so I must ask that you refrain from ever wondering anything aloud in my house again. Like all of the Hursts, she has no concept of the word “no.”

  The luxuriously large coach lumbered down a narrow lane through the Scottish countryside. The verdant hills had given way to mountainous crags that loomed in the distance, white tipped against the gray sky.

  Grasping a ceiling strap, Robert stretched his legs, glad that they were within two days of reaching Balnagown Castle, where Sir Lachlan Ross resided.

  The last week had been interminable, the roads at times nearly impassable, the days filled with grayness and rain, the inns damp and inhospitable, the food too wretched to think about. He sighed, weary to the bone.

  Still, it was worth it: soon he’d have the third and final onyx box in his possession. He smiled. And then the real search for the Hurst Amulet will begin.

  Michael had always said the amulet should be in the possession of their family and he’d become obsessive about it. To Robert, it seemed to be family folklore more than anything else. Almost everything they knew could be labeled as fable and hearsay.

  Robert wondered if Michael believed the tales that said the amulet had magical properties. According to the story, the amulet had been created by an ancestor, a white witch of great beauty. Then it had been stolen from her by the laird of the MacLean family. In return, she’d cursed the family so that whenever one of them lost their temper, storms would fly. “Ridiculous,” Robert muttered.

  Still, two of Robert’s sisters, Triona and Caitlyn, had married into the MacLean family and, through the years, he’d caught bits of conversations that indicated that the curse existed. But that was foolishness. He was a practical man, one who dealt with facts and not far-fetched nonsense like curses and magical amulets. All he knew was this: there was a family heirloom that, through the ages, had gotten lost. Records proved that it had ended up in the possession of Queen Elizabeth, who had given it to a foreign emissary for reasons unknown, though some suggested she’d grown fearful of it. After that, the amulet had disappeared.

  Robert reached under the seat and pulled out his portmanteau. From a secret pocket on the side he removed first a small vial—a potion his sister-in-law had given him before he’d begun the mad chase after Moira, saying it would render the user unconscious, which he thought might be useful. He then removed a black velvet bag.

  He replaced the vial in the secret pocket and opened the bag. Inside lay two onyx boxes, their odd engravings gleaming in the gray light. He spread the velvet across his lap and, flipping a few unseen latches, undid the boxes so that they lay completely flat. He placed them upon the velvet and turned them so that the inside surfaces were face up. Then, with a twist, he slid the two panels and clicked them together. They fit perfectly. He tilted the smooth surface so that the light found the etchings, which produced a map. Michael believed that the map would lead them not only to the lost Hurst Amulet, but to other treasures as well.

  The map was why a sulfi had held Michael prisoner, demanding the return of the box he’d legitimately purchased. “It’s also why George Aniston wants these,” Robert murmured as he studied the map. It was the only reason Aniston would be persistent in trying to obtain them all; he had to know.

  Did Moira know about the map? Robert traced a wriggling line that was perhaps a river. He doubted Aniston would share such information; if the man had any sense, he’d be cautious around a woman of Moira’s resourcefulness. She was much stronger and more devious than Aniston and, if cornered, would fight like a she-wolf.

  Robert tilted the metal surface to a better angle, catching the gray light streaming from the window, noting that a mountain range appeared to take up almost half of the map. What country could this be? It certainly wasn’t Egypt; they had very few mountains there. Italy? Greece? Switzerland?

  The final panel held the key. He sighed and refolded the boxes, then slid them back into the velvet sack and into his portmanteau. As soon as he had the final box, he’d sprint back to London. Hopefully William would have secured Michael’s freedom, and they’d all examine the map together. Michael’s knowledge of ancient maps should enable him to decipher the markings.

  The sound of thundering hooves announced an approaching rider. Robert banged on the roof. The coach immediately pulled to one side and stopped.

  Robert leaned out the window, and smiled at the rider who’d just pulled up. “Ah, Leeds. You’re early.”

  Leeds patted his lathered horse. “Ye expected me, sir?”

  “Oh, yes. Miss MacAllister gave you the slip.”

  “Indeed she did, sir. Ye said to tell you if—”

  “When’s the last time you saw her?”

  “Three days ago, sir. Just as ye said it would, Aniston’s coach came fer her. And every day, she sent it away. The last day, she sent it off as usual, went back inside, and we ne’er saw her again.

  “We thought she was still inside the George fer the day, but when she hadna come down fer dinner, I sent someone upstairs.” Leeds shook his head. “She was gone.”

  “I warned you,” Robert said, feeling an odd mixture of irritation and excitement. He shouldn’t be excited, damn it.

  “I don’t understand, sir. She made quite a point o’ sendin’ off the coach, tellin’ the coachman tha’—” Leeds caught Robert’s dry smile and broke off.

  “That’s when she left, then. I daresay she sent
the coach around the corner, then exited through the back door and went to meet it.”

  “We were watchin’ the back door, sir.”

  “Perhaps she found an open window, and met the coach down the road, away from the inn. No matter. If she’s escaped then you can be damned sure we’ll see her again, for she’s heading to Balna-gown Castle, too. What sort of coach did Aniston send?”

  “It was a light one, sir. Made fer travelin’ swiftly, no’ comfort.”

  Robert glanced down the road behind them. “If she left three days ago, and if she has a lighter coach, she could catch up, though we still have a day or two before we need to worry. At least she’s behind us, and there’s only one road into Tain, the closest village to the castle, so she’ll have to come this way.”

  “Aye, sir. I rode hell fer leather once’t I knew she’d escaped.”

  “Good man.” Robert noted the man’s exhausted face. “Tie the horse on back and join Stewart on the box. We’ll stop shortly to spend the night at some ill begotten inn. Stewart seems to know every damp bed this side of the Argyll River.”

  Leeds grinned. “Aye, sir.”

  Robert settled back into his seat. He wasn’t the slightest bit surprised by the news. So you didn’t listen to a word I said, did you, Moira? Some things never change.

  He should be upset, but he realized that if she hadn’t followed, he’d have been disappointed. Since their meeting at the George, he’d been plagued with memories of the feel of her beneath him on the bed. Every time he closed his eyes, he would see her delicious body stretched out on the coverlet—every delicate hollow, seductive shadow, and beckoning curve. Because of those memories, he’d found sleeping very unrestful, but far more interesting than usual.

  He yawned. He could do with a nap now. Smiling, he settled into the corner and allowed the rocking of the coach to lull him to sleep.

  An hour later, a loud rumble awoke Robert. He lifted his head and listened, frowning. Surely that can’t be Moira.

  A shout from the coach box made Robert unlatch the window and look out.