A Most Dangerous Profession (10 page)

“What is it?”

“It will help the pain. Careful, it probably tastes horrid.”

She sipped it cautiously, then took a bigger sip. “It’s sweet.”

“Good.” He held the vial to the light. She’d taken half of it, but perhaps that would be enough. “Let me know how you feel.”

“Very well.” She closed her eyes.

He waited, studying her profile, noting her pale skin. Outside, Leeds instructed the men to walk the horses. A moment later he heard his own carriage being moved up the road, probably to keep the lane from being blocked.

She sighed, and he glanced at her again. To his surprise, the tense expression on her face had relaxed and her breathing was smoother.

“Moira?”

She opened her eyes, offering a sleepy, almost seductive smile. “Yes?” Her voice was low and rich and slid over him like a pair of warm hands.

Bloody hell, what’s in that potion?
He cleared his throat. “Feel better?”

“Ohhhh, yessss.” She closed her eyes again, her lips still curved in a smile. “Muuuuch better.”

Good God, whatever was in that vial was potent.

She laughed, the sound sultry. “I can’t believe the coach didn’t take the corner. It didn’t look that sharp. I shouldn’t have pressed the driver.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

She peeped at him through her lashes. “If it had been anyone else but you, I’d have never made the attempt. You are my one weakness.”

Oh ho. Apparently the potion also reduces inhibitions. That’s interesting.
“I don’t wish to be anyone’s weakness.”

“Well, you are. You, Robert Hurst, are my one, big, grand weakness.” She blinked slowly, her thick lashes casting shadows over her eyes and making them appear deep forest green. “I wonder how many other women think that about you? Probably hundreds.”

“I doubt that,” he said absently, noting that blood was beginning to soak through the bandage on her head.
Damn it, where’s Stewart?

“I don’t doubt it,” she returned, her lips turned into a sulky pout. “How many women have you seduced since I left? A dozen? Two dozen? Or are your conquests too numerous to count?”

He started to reply, but she continued, “I used to think about you with all of those conquests whenever I missed you.”

“You missed me?”

“Dreadfully. I don’t know why, because you weren’t in love with me. You never pretended you were. But I—” She blinked, as if realizing that she’d said too much.

“Moira, does your head hurt anymore?”

She paused, then smiled. “No! Not at all.”

That was good news. He would have to thank Marcail for the tonic, and ask her about the interesting side effects.

“In fact,” Moira added, “I feel wooooonderful.”

“That’s good because we will need to move you soon. It might hurt.”

“That’s all right. It can’t be worse than having a ba—” She stopped, her eyes slowly locking with his.

Silence stretched between them. Finally, he said, “Baby.” He was unable to believe the words he’d just said. “
Our
baby.”

“No.
My
baby,” she replied stubbornly.

Robert didn’t know what to say. His worst fears had been realized. This was why he’d searched so long for her, why he’d never given up.

I have a child. Good God, what do I do now?
“Where is this child?”

Moira’s lips quivered, and tears filled her eyes.

The truth hit him like a blow to the stomach. “
Aniston
. He’s taken—”

Moira held out a hand, as if to stop his words.

“Damn that man! That’s what he is holding over you, isn’t it?”

“Yes. He stole her from my home while I was gone seeing to the sale of some land.”

“You were living in Scotland all of this time?”

“Yes. I bought a small house in a village near Edinburgh within two weeks of our last meeting. I had tucked away a good bit of money and we had very few needs. She and I were so happy there—until Aniston stole her away.”

He had a daughter. “How long has that cretin had her?”

“Almost six months now. Sh-she’s growing up without me, and I don’t even know if she’s safe or—” Moira pressed a hand to her mouth.

“And you’ve tried to rescue her.” It wasn’t a question; he knew her too well.

“I’ve tried everything. Aniston keeps her locked away somewhere and only rarely allows me to see her. He is very careful to come fully armed and with a number of men. Once I tried to escape with her, but he caught us and never again allowed me to see her unless we were guarded. If I wish to see her, I must do as I’m told. Aniston thinks he’s defeated me.” Her eyes flashed emerald fire. “But I will
never
give up trying.”

Robert closed his eyes, fury surging through him. Aniston had their daughter—
his
daughter.
When I finally get my hands on that—

But now was not the time for useless fury. Moira was injured.

“We will deal with Aniston later,” he managed to say through clenched teeth.

“We can’t.” A tear slid from the corner of her eye and trailed down her cheek. “I have to get this box and return it to him. I saw her just last week and the nurse hits her, and I—” A sob wracked Moira’s body.

When he next saw Aniston, Robert would take great pleasure in ripping the man apart.

Moira gulped a sob and Robert noticed that the bandage he’d made for her head was now soaked through with blood. He cursed and ripped two more flounces from her gown and tied them more tightly over the other bandage. They slowed the
flow immediately, though she winced. “I’m sorry if that’s uncomfortable. You’re bleeding. It had to be done.”

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Only Rowena.” Moira’s voice was softer than a whisper.

“You matter as well,
ma chère
. Once I kill Aniston, Rowena will need her mother more than ever. Meanwhile, we need to get you to a doctor.” He glanced impatiently at the door swinging open over their head. “I wish Stewart would return.”

“Robert, you understand now why I must have that box? I have no choice.”

“We’ll talk about the damned box when you’re better.”

“You are so kind,” she said. “Few people know that about you, but I do. So kind, and so afraid anyone might see it.”

“That’s the tonic talking,” he said. “I don’t know what’s in it, but it makes you very silly.”

“You’re always kind to me,” she said drowsily as she captured his wrist and brushed her lips over the back of his hand.

A wave of lust answered her innocent gesture and he pulled his hand free. “Stop that.”

She smiled. “You understand me. No one else ever does.”

“We understand one another. Although I
wonder why you didn’t tell me about our daughter before now.”

“You didn’t want a child.”

“No, but I—”

“I did.” Her gaze met his, clear and honest. “So I didn’t tell you about our daughter because I wished to keep her to myself, without any interference from you.”

Robert frowned. He should be thankful to hear the truth, regardless of how damning it was to his pride.

This tonic had many uses indeed. It would have taken him weeks, perhaps months, to get so much honesty out of her. “Moira, shouldn’t that have been my decision, too?”

Her brows lowered. “Robert, if I’d told you, you would have been upset and thought it a trick and always wondered if she was really yours.”

Moira was right; he would have wondered. “Is she?”

“Yes.” Moira yawned, suddenly looking very sleepy. “You can see it now, but not when she was younger. She grows more like you every day, which is . . . most unfair. Since I’ve been the one . . . doing all of the . . . work.” Moira’s eyes closed as the tonic claimed her.

“Even asleep, you are the most infuriating
woman I’ve ever met,” Robert told her. With relief, he heard Stewart’s voice and another one, loud and aristocratic.
Help has arrived.

His head spinning with the shocking fact that he was a father, Robert climbed from the coach to organize Moira’s rescue.

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.

S
he 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.”