A Most Dangerous Profession (21 page)

Moira

Robert glanced at the map, noting the location of the study, and then slipped it into his pocket. “Buffon, have you found out anything of use yet?”

“
Oui,
monsieur
. I discovered that Ross brags of his collections to all of his visitors, and often brings out special items to win praise. He is a bit of a braggart.”

That could be useful.
“Good. What else have you discovered?”

“Not much more, although I have made inroads in cultivating various personages below stairs, including”—Buffon made a face—“Ross’s valet. He might know something, which is why I make the sacrifice.”

Buffon picked up the wrinkled blue robe from the end of the bed and, holding it between thumb
and forefinger, carried it to the wardrobe and dropped it inside.

“Thank you, Buffon. Now I need to find my way to Ross’s study, but there is a problem. I don’t wish the footmen to know I’m wandering about. Do you think you could create a diversion, to draw them from the hallway?”

“It would have to be a big diversion, but
oui,
I could do it. I think for this, I will need fire.”

Robert raised his brows.

“Nothing less would draw them all. I will use just a small flame, but much smoke.” Buffon picked up a napkin from the tray and dipped a corner of it into the washbasin. “Shall I begin my diversion now?”

“Yes. I may only have two hours before
madame
and Ross return.”

“Very good,
monsieur
. Then I shall endeavor to start a second fire in a different corner around that time.”

“That would do very well.”

Buffon bowed and left. A few minutes passed, then one of the footmen gave out a sharp yell. Footsteps thudded, followed by more yells.

Robert peeked out the doorway as the faint scent of smoke wafted in. The hall was clear except for two footmen who hovered at the end,
looking uncertain if they should follow their brethren.

“Bless you, Buffon,” Robert murmured as he slipped out of his room and hurried to the opposite end of the hallway.

A letter from Mary Hurst to her brother Robert as he became an agent selling antiquities for their brother Michael.

Michael told me he was well pleased with how you are handling all of his sales, and that you’ve made him more money than he thought possible. He attributes it to your unique salesmanship. He said he knew there was something good to come of your dandified ways, even if it was to lure your victims (clients) into a false sense of security before you pounced on them with a steep price.

After Michael mentioned that, it dawned on me that you’ve been playing that part your whole life. He’s right; it has served you well.

I
t took Robert almost half an hour to reach the study without being seen. Footmen were everywhere. If he was caught sneaking about, Ross would increase the number of his men, and it would be impossible to look for anything. It was almost impossible now.

Robert slipped between two large tapestries adorning a wall and consulted his map. One more long hallway and he’d be at the study door. He tucked the map back into his pocket and peeked around the corner just in time to catch sight of two footmen. They were young and obviously bored, for they wandered down the hall without any air of purpose or urgency.

He pressed back against the wall, obscured from sight by a display of shields on one wall, and listened as their footsteps moved away from him and toward the very far end of the hall.

Keep going.

Fortunately, they took his silent advice and the
footsteps faded. Robert looked around the corner again and saw their shadows fading away down the conjoining hallway.

Now’s my chance.

He made a quick dash to the huge study door. Luckily it was unlocked; he wouldn’t have to stop to pick it. He slipped inside, closed the door, and pressed his ear to the cool oak panel to ascertain if anyone had seen him and put up an alarm.

All was blissfully silent. But then, he heard the footmen’s voices growing closer and closer. Another set of footsteps joined the first two, and Robert heard the butler’s impatient voice. “I came to make certain you’ve not strayed from your posts.”

“Och, we’ve been ’ere the whole time, sir,” said the footman. “As ye requested.”

The butler gave a disgusted sigh. “You were in the South Wing when I arrived, so I know that’s not true.”

“No’ fer long. Me and MacPhearson just wished fer a bit o’ fresh air, and the windows were open to the sun so we—”

“Take your post and
do not move
. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

Now I’m stuck here, and I’ll have to find a way out when I am done.

Robert walked to the center of the room, examining it in a sweeping glance. It was very large, with a fireplace at each end, a very high ceiling, a wheeled ladder to reach the highest shelves with ease, and several cozy furniture clusters that suggested one might find the settee of one’s dreams if one kept searching. At one end of the room several small statues and ancient figurines were displayed on a neat row of shelves. Adjacent to the shelves was a large oak desk, resplendent with carving.

It was the most obvious place to hide something, and he wasn’t convinced of Ross’s ability to think like a thief. That would take some intelligence beyond the norm, and thus far, Ross hadn’t exhibited such.

Robert sat down at the desk and examined every drawer, every nook and cranny, finding no sign that it held anything of value.
Too bad. I was hoping this would be simple.

He leaned back in the chair and surveyed the room again. The wall shelves were filled with an impressive assortment of books. He rose and scanned a few titles of the closest. Ross kept a decent collection of research tomes about ancient Greek civilizations, but they were unused-looking.
I’d wager my last groat Ross hasn’t read any of these.

He went to the largest, most ornate shelves, which were deeper and held larger books, many of them ancient maps held in binders. It was difficult not to succumb to temptation and get lost in examining them, but Ross and Moira would only be gone another hour, two at the most.

Is that blasted secret chamber here? It certainly looks like the sort of room to have one.
The shelves seemed the best place to begin. Could one be hiding a secret doorway?

He felt along the edges, noting any dip or impression along the way. He moved from bottom to top, using the wheeled ladder to reach the higher shelves. On and on he searched, finding nothing.

Frowning, he examined where the final set of shelves met the wall beside two windows. The shelves were flushly mounted, bolted solidly against the wall.
Not the shelves, then. Where else? The exposed walls near the windows? A door could be hidden there.

He couldn’t knock along the panels, listening for a hollow spot, due to the footmen in the hallway. So he rolled some thick blotter paper from the desk into a heavy tube, lit it, then held it to the bottom of the baseboards, looking for a waver in the flame to show there was an opening. He
had no fear that the smell of smoke might alert the footman because, thanks to Buffon, the entire castle now carried the scent.

Twenty minutes and another rolled tube of blotter paper later, he blew out the flame and sighed.
It
has
to be here.
The shelves and walls weren’t the answer . . . what about the floor? A trapdoor could be concealed beneath the polished wood.

He went to one corner and slowly examined each plank, each opening. After he’d walked the exposed portions, he began to work on the clusterings of furniture, all placed on thick rugs. He rolled up first one corner, and then the other, running his hand over the smooth wooden planks. Still, nothing.

Frustrated, he stepped back and surveyed the room again.
Where could that blasted thing be? Am I missing something?

The sound of activity outside made him cross to the window and flick back the edge of the curtain. Footmen were scurrying down the front steps, and when a shout went up, Robert followed the direction the men all turned. Moira trotted her bay around the final curve of the drive, patting the horse’s neck. She was alone, having apparently outdistanced Sir Lachlan.

“He couldn’t catch you, could he?” Robert
murmured, smiling as Moira pulled her magnificent steed to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. Her red hair drew the eye as did her sapphire blue habit, but she would have commanded attention in sackcloth and ashes. She had presence, that indefinable something that made the eye follow her every move.

Most women had to rely upon artifice or displaying themselves improperly, or drawing attention by adorning themselves with baubles. Moira needed no augmentation. She was a rare woman; one who carried her beauty rather than wearing it.

Ross came galloping around the bend in the drive, his mount foam flecked as he struggled to catch up.

Robert’s smile disappeared. There was no excuse to use a horse in such a way.

Ross paid the horse no heed. He was off his mount as soon as he drew it to an abrupt halt. He then tossed the reins to the nearest footman and pushed two more out of the way so that he, and he alone, was there to help Moira down from her mount.

Robert saw Moira’s cool gaze travel past Ross to his horse, which now stood with its head down, foam running down its neck and dripping from its
mouth. Her lips pressed into a straight line before she murmured something to Ross that made him flush a fiery red.

He bowed stiffly, then snapped an order to a footman, who immediately went to talk to one of the waiting grooms. Within moments, the heated horse was being walked up and down the drive, a blanket over his heaving shoulders.

Robert regarded Moira curiously. It was risky to reprimand their host at this early stage, yet that hadn’t stopped her.

She was a woman of great emotion. Robert thought of the pain he’d seen in her eyes when she’d talked about Rowena, and to his surprise, his own throat tightened. He’d reassured Moira for the past few days that Aniston would keep the child safe—physically safe. What Robert hadn’t shared was his fear of the damage being done to the child by being locked away, and the traumatic experience of being separated from her mother for so long. Since Rowena had only one parent, the separation from her mother would be that much more traumatic.

I should have been allowed to be a part of Rowena’s life, damn it. I should have been told about
—He swallowed back the thought.
I can’t think about that right now. I need to find that damned box.

Still, Robert found himself looking out of the window. Ross reached up to assist Moira from her mount. She unhooked her knee from the pommel and said something that made him laugh as she jumped from the horse’s back, Ross’s hands firmly about her waist as he assisted her to the ground.

Robert scowled when Ross didn’t immediately release her, bending forward to whisper something in her ear. Moira blushed adorably before turning and dashing up the front steps, her skirts fluttering behind her. With a bemused grin, Ross hurried after her, and they disappeared.

Robert realized his hand was fisted about the heavy silk curtain. He released it, disgusted by Ross and irritated by his own reactions.
She is doing as she is supposed to do, nothing more. I need to stop this ridiculous possessiveness.

There was something about Ross that infuriated Robert.
Perhaps it’s his overanxious air, as if he’s desperate to prove himself. That might explain why he takes such delight in collecting other men’s wives as trophies.

Robert stepped back from the window and glanced at the clock. Buffon had promised a diversion, but not for another twenty minutes. And there was no getting past the footmen without some help.

He looked back outside. There was a ledge here, similar to the one outside his bedchamber, but there were too many men in the courtyard to escape that way.

He’d have to leave through the hallway as soon as Buffon produced the promised distraction. Robert just had to wait and—

Moira’s voice sounded from the hallway, laughing merrily at something, and Robert grimaced.
Damn it, they are coming here!

Sir Lachlan patted Moira’s hand. “I look forward to sharing some of my treasures with a true appreciator of art.”

“Egypt is so romantic.”

He laughed indulgently. “It’s certainly profitable.” He allowed a footman to open the study door and gestured for her to precede him. “After you, my dear.”

Just before Moira stepped forward, a movement danced at the corner of her eye and she saw Buffon darting across the end of the hallway.

Ross must have seen the surprise on her face, for he turned to follow her gaze.

If Buffon is nearby, then
—She glanced at the open study door and then forced a laugh. “Don’t mock me, but . . .” She pointed to a suit of armor
that stood guard by the door. “For a moment, I thought I saw it move. One of your ghosts, perhaps?”

Ross laughed. “Not that I’m aware of. We have no ghosts who fancy suits of armor.”