CHAPTER 1
A letter dated two weeks ago from Mary Hurst to her brother Michael.
The Hurst men are scattered to the winds. You’re being held by a horrid sulfi who won’t release you until we deliver the mysterious onyx box you purchased, which he fancies; William is braving the seas on his way to attempt to free you; and Robert is—(A large ink blot mars this portion of the letter.)
To be honest, we don’t know where Robert is. The last we heard, he was chasing a beautiful redhead through the wilds of Scotland in an attempt to unravel a mystery.
Oddly enough, of the three of you, I’m most worried about Robert.
Bonnyrigg, Scotland
July 16, 1822
Mr. Bancroft stepped onto the wide stone terrace and sighed at the thick mist that swirled about the trees and low lake. “Scotland!” he puffed out in disgust as he bent to wipe fat droplets of water from his shoes yet again with a handkerchief already limp from the damp air. “Who on earth would wish to live in a climate like this?”
Sighing, he reached into his pocket for a cigar, imagining the blessed warmth about to envelop him. He pulled out the cigar and frowned at the feel of it. “It’s damp! Damn this sodden, wet, thick-misted, sopping mess of a—”
“Softly, my dear Bancroft.”
The banker spun in surprise. “Mr. Hurst! Why—I—I—” The banker cast a glance at the house. “You’re a bit early. The sale doesn’t begin until this afternoon, and we’re not yet ready—”
“Let me guess. Things aren’t yet displayed, some aren’t even unpacked, the cases aren’t yet lit, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.” Robert Hurst hung a silver-topped cane over his arm and removed his gloves. “Am I correct?”
Mr. Bancroft nodded, silently admiring Hurst’s perfectly fitted overcoat. It made Bancroft uneasily aware of his own inexpensive, ill-fitting coat.
Hurst leisurely withdrew his monocle from his left breast pocket and viewed the house that rose behind them from the mist. “So this is the famed MacDonald House. A pity it’s not for sale, too.”
“The new viscount would have sold it if it hadn’t been encumbered. As it is, he will have to be content with selling the contents.” Bancroft sent a sly look at Hurst. “I’m not surprised to find you here, sir. There are many interesting artifacts from ancient Greece, Egypt, Mesopotamia—”
“I know exactly what’s to be sold,” Hurst said drily, his dark blue eyes gleaming with amusement. “I received your letter last week and you were quite thorough in your catalogue, which I greatly appreciated.”
Bancroft chuckled. “I shouldn’t have given you such an advantage, but we’ve worked together so often that I felt it only fair.”
“I am honored,” Mr. Hurst said gravely, swinging his monocle to and fro from one finger. “Just as the Earl of Erroll was honored to receive his copy of the exact same letter.”
Bancroft’s smile froze in place. “M-my lord?”
“And Lord Kildrew, Mr. Bartholomew, and God knows how many others.”
“Oh. I didn’t—That is to say, I never meant anyone to think—”
“Please, there’s no need to explain things to me,” Hurst said in a soothing tone. “You only wished to ensure a good number of bidders, which will be difficult in this godforsaken part of the country. Scotland is so . . . Scottish.”
The banker gave a relieved chuckle. “Yes! That’s it, exactly!” Feeling a sudden warmth at his visitor’s understanding air, Bancroft placed his hand on Mr. Hurst’s arm. “I promise you that if I’d had my way, I would have only notified you, sir.”
Mr. Hurst raised his monocle and eyed the hand upon his arm.
Face aflame, Bancroft quickly removed it.
“Just so.” Mr. Hurst lowered his monocle and tapped it gently on his palm. “It’s a pity your letter came to the attention of so many. While I didn’t allow such an egregious error to discourage me from attending, others weren’t so unaffected.”
Mr. Bancroft tried not to look as crestfallen as he felt. “Indeed, sir?”
“My new brother- in- law, the Earl of Erroll, was adamant that he had better things to do than attend.”
“Oh. Oh, no.”
“Yes, indeed. Lord Yeltstome swore he’d never come to another of your auctions unless dragged there by wild horses, which I thought quite overstated.”