A Most Dangerous Profession(29)

“Mm-hmm.” He lowered himself into the small chair, the wood creaking in protest.

Beginning to feel the effects of the tonic, she sent him a glance under her lashes and watched as he tried to get comfortable. Robert had grown more muscular over the years, his arms and shoulders wider and more powerful. “You are very healthy,” she said aloud. “Very.” She stirred as a restless feeling settled over her.

His amused gaze found hers. “Feeling the tonic, are you?”

“Yessss. I suppose I am.” Every sense seemed heightened. The thick sheets were soft against her legs, the counterpane’s design seemed more prominent under her fingertips, the lemonade scent tickled her nose, and she could hear her own breath. Every moment seemed clear, and oddly sensual. She pulled at the neck of her night rail, which seemed too tight.

Her gaze flickered to Robert and focused on his firm mouth. He’d always been a sensual kisser, teasing and nipping and driving her mad with—Stop thinking about that! “So . . . have you been here with me the entire time?”

“Yes.”

“Without starched cravats, I see.”

His lips twitched. “Despite the arrival of my portmanteau and my valet, I’ve been too busy to do more than wash and change.”

“Your valet must feel slighted.”

“You have no idea. Buffon believes my appearance is a reflection of his value. Needless to say, his sensibilities are a bit bruised.”

“Buffon . . . I should have known you’d have a French valet. No English valet would allow you to wear so many ruffles.”

“My valet will never dress me, nor does he attempt to press his style upon me, be he English or else.”

She eyed him now. “I wish you’d take off that shirt.”

His brows rose. “Why?”

“The wrinkles make my head hurt. My eyes try to trace them and it’s impossible.” He started to reply, but she abruptly said, “I’m surprised you didn’t continue after the box. You had a head start.”

He stretched his long legs before him, his gaze hooded. “I didn’t wish to leave until I knew you were well. I’m sure you would have done the same for me.”

I wouldn’t have waited on you.

She caught his amused gaze and realized that she hadn’t been thinking to herself at all. “I . . . I said that aloud, didn’t I?”

“Yes. The tonic has an interesting effect on you. You become more . . . honest.”

“I’m always honest.”

He raised his brows, and she felt compelled to amend, “Well, most of the time. Sometimes a lie is necessary—especially when a person has a secret.” She knew she should quit talking, but she couldn’t. “I wish I didn’t have so many secrets—far more than the average woman.”

“You’ve never been honest with me. I’ve found out more about you in the short time you’ve been under the influence of that tonic, than when we were living in each other’s pockets.”

“What have I told you?”

A self-satisfied smile settled on his mouth. “All sorts of interesting things.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips. Had she told him about Rowena? “Were any of the things I told you very surprising?”

“Very.”

“I didn’t mention anything really unusual, did I? Because if I did, it was probably untrue. This tonic makes me feel very odd, and who knows what I might have made up while—”

“Moira, you told me about our daughter.”

Oh God, no. But one look at his stern face told her he knew.

“You also called for her during your fever. I know all about Rowena.”

“I see,” she said wearily. The tonic no longer made her senses stronger. Now it was dulling them and making it difficult to think.

“Don’t look so forlorn. It explains a lot: why you are so determined to obtain that onyx box, and why you’ve been working for Aniston.”

“I hate that man.”

Robert’s jaw tightened. “So do I.”

For a moment, they were united.

She closed her eyes to rest and heard Robert say, as if from a long way off, “I’ve made some decisions about our pursuit of the box.”

She forced herself to look at him, though her eyelids were as heavy as anvils. “Yes?”

His gaze flickered over her face and he chuckled. “I’ll give you the details when you awaken from your nap.”