A Most Dangerous Profession(3)
The banker sniffed the cigar and rolled it between his fingers, sighing with pleasure. “I don’t normally smoke while working, but it’s so blasted cold here.”
“I completely understand.” Hurst returned the case to his coat and then touched his hat brim. “Enjoy your cigar. I shall return shortly.”
“Please take your time! I’ll just wait here and—” But Hurst had already crossed the terrace and entered the house, the door clicking closed behind him. It wasn’t until Bancroft had almost finished the cigar that he realized that Hurst hadn’t shared the second reason he’d made the trip from London.
CHAPTER 2
A letter from Michael Hurst to his brother Robert over a dozen years ago, after his first sale of an antiquity.
Robert, I’m astonished you received so much money for that small statuette. It appears that you were correct in your assumption that Egyptian artifacts are growing in popularity among the wealthy.
Your silver tongue has always won your way into the beds of London women. I now realize that it can be applied to more lucrative opportunities.
I shall send you more objects to sell. Pray apply your persuasive ability to raising funds for my future explorations with all of the enthusiasm and vigor that you use to capture those beautiful ballerinas, handsome opera singers, and seductive actresses.
Moira MacJames placed two coins on a black velvet cloth. She squinted at the second one, then lifted it to the light. “Athenian, but—” She tilted it to one side. “Ah. Just as I thought.”
“A fake, hmm?”
She jerked upright at the deep, masculine voice, her gaze flying straight ahead to the ornate gilded mirror above the table. Instantly, she found herself looking into the dark blue eyes of Robert Hurst.
Her heart pounded in her throat as her gaze traveled over him. His fashionable coat was smooth over his broad shoulders and cut to reveal a narrow waist, while well-fitted trousers were tucked into ornate riding boots that encased long, powerful legs. He was wearing his black hair longer now, and it fell over his brow, emphasizing his eyes.
“How are you, Miss—Oh, it’s Mrs. now, isn’t it?” His voice and eyes mocked her.
Her cheeks burned and she struggled to calm her scattered thoughts. Damn it all, he knew I’d be here. But how? Until two weeks ago, I didn’t even know that.
The desire to run for her horse had to be tamped down. If she wished to escape from this man, she’d need a good head start and a lot of luck.
If there was one thing Moira was very good at it was judging the best way to make an escape. She not only had a talent for it, but also plenty of practice.
The first step was to keep him from knowing how much she wanted to run. She turned and gave him a smooth smile. “What a surprise to see you here.” She gestured to the artifacts lined up for display. “Among dusty treasures, just like old times.”
“Actually, it’s nothing like old times. For one, I now know who—and what—you are.”
She quirked a brow. “Bitter?”
“No, no. I’ve merely become a realist, my dear.” He leaned gracefully upon an ornate silver-handled cane, his expression cool. “You can’t be surprised to see me; I was invited to the sale.”
Robert wouldn’t carry a cane without a purpose. A hidden sword, perhaps? “I knew you’d be here. I just didn’t think you’d arrive before the doors opened.” At which time she’d be long gone, her pockets lined with a few particularly sellable pieces. Since she hadn’t found the object she was searching for, she’d have to settle for something else to make her time worthwhile.
“I take that to mean that you planned to leave by the time I arrived. It’s a good thing I came early.”
Blast you, Robert. How do you always seem to know my intentions? I hate that. “If I had planned to leave, no one would blame me, since you were so unpleasant the last time we saw one another.”
“Me?”
“You had me arrested.”
“You were a spy and pretended to be Russian royalty. What else could I do?”
“I wasn’t spying. I was simply collecting information about some business ventures for a foreign investor.”
“Who was gathering information to manipulate the market and devalue our currency. And the information you passed on was stolen right from the desk of the Home Office. If you hadn’t escaped you’d have gone to prison, and you know it.”