A Most Dangerous Profession(34)
Discovering now that she’d been carrying his child when she’d left, and that she hadn’t bothered to tell him, added to his fury and confusion.
After I get my hands on that damned box and settle the issue with Aniston, she and I are due for a long, long talk.
He settled deeper in his chair, wishing he hadn’t had to leave her at the squire’s. No doubt she thought to set out after him, which was why he’d not only taken all of the horses, but also gone through her clothing and portmanteau to make certain she had no funds to hire a carriage.
“Let her feel the sting of being left behind for once,” he murmured, sipping the brandy. It served her right.
A coach pulled up outside, the traces rattling. Robert stood and crossed to the window, glad to see it was Buffon’s. Robert’s luggage—two large trunks and a number of smaller cases—was strapped to the top, so that it was almost as tall as it was long.
Stewart approached as the coach came to a stop and immediately engaged the valet in an energetic discussion. As Robert watched them, a rider on a large bay trotted into the inn yard, garnering no more than a passing glance from the arguing servants. The man guided his horse around the coach toward the stable.
As the gentleman pulled his horse to a halt he turned his head, his profile in stark relief against the dark stable door.
“Damn it!” Robert slammed his glass onto the table, the brandy sloshing out as he stalked out of the parlor.
CHAPTER 11
A diary entry from Michael Hurst the day he discovered the first onyx box.
I wasn’t impressed with the onyx box itself when I purchased it, for it was the parchment inside that excited me: a rare reference to the Hurst Amulet. I thought the parchment the true treasure, as there are dozens of such boxes and neither the piece nor its age were particularly notable.
But this morning, after I placed the parchment in a safe location, I prepared to toss the box into a crate to be sent back to England to be sold, and something caught my eye. One side seemed a little thicker than the others. To my surprise, it opened and revealed—I cannot trust myself to write it here, but I think I now know why I’ve been unable to find that damned amulet here in Egypt.
Someone removed it long, long ago.
Moira wearily contemplated dismounting her horse, her legs trembling with fatigue. Her escape had been flawless; no one had seen her and she’d quickly caught up to Buffon’s coach, which had led her here.
But other errors had been made. First, she was much weaker than she realized, which had become apparent as the hours passed.
Second, she’d assumed that Robert’s valet, being of such a prim and precise nature, would travel timidly. But either he had the constitution of a workhorse, or his commitment to his employer’s appearance was fanatical, for Buffon had only stopped when forced by the needs of the horses. Which had left Moira riding much longer than she’d expected.
She patted her horse’s neck. “No doubt you’re as tired as I am, aren’t you, girl?” The mare whickered softly. “Well, there’s no rest until this saddle is off, is there?”
Gathering herself, Moira swung out of the saddle. As her boots hit the cobbled yard, she knew she’d made a mistake. Her knees buckled instantly, and if she hadn’t been holding on to the saddle she’d have fallen to her knees.
She set her teeth and forced her weak legs upright. They locked in place like a tin soldier’s; only by leaning against her mount was she able to stand.
Behind her, she could hear the altercation between Robert’s valet and a groom. Thankful for the diversion, Moira rested her forehead against her horse’s neck. “Now what do I do?” If she tried to walk, she feared she might fall. But she couldn’t stay here much longer; someone was bound to see her, and while her costume was good enough to stave off instant recognition, it wouldn’t withstand close scrutiny.
She’d just have to grit her teeth and try to make it to the stables. Once there, she could find a place to rest away from prying eyes.
She took a deep breath, pushed away from the horse and took its reins, trying to ignore her trembling legs. “Ready?” she asked the mare. “Let’s go.”
She managed three steps before her knees buckled again, pitching her forward. Moira threw out her hands to catch herself, but strong arms swept her from the air, and she was tossed over a shoulder like a sack of grain.
Moira knew it was Robert the second she settled against his broad back, his arm around her thighs as he walked easily toward the inn. “Stewart,” Robert called as he walked past his astounded groom, “take care of the lady’s horse.”