A Most Dangerous Profession(35)
The groom, a small, wizened man with an oddly shaped figure blinked. “Lady?”
Buffon, a tall, well-favored man and considerably younger than she’d expected, looked down at the groom with disdain and said with a heavy French accent, “Oui, it is a lady. Can you not see? Ah, but all you see are the trousers and not the shape, eh?” He flipped a dismissive hand toward the red-faced groom. “Pah, you English who cannot tell the difference between a man and a woman. I wonder that you manage to have children.”
As Robert carried her into the inn, the innkeeper stared in amazement.
“What a surprise,” Robert said smoothly. “It appears that my wife has come to visit.”
“But I—” Moira began.
Robert slapped her bottom. “She was supposed to stay put at the home of our acquaintance. She can stay in my room; there’s no need to prepare another.”
The innkeeper, clearly sensing more largesse, nodded. “Yes, sir! I put ye in room number two, at the end of the hall at the top o’ the stairs.”
“Good. We’ll wait in the parlor until then. My wife has recently been ill, and she’s still not strong. If you’ve some gruel and some bread, that would be most welcome.”
“Robert, no!” Moira protested. She lifted her head to tell the innkeeper, “I dislike gruel and would rather have something else. Do you have—”
“She’ll have gruel.” With that pronouncement, Robert went into the small parlor. Ducking the beams, he carried her to the fireplace and unceremoniously dumped her into a chair.
Seeing his grim expression, she said, “You shouldn’t have left me.”
The words sounded sulky, but she didn’t care. She was so tired, her back and legs afire, and now Robert had just ignominiously scooped her up and paraded her before the entire population of the inn.
“Idiot. You’re so tired you can barely sit upright.” He went to a small table and picked up a glass and brought it to her. “Here. Drink this.”
“It’s not more of your tonic, is it?”
“No, it’s brandy.”
She took the glass and, by dint of supporting her wrist with her other hand, managed to sip it without trembling too badly. The first sip warmed her, the second smoothed her tattered nerves, and the third sip made her lean back in the chair and sigh. “Thank you.” Some of her tiredness seemed to melt away.
“You’re welcome.” He plucked her hat off and tossed it aside. “Now I can see your eyes.” He took the chair opposite hers, his dark blue gaze hard. “You’re a fool to have come all this way. Less than a week ago a fever nearly killed you.”
“Robert, this isn’t your fight; it’s mine. I will do whatever I must to get that box, and my daughter, sick or not.”
“She’s my daughter, too.”
Moira rested her head against the tall back of the chair. “This is too important for us to argue over. I came here to you, because I think we’ll do better if we work together.”
“I can get the box without your help. I’ve already made arrangements through Ross’s Edinburgh agent to purchase it.”
“As did I,” she replied. “Before I left town.”
Robert paused. “Mr. Gulliver?”
“At number four High Street. A rather unctuous man with a tendency to sneeze.”
Robert muttered a curse. “That arse sold the box to both of us!”
“Yes.” She took another sip of the brandy. “Did you ever wonder why Ross, who isn’t well known in the world of antiquities, possesses such a unique item?”
Robert shrugged. “I assumed he’d somehow recognized its value.”
“No. He purchased it because it is easy to reproduce.”
“Ah, he sells copies.”
“Yes. I recognized Mr. Gulliver, though he didn’t know me, since I was veiled. He used to go by the name of Comte Constanti. Before that, he was a well-known forger of Greek statuary.”
“Bloody hell. You knew this when I caught up to you in Edinburgh. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because you left me at the squire’s before we could discuss it.” She placed the empty glass at the table by her elbow, glad that her trembling had stopped. “If you had taken me with you, I’d have shared my information.”
“I was coming back to get you.”