A Most Dangerous Profession(41)



She reached for her clothes, then paused. She needed the saddlebags from her horse, where she’d packed two gowns and a comb. Though the gown would be horridly wrinkled, it would be better for travel than the men’s clothing she’d worn yesterday. She took the lace-edged shirt and tugged it on, buttoning it at the neck. Perhaps she could call the maid to fetch the saddlebags and—A knock sounded on her door. Ah, the maid! Perhaps she brought breakfast, too. I can take something with me—Moira opened the door, standing behind it as she buttoned her shirt. “Please send someone to fetch my saddle—”

Her saddlebags thunked onto the floor in front of her and the door was pushed closed.

Moira blinked up at Robert, who was already shaved and dressed. He looked so like his usual calm, cool self, dressed in the height of fashion, that she had to stem a flicker of frustration.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze flickering over her. “I like that shirt.”

Her face blazed and she hurried to carry the saddlebags to the bed, where she opened one and pulled out a neatly wrapped brown package. “I saw the horses being hitched and thought you meant to leave.”

“I am sending my men on an errand. I thought the mail coach stopped here, but it doesn’t come this far north, so my men are going off to meet up with it.”

“The mail coach? Why?”

“That was Aniston’s coach you were traveling in, so I knew the servants were his. I won’t have them spying on us. Yesterday, Leeds and Stewart and I convinced Aniston’s men that they were no longer needed and I’m sending them all back to him.”

She couldn’t fault Robert’s logic. “I wish I could see Aniston’s reaction when they return.”

Robert’s blue eyes gleamed. “So do I. Meanwhile, I brought your clothing and ordered you a bath.” His gaze flickered to her hair. “The innkeeper said it would take an hour for the water to be brought, so you’ve time to eat breakfast, should you wish.”

“Thank you.” She undid the ribbon that tied the brown paper package together. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

“You needed it, but I’m glad you’re up now. We’ve much to do before we chase down this onyx box.”

His smile warmed her, and she could think of nothing coherent to say. She didn’t want to examine too closely her happiness at having Robert with her for this task.

She turned her attention to the package. A moment later, she shook out the folds of a round gown of pale green muslin trimmed in darker green silk ribbons. “I’ll need to send for my trunks and—”

She paused when his smile widened. “You already did that, too?”

“I sent a man at dawn. He is to fetch your trunks from the squire’s and rush them to us at Balnagown Castle. He should arrive shortly after we do.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”

“I try. I trust you have everything in your trunks that you need for this expedition?”

“Yes.” She peeped up at him. “We’ll be good partners.” Satisfaction filled her words.

“We shall see.” He settled into the chair by the fireplace. Robert couldn’t help admiring the sight of Moira in just a chemise and the white shirt. When she crossed to the washstand the sun lit her from behind, and for a startling instant her long, graceful legs were perfectly silhouetted before she crossed into the shadow and the white material became opaque once more.

Damn. Robert shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Though Moira had slept through the night, he hadn’t. He’d been agonizingly aware of the warm curves pressed against his back—a back he’d turned to prevent his traitorous body from reacting even more than it had.

Though he could have asked for another room, he’d wished to make certain she was well—or so he’d told himself. The truth was that he’d wanted to feel her body against his once again, even if it was just his back pressed to hers.

She reached up to undo the shirt, pausing when she caught his gaze.

He waved a hand. “Pray don’t let me stop you. I wish to discuss our plans once we arrive at Balna-gown.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Of course.” She tugged the shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor.

The fine lawn chemise offered very little in the way of modesty. The thin material clung to every slope and curve, hugging her skin like a lover’s hands, hinting at the shadows that lay beneath.

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