A Most Dangerous Profession(57)

“Oui. The onyx box.”

“Yes. It appears Ross has decided to switch it for a copy.”

Buffon gave a visible start. “Mon Dieu! Does he not know who you are?”

“Ah, Buffon, not everyone holds me in such high regard as you.”

“I know what makes a gentleman,” Buffon said loftily. “This Ross is not a gentleman, but a barbarian. And no wonder, for he lives here in this wretched countryside, far from civilization. I daresay he does not even wear a cravat!”

“He wears one, but he mangles the knot. Regardless of your opinion of Ross’s neckwear, I need to find this secret chamber so I can retrieve the original box. It’s possible that the servants may know where to look, and that is where you come in.”

“Of course, monsieur. I shall take great pleasure in discovering where this chamber may be.”

“Excellent. I don’t know the size of it; it may be quite small.”

“Do not worry; wherever it is, Buffon will find it.” The valet put his hand over his heart and said in a voice replete with feeling, “Even if I have to seduce a dozen chambermaids, I will discover the secret.”

“I’m moved by the sacrifices you make for me.”

“I am very loyal, am I not? Fortunately, I do not mind seducing the chambermaids. I have done so for you before, and I will do it again.”

“Considering the number of maids here, I daresay you can find at least one who is attractive. But if you cannot find any unfreckled chambermaids, feel free to glean your information from a casual conversation with a footman.”

“I beg your pardon, but I do not speak with footmen. The butler, perhaps. The housekeeper, oui, for I shall need her assistance when I perform some of my duties for your wardrobe. And I may speak with Ross’s valet, if he is polite—though I daresay he is a fool, for his master cannot tie a cravat.” Buffon bowed. “I shall begin my investigation immediately. Before I leave, shall I assist you into your coat?”

“No, thank you. I can do it myself.”

Buffon gave a haughty sniff. “Very well, monsieur.” He crossed the room with a stately tread and left, closing the door softly behind him.

If there was a secret anything in this castle, Buffon would find it. Robert had learned long ago that servants knew far more of their master’s business than their master knew of theirs.

Robert found his monocle on the dresser and slipped it into his pocket. Then he removed his robe and put on his coat, adjusting his lace cuffs before he stepped out into the hallway.

Instantly, twelve footmen straightened to attention.

“Goodness, but there are a lot of you.” Robert paused by the tallest footman and examined the man from head to foot through his monocle. “Is the entire castle so well staffed?”

“No, sir. Just this wing.”

“How convenient for us all.” Robert walked on to Moira’s door and knocked softly.

A very short, very portly maid with short brown curls clustered about her face answered the door. She curtsied and when Robert informed her that he was Mr. Hurst, she opened the door wider.

Moira called out, “Fiona, thank you. You may go.”

The maid curtsied again and left, closing the door behind her.

“Well?” Moira asked. “What do you think?” She twirled before him, radiant in a gown of bronze silk, the skirt resplendent with a heavy cream lace overlay. The color made her skin look even whiter and her eyes luminous.

The gown appeared very simple, the bodice cut at a decorous level, the sleeves puffed at her shoulders. But the second she walked, the cream overgown parted and the bronze silk was left in full view to cling lovingly to her long, slender legs.

Robert nodded. “That will do very well.”

“Good.” Moira picked up a small cream-colored reticule and slipped it over her wrist.

“How was your personal tour of the castle?”

“Interesting. We didn’t have time to walk through all of it, but I have a fairly clear idea of how the main wing is laid out. I’ll draw up a map after dinner.”

“And our host? Did he behave?”

“Barely.” Moira’s eyes twinkled. “Whenever I felt uneasy, I mentioned your skill with dueling pistols.”

Robert caught her arm and pulled her to him, looking into her upturned face. “Moira, you’re not to put yourself in harm’s way. Do you understand?”