A Most Dangerous Profession(6)

“Then allow me to refresh your memory. There are three boxes. This last one seems to be missing . . . for now. The first two have already been in your possession. One of them, which my brother recovered, you took from Miss Beauchamp. The other I took from your lodgings in London.”

“You’re the one who—” She clamped her lips over the rest of the thought.

His smile couldn’t be called “nice.” “Oh yes, ’twas I who stole the box from your lodgings. I admit it freely. But only after you’d stolen it from someone else, a very befuddled professor, a researcher much addicted to Egyptian artifacts who thought you madly in love with him before you absconded in the dead of night with that particular piece of his collection.”

Damn it, she should have known Robert had been the one who’d stolen the box from her lodgings. But she couldn’t afford to let him see how upset she was. Instead of railing as she wished, she lifted her chin and said in a cool tone, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Denial was all she had left. A flicker of something crossed his face—was it disappointment?

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine.”

His face hardened. “No, it’s not fine, Mrs. MacJames.” He almost spit the name. “I doubt you know your real name anymore, but I do. It’s Moira MacAllister—Hurst.”

She shrugged against his anger. “I don’t recognize that name.”

White lines etched his mouth, and she knew he had only a thin rein on his temper. “Unfortunately, it’s your real name. Thanks to your trickery years ago, we are married.”

Moira glanced down at the thick rug. A horse was tied up just inside the stables; she’d left it there just in case something went amiss. Her gaze flickered to the boxes she hadn’t yet unpacked. She’d already read through the inventory twice and was fairly certain the onyx box wasn’t here, but she’d hoped to search for it herself. She wouldn’t have that luxury now.

She looked back up to Robert. “I am surprised you haven’t had our marriage set aside.”

“I could have, if I’d wished the world to know my foolishness. It seemed more prudent to find you first and then take my tale to the authorities. It will be so much more amusing watching you explain your ruse.”

“The world will still know,” she pointed out.

His jaw tightened, and for the first time, a flicker of fear tightened her throat. He would never exact physical vengeance on a woman, but he wasn’t above making her pay in other ways.

She turned to the open crate that rested on the table and pulled out a flat ivory box. “I hope you don’t mind if I keep unpacking while you empty all of the dark pockets of my past. Mr. Bancroft is anxious that we begin on time.” She placed the box on the table and opened it, displaying a number of small alabaster vases.

Moira’s fingers slid over the smooth surface of the closest one, her heartbeat slowing as she allowed the sheer artistry of the piece to soak into her skin. She traced the perfect curve of the neck and followed the delicate flute with one finger. Immediately, everything else faded, her attention taken by the vases. They were exquisite in design and literally stole her breath. “Oh my.” She traced the smallest one with her fingertips, aware that Robert was now leaning over her shoulder.

“Amazing.”

She welcomed the awe in his deep voice. They’d both loved antiquities; it was one of the few things they’d shared other than physical pleasures. “I’d read the description, but seeing them—” She shook her head.

A faint smile on his lips, he reached past her, using his kerchief as he picked up one of the more delicate vases and examined it with the assurance of an expert. “What do you think these held?”

“As small as they are, I’d guess perfume or some other precious liquid.”

“Yes, they’re too small for olive oil.”

“Which would have been plentiful in this time and not held in such valuable containers.”

He pulled out his monocle and regarded another vase, his shoulder warm against Moira’s. “Hm. 1200 A.D., I’d say.”

“No, I think they’re older than that.” She caught the tremor in her voice and stepped away from him. “Look at the third one,” she said quickly. “There’s etching on it.”

He held the etched surface toward the light.

A distant door opened and closed, footsteps echoing down a hallway and then disappearing. Moira barely heard the noise as she leaned forward to see the etchings.