A Most Dangerous Profession(63)
“He has his uses, as do all husbands. But one should never expect too much from a husband. They can’t answer every need.”
“My dear,” Ross murmured.
The reprobate must have made a move toward Moira, for she spun away and Robert saw only her riding boots as she strode across the room toward the far fireplace, Ross following like a well-trained pup.
The little minx already has him under her spell, Robert thought, amused and annoyed.
He moved so he could watch Moira approach the fire. Something about her carriage sent the unmistakable message that while she was interested in a conversation with Ross, she by no means wished to be touched . . . yet.
Robert couldn’t decide what exactly sent that message. It was a combination of her upright carriage, her expression, and the manner in which she tilted her chin. She was masterful. No wonder I fell for her all those years ago.
He suddenly wondered if she’d played the same tricks on him—but of course she had. He’d been no more important than Ross.
Except . . . Robert had made it through her defenses and to her bed. Which raised a new, far more interesting question: why had she made an exception for him?
Robert saw Ross’s hand curl into a frustrated fist as he faced the invisible wall Moira had erected about herself.
“Ross,” Moira almost purred the name.
The hand relaxed.
“This piece my husband purchased from you, the onyx box. What does it look like?”
“It’s rather plain, though it is inscribed with some interesting runes.” He shrugged. “I can’t imagine it is worth much.”
“That is the problem with Hurst. He never pursues the really fascinating pieces. Just last week someone approached him about a jade funeral mask. Jade. And he would have nothing to do with it.”
“Perhaps it was a fake. There are many of those about.”
“I’m certain that it wasn’t. Besides, the man had to know who he was dealing with. Robert would have called the man out, had he suspected such a thing.”
Robert heard the interest in Ross’s voice as he said in far-too-casual a tone, “Oh, really?”
“Oh, yes. Robert considers people who deal in fakes the lowest form of humanity, and he is quick to exact revenge, regardless of the embarrassment it might cause.”
There was a definite pause before Ross said, “That’s very conscientious of him.”
“You may have noticed that Hurst is a bit . . . particular about things.”
“That had dawned on me,” Ross said drily.
“To him, a person who deals in fakes is like a badly tied cravat. It’s just bad form. And nothing matters more to Hurst.”
Ross made a disgusted noise. “There is little that matters to Hurst. That form should be one of them is—” He stopped, apparently too disgusted to continue.
Moira sighed. “Well, we all have our shortcomings. I fear I often crave excitement. I also possess a bit of a temper, and am impulsive. I’m no angel.”
Robert almost chuckled at Moira’s consummate ability to present herself as the perfect woman to seduce, while throwing up roadblocks to that seduction that were as large as a crypt door.
“Ross, if you don’t mind, I should return to my room now. I would like—”
A shout arose in the hallway, and cries of “fire” sent Ross running to the door. In the hallway footmen ran every which way, a low curl of smoke drifting between their legs.
Ross grabbed the closest footman. “What in the hell is going on?”
“Och, sir, we’ve two more fires on our hands.”
“Two?”
“Aye!” The footman gulped, obviously unhappy to be the one to have to report distressing news. “A tapestry in the main galley burst into flames at almost the same time a rug in the front hall began to smolder.”
“Damn it, that can’t be an accident!”
“Ye wouldn’t think it, sir. But it appears someone put a candle too close to the tapestry and forgot to snuff it this mornin’.”
“And the fire in the front hall?”
“It was caused by a hot coal from the bucket the sweeps carried after cleanin’ the fireplace.”
God bless Buffon. Right on time, too.
“Damn it! I hope that wasn’t one of the Danish tapestries; they cost me a bloody fortune.” Ross turned to Moira. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I must go; I shall have a footman escort you back to your room.”