A Most Dangerous Profession(7)

Robert turned as she moved and met her gaze. Their faces were level, her eyes inches from his. How could she have forgotten how compelling his eyes could be? Framed in thick lashes, the deep and mysterious blue of a sapphire, they captured her imagination and stole her composure. She wanted nothing more than to lean forward and . . .

Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Firm and masculine like a Greek statue’s, it drew her like the sparkle of a diamond. Her breath came heavier as she leaned toward him, her lips closer and closer to his—

He turned and replaced the small vase. “It’s beautiful; you rarely see alabaster of this purity.” He lifted his monocle to examine it better. “You may be right; the etching does seem to indicate an earlier era.”

Robert was surprised his voice sounded so normal, as his heart was thundering in his chest and his cock stood at full attention. But that was the way it always was with Moira. She infuriated, confounded, and seduced him, all at once.

He didn’t know what it was about her, but he would have to watch himself closely to keep from falling for her tricks. He’d almost allowed himself to kiss her; it had taken all of his strength to turn away. Yet even now, he was tense with desire and far too aware of her.

She leaned forward, her red, silken hair already falling from its pins, one thick strand curled over her shoulder. “Did you see the inscription on the bottom of the box that holds the vases?”

Even saying something businesslike, she sounded seductive. He forced himself to turn his gaze on the ivory box and its contents. “I don’t see an inscription—ah. Wait.” He moved to one side so that the light caught the faint lines. “I thought this might be Roman, but I can see now that it’s Greek.” He peered at it through his monocle, then finally turned to her. “It’s an unusual—”

The room was empty.

“Damnation!” He raced to the door and almost ran into Mr. Bancroft, who was just entering.

“Ah, Mr. Hurst!” The man’s gaze flickered to the table behind Robert. “I see Mrs. MacJames showed you the box and vases. Astonishing, aren’t th—”

“Where is she?”

Mr. Bancroft blinked and then peered past Robert. “She isn’t here? But I thought—”

“She left. Did you see her?”

“No. I just came in from the terrace, and the hall was quite empty.”

Robert cursed. He whirled back to the room, his gaze sweeping over the long windows. Could she have gone through them? No, he would have heard them open. Where the hell is she? She can’t disappear in a puff of smoke. She had to—His gaze locked onto a faint line in the patterned wallpaper. In a trice he was at the hidden door, searching for the latch. “How do you open this?”

Bancroft had followed him across the room and now shook his head. “I don’t know. I’d never noticed that doorway, and—”

Click. Robert had found the hidden latch and the door swung open, a hidden entrance for servants who might need quicker access in order to efficiently meet their master’s and mistress’s needs.

Robert ducked his head and raced into the small hallway, which quickly grew dark. The passage was narrow, the flagstone floor worn smooth with use, and the faint scent of freshly baked bread let him know where the final door would open. He had to duck his head so as not to hit the wide timbers that occasionally appeared as he made his way. He rushed along and turned a corner, the light disappearing completely. But Robert maintained his speed by the simple expediency of trailing his hands along each side.

Urgency pressed him forward. He couldn’t let her escape.

“Mr. Hurst!” Bancroft called after him. “When you see Mrs. MacJames, please remind her that the items must be ready soon and . . .” The voice faded as Robert ran down the twisting hallway.

The fool. Moira MacAllister was gone and would never reappear. She had to know something about the onyx box; he’d seen a flicker in her gaze.

Robert cursed as he stumbled down a step, twice bumping his head painfully when an especially low beam crossed the ceiling. The hallway ended at a small door that swung open to reveal the kitchens.

At his entrance, several undercooks turned and stared in astonishment.

One stepped forward. “Pardon, monsieur, but you are lost, no?”

Robert brushed a cobweb from his shoulder. “Did you see a woman come out this door?”

“Oui,” gulped the cook. “She ran through and went on to the stables.”