A Most Dangerous Profession(70)
“It’s time for you to retire for the evening.”
An ugly red flush rose across his neck and cheeks. “You wanted me to kiss you! You practically begged me!”
“No, I agreed to kiss you once. And I did not invite you to assault me.”
“I didn’t assault you.” His lips thinned when she lifted her brows.
She stepped back, keeping the pistol aimed steadily on his chest. “You touched me and ripped my gown and tried to—”
“Fine!” He eyed her and her pistol with disfavor. “I suppose you’ll tell your husband about this.”
Of course she was going to tell Robert though she dreaded his reaction. We’ll find that secret chamber without Ross’s help. “Open the doors. In the morning, once Hurst and I have that box, we will leave.”
“What if I refuse?”
“Then I will shoot you and leave Hurst to deal with the mess. He’s very good at cleaning up unpleasant situations.”
“Your husband couldn’t butter his own bread, much less deal with any kind of situation. But fine—I’ll open the doors. And you, my little tease, can go to hell!” Muttering under his breath, he walked to the doors and threw them open. “There!” he said in a sharp tone. “Now be gone!”
Moira backed out, slipping her pistol away as soon as the footmen standing outside the doors came into sight. Ignoring their surprised looks, she hurried up the steps toward her room.
She paused outside of Robert’s room and pressed her ear to the door, but could hear nothing. He is probably already asleep.
Her hands shaking, she went to her own room and locked the door behind her. Then she dragged a chair over and pushed it under the knob. Once that was done, she scrubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, catching sight of herself in the gilded mirror over the fireplace. Her hair was falling down, her beautiful gown ripped at one shoulder, her face flushed, her eyes shiny with fear. She’d thought Ross a fool, not capable of violence, yet—She rubbed her lips again, trying to get rid of the memory. Robert had been right; Ross was the worst sort of man and she had been a fool to think she could handle him so easily.
Out in the hallway, she heard a voice. Her heart leapt in her throat. Had Ross followed her? Her heart beat wildly and her gaze found the window Robert had climbed in before. She wished with all her heart that he was with her now. She would feel safer.
There are no princes ready to ride up on a white horse. If I want to talk to Robert, I will have to go to him. She kicked off her slippers, jammed her feet into some sensible boots, and scooped up her cloak.
She blew out all of the lamps, plunging the bedchamber into darkness. Her heart pounding, she opened the window; then with a deep breath she climbed onto the windowsill and stepped out onto the ledge. The icy wind clutched at her, swirling her cloak and stealing all of her warmth. Moira took a hesitant step.
Was that a sliver of light through his curtains? She took another step, releasing her hold on her own window as she did so.
Robert had claimed that the ledge wasn’t narrow, but it certainly seemed so, especially in the dark. Well, she’d just have to take her chances. It was fortunate that the rough-hewn stone would provide decent handholds.
She edged along, one foot after another, and soon she was halfway there. One step. Another one. Another—her foot hit something hard, and for a horrible instant she teetered before regaining her balance.
Panting, she looked down to find a gargoyle sneering up at her at the edge of the ledge. Gritting her teeth, she stepped over it. Her heart pounded in her ears. She was so far up, and there was nothing to break her fall if she slipped.
God, what had she been thinking? This was crazy! The gravity of her situation held her immobile, her feet seemingly locked into place.
The wind whipped up the castle face and sent her robe and skirts swirling, cold air rippling up her bared legs. Damn it, Moira, move!
She took a deep breath, and began to edge toward Robert’s window again. One step. Another. Yet another. She sang along in her mind. One step. Another. Yet another. Finally, she found herself right where she wished to be.
She reached down to tap on the glass, then realized she could hear two masculine voices inside the room.
She pressed against the cold stone wall. What do I do now?
CHAPTER 20
A letter from Triona Hurst MacLean to her sister Lady Caitlyn Hurst MacLean, a month ago.
Hugh wishes to go to Edinburgh and then to London in the near future, which I would enjoy above all things. Pray see if you and Alexander and the children can come, as well. It will give us the opportunity to find out what is going on with those brothers of ours. They are too close with their information, sharing nothing unless you drag it out of them.