A Most Dangerous Profession(82)

He lifted her from the trunk and set her on her feet. Rowena slipped her small hand into his. “Are we going home now?”

We. She accepts me without question. Robert’s eyes stung with tears, and he had to clear his throat. “Yes. We will be going home today.”

“With my mother?”

“Yes.” After he’d stomped George Aniston into dust for what he’d done to his child.

Robert stooped down so that he was on a level with his daughter. “We have to make a run for it and it could get difficult. There might be some fighting.”

“I can fight, too. Will we be fighting the bad man who’s mean to Mama?”

“We might.”

She sent him such a ferocious look that he wanted to swoop her into a hug.

“I feel the same way about him. We must go now, and I need you to stay behind me. Can you do that?”

Rowena nodded. “I’ll need my shoes.” She pointed to her boots that lay discarded in a corner.

He fetched them and then helped her put them on.

And that was how Moira found them when she slipped into the room a few moments later.

Robert was down on one knee in front of Rowena. Their heads were very close together, and her throat tightened at seeing how much alike they looked. To see Rowena so trustingly close to Robert, both of them engaged deeply in conversation, made Moira’s heart ache in a new way.

Robert had claimed that by not informing him of Rowena’s existence, she had stolen something from him. Seeing them together, a dawning look of delight on Rowena’s small face, Moira realized he was right.

Robert solemnly held out his hand. Her big eyes fixed upon him, Rowena spat into her hand and then slapped it into Robert’s.

He chuckled, released her hand to spit into his own, and reclasped her hand. “It’s a bargain,” he said.

Moira started forward, and they both turned toward her.

“Mama!” The word broke Moira’s heart, and she sank to her knees to catch her daughter to her. With a sob, she buried her face in the girl’s silken hair. “Oh Rowena, I’m so happy to see you. Are you well?” Moira held her daughter from her to examine her dear face.

Tears streamed down Rowena’s face, but she nodded, her lips quivering slightly. “I’m fine. Mr. Robert told me—”

“My, my,” said a silky voice. “Such a tender scene. I hesitate to interrupt.”

Moira was on her feet in an instant, clutching Rowena to her as she turned to face George Aniston.

He stood in the doorway, a dueling pistol in his hand. She had no doubt that the trigger was made to discharge at the faintest squeeze of his finger.

She started to push Rowena behind her, but Aniston’s chilly voice ordered, “Don’t move.”

Moira froze, her heart thudding sickly.

Behind her Robert cursed, drawing Aniston’s attention. “I almost forgot about you, Hurst. Put down your pistol if you wish to keep these two alive.”

Robert dropped his pistol to the floor.

Aniston curled his lip at Moira’s attire. “I fear that Hurst’s ruinous company has destroyed your sense of fashion. Even I wouldn’t wear a such a profusion of lace.” His gaze returned to Robert. “Now join your lovely lady so I can keep an eye on you both.”

“No.”

Aniston’s jaw tightened. “Don’t tempt me, Hurst.”

“If you waste your bullet on me, you’ll have Moira to deal with. If you hit me, which I doubt will happen. Moira, did you know that Aniston was once in a duel? He lost, of course. He shot so wide of his opponent that he nicked a bystander who was ten paces to the side.”

Aniston’s face was bloodred. “I did that on purpose. It was a matter of honor—”

“Before the duel, you made a big show of paying an undertaker to prepare to carry off your opponent’s body—so don’t pretend you didn’t mean to kill him. You’re just fortunate that he was a horrid shot himself.”

Robert chuckled, as if he didn’t see the mounting fury in Aniston’s thin face. “It was most amusing, Moira. The fat squire hit Aniston, but not where he intended. He shot off one of Aniston’s toes. The biggest one, I believe, wasn’t it?”

Moira noticed that Aniston’s gun hand was shaking slightly; his body was stiff with outrage.

Yet Robert continued on. “I daresay you have to order specially made shoes, don’t you? Most cripples do—”