A Most Dangerous Profession(83)

“Stop it!” Aniston started forward, the gun pinned on Robert.

Moira realized then that as he’d been speaking, Robert had moved away from her and Rowena. He was now almost at the window.

As Aniston went forward he was moving away from the door, and soon she and Rowena could make a dash for it. Moira grasped Rowena’s hand and caught a flicker of a glance from Robert. So this is his plan. But what would happen then?

“Where is the onyx box?” Aniston asked.

“It’s gone,” Robert said. “I sent it to London this morning.”

Aniston’s jaw tightened. “I want that box.”

Robert shrugged.

Moira could hear Aniston’s teeth grinding. “Damn you!”

“Yes, quite.” Robert yawned and sat on the edge of the bed. “Early morning rescues are so tiring.”

“Don’t try anything,” Aniston snapped. “I don’t trust you, Hurst. Put your hands in your pockets and keep them there.”

Robert rolled his eyes but did as he was told. “Happy now?”

Aniston smiled. “I’ve finally gotten the better of you. The great Robert Hurst, brought low by me. I will relish telling the tale in White’s.”

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to do that—because I’ve already won.”

Aniston laughed. “Oh, really? How—”

A shot rang out, and Moira screamed and shoved Rowena behind her.

Aniston’s gun fired even as he looked down at his chest where a thin trickle of blood marred his shirt. He turned an amazed look at Robert.

One pocket of Robert’s coat was smoking slightly. He stood, leaning lightly against the window frame as he pulled his pistol out. “Never underestimate a Hurst.”

His face set and white, Aniston took a step toward Robert, but Moira stepped forward, her own pistol at the ready. “Don’t.”

Aniston sent her a startled glance, his hand still gripped over his wound as blood steadily soaked his side. As it dripped through his wide-spread fingers, he looked down and turned even paler, visibly sagging.

Then, with a moan, Aniston crumpled to the ground.

Robert patted the pocket of his greatcoat where a wisp of smoke still rose. But it was the smaller hole at his shoulder that caught Moira’s attention. “No!” She rushed forward as he swayed.

The small circle began to turn red, blood seeping into the heavy wool. “We’d better leave,” he said in an odd voice.

Moira hurried to support him, wedging her shoulder under his good one. “Rowena, hold the door for Mr. Hur—” She stopped and looked up at Robert. “For your father.”

Robert’s expression softened. “Thank you.”

They made their way downstairs with difficulty, for Robert was quickly weakening, blood now dripping upon the steps.

Moira feared they would be stopped by the servants. Instead, as they were halfway down the stairs, they met a burly, square-looking man followed by several others.

With one quick look, he summed up the situation. “Lor’ love ye, guvnor! Got yerself knocked to the nines, did ye?”

“Somewhat,” Robert agreed. “Who are these men?”

“I brought them wit’ me to be certain no one interfered wit’ our business. ’Tis a good thing, too, fer it took us all to round up Aniston’s mob. They’ve been taken to gaol fer the time bein’ and won’t be a bother.”

Robert managed a smile. “Very clever of you, Mr. Norris. I shall be sure to write a letter of thanks to the Bow Street Runners for sending their best in rescuing my daughter.”

Mr. Norris pinkened. “I’m glad t’ see ye got her back.” He jerked a thumb toward Moira. “I’m glad ye tol’ me that the mistress might be wearin’ a disguise, fer I almost mistook her for one o’ Mr. Aniston’s men. Is Aniston still upstairs?”

“Yes, he is injured. Perhaps fatally.”

Mr. Norris nodded his head toward the stairs. “Griswald, Smith, go and see to Mr. Aniston. If he’s still alive, he’s not t’ escape, no matter how ye have t’ see t’ it.”

Two of the bigger men went past them on up the stairs, their heavy feet clomping upon the treads.

Mr. Norris turned to Moira and he said politely, “And now, mistress, if ye’ll stand back, we’ll help Mr. Hurst to his carriage. I know a good doctor.”