A Most Dangerous Profession(86)
He put his hand on her cheek. “I love you, Moira MacAllister Hurst. I refuse to live without you. If you say no, I will ask again. And if you leave Hurst House, I will follow you once I’m able.”
Moira’s heart melted. “You really mean it.”
“With every breath I take. And I could die at any moment, so you’d better say yes now, while you can.”
“Yes, Robert Hurst. Yes, yes, yes—”
The rest of her yeses were lost in a kiss. One of the million or so she planned on sharing with him over the happy, blissful years to come.
Turn the page for a sneak peek
at the next delightful
Hurst Amulet novel
from New York Times bestselling author
Karen Hawkins
Coming soon from Pocket Books
London, England
October 12, 1822
Michael Hurst ignored the stir of excitement that flowed through the ballroom at his entrance. “Damn fools,” he muttered, tugging on his neckcloth.
His sister Mary sent him an exasperated glance. “Leave that alone.”
“It’s choking me.”
“It’s fashionable and you must look presentable. This ballroom is full of potential investors for your expeditions.”
Potential headaches was what they were. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he asked irritably. “Where’s that damned refreshment table? If I’m going to face these monkeys, I’ll need a drink.”
“Lady Bellforth usually sets the refreshment table by the library doors.”
He nodded and stepped forward. As if in answer, fans and lashes fluttered as if hoping to trap him in a gossamer hold. “For the love of Ra,” he said through gritted teeth, “don’t they have anything better to do than stare?”
“You’re famous,” Mary said calmly. “Get used to it.”
“I don’t wish to be famous.”
“But you are, so you’ll just have to live with it. Just smile and nod, and we’ll navigate through this crowd in no time at all.”
He scowled instead, noticing with glee that several of the flowery fans stopped fluttering.
“Michael, you can’t—”
He placed his hand firmly under Mary’s elbow and led her into the crowd, scowling at first one hopeful-looking miss and then another. They blushed and then sagged as if he’d stabbed their empty little hearts.
Mary made an impatient noise. “We’ll never get another sponsor if you keep this up. These women are the daughters and sisters of wealthy men who could benefit your endeavors greatly.”
“They are cotton-headed misses and I refuse to pander to them.” One of them boldly winked at him. “Good God, what happened to female modesty while I was in the wilds of Egypt?”
“More to the point, what happened to gentlemanly manners?”
“I left those worthless skills on the shores of the Nile,” he retorted. “Good riddance, too.”
“Your time away has turned you into a barbarian.”
“I won’t dignify that with an answer.” Just as they were within a few feet of their destination, a young woman stepped into his path, almost thrust into place by the girls who circled behind her.
Tall, with a large nose and auburn curls decorated with pearl pins and cascading over one shoulder, she appeared all of seventeen. “Mr. Hurst! How nice to see you again.” She dipped a grand curtsy, her smirk letting him know that she expected a greeting of welcome.
Michael lifted a brow, but said nothing.
Her cheeks bloomed red, her lips pressed in irritation, though she hid it almost immediately behind a forced smile. “I’m Miss Lydia Latham. We met at Lady MacLean’s soiree.”
Michael stared as Miss Latham held out her hand expectantly.
Mary jabbed her elbow into his side.
With a grimace, Michael took the girl’s hand, holding it the minimal time required by politeness.
Miss Latham beamed. “I knew you’d remember me! We spoke at length about the Rosetta stone.”
“Did we?” he asked in a bored tone.
“Oh, yes! I’ve read every word you’ve ever written.”
“I doubt that, unless, of course, you’ve managed to sneak into my bedchamber and procure my diaries. I’m fairly sure no one but me has read those.”
Miss Latham’s face turned several shades pinker and she tittered nervously. “Oh, no! I would never sneak into a man’s bedchamber.”