“He was blackmailing her.”

So he had been. And he’d used Moira to further his evil purposes, damn his black heart. She’d hated delivering the blackmail letters to Marcail Beauchamp, a famed and talented actress. Miss Beauchamp hadn’t been the usual brassy sort one expected to find in a theater, but was instead a very quiet and composed lady. It had been painful to deliver the poisonous communications from Aniston, but by that time, Moira was too deeply in Aniston’s coils herself to do more than offer her unspoken pity.

But it wouldn’t do to admit as much to Robert, so she shrugged as if she didn’t feel the weight of his disapproval. “I didn’t know what he was doing. I was told to deliver and receive various envelopes, which I did.”

“Marcail believed you were afraid of him.”

It showed? That shook Moira so much that she couldn’t speak for a moment. How had Marcail seen through Moira’s carefully displayed façade? Was it as she’d come to fear, that her heart was so engaged in this venture that she’d lost some of her abilities? If that were true, could she truly win her way free from Aniston’s clutches?

Icy doubt made her stomach tighten until she felt she might wretch. She realized that Robert was watching closely and she forced her stiff lips into a tiny, bored smile that was more a sneer. “He’s not a nice man.”

“No, he’s not. Why are you working for him?”

“He pays me well.”

“No, that’s not it.” Robert loosened his hold a bit more. Though his strong fingers remained about her wrist, his thumb was now sliding across the delicate skin almost in a caress. “You are talented and resourceful and could find work anywhere, could be anyone you chose. Is Aniston blackmailing you, too?”

There it was, out in the light. Just as ugly in sound as it was in reality.

She swallowed hard. “It’s a pity you and your brothers didn’t put Aniston behind bars.”

“If we’d found him, he would have been prosecuted. But what about you, Moira?” Robert leaned forward. “You haven’t answered: Is he blackmailing you, too?”

The gentle words filled Moira’s heart with such longing that tears filled her eyes. If only she could tell him, explain things, lean on him, trust him. But she already knew the cost of trust—and she couldn’t take the risk.

Still, for one precious moment, she imagined how lovely it would be if she could. Lately there’d been many moments when she’d had to fight despair. I’m so alone. If only I could trust that he wouldn’t attempt to interfere with my life once he realizes the truth. But I can’t. Robert is driven by his conscience and his pride. I could withstand one, but not both.

I must do this alone.

She pulled her wrist from his grasp, turning away to swipe the tears from her eyes. “Don’t be foolish. What could George Aniston possibly hold over my head? I don’t have a reputation to protect and I have nothing of value that Aniston or anyone else might want. So pray stop suggesting that horrid man has a hold over me. As I’ve already explained, I’m in his employ and he pays me well. Very well. That’s all there is to it.” She watched as Robert’s mouth hardened in distaste and she welcomed it. “That’s all there is to say. I don’t know anything more than that. And I damned well don’t know anything about your precious onyx box.”