She slipped her arms about his neck and gave him a quick, fierce hug.

He blinked in surprise but wrapped his arms back about her.

They stayed like that for a long moment, her face buried in his neck. But his body was awake now, and he had to fight the urge to press against her, to slip his hand beneath the blue silk and touch the warmth of her creamy skin, to—

Moira gave a heavy sigh, then rose from his lap. She caught sight of herself in one of the large gilt mirrors and chuckled. “I’ll have to fix my hair again.”

Robert stood, too, glad that his robe covered his response to her. He went to the window and opened it, the swirl of wind hitting him and cooling his senses.

“I don’t like you using the ledge.”

“Don’t worry. The old oak beside Wythburn Vicarage was more dangerous. It was conveniently located outside my window. When my father thought I was studying the Iliad, I was actually riding across the moors.”

He stepped onto the ledge. “Shut the windows behind me, but do not latch them. I may need to return sometime.”

She came to stand by the large window and smiled up at him, looking absurdly young in her gown and piled-up hair. “Yes, sir. Is there anything else I should do for you?”

He smiled. “Nothing that we would want to finish in the few minutes we have left before our servants return. It is time to focus on our mission. Here’s to our success.” He winked and left.

CHAPTER 19

Michael Hurst’s diary, dated today

I am going to slowly throttle Miss Smythe-Haughton until she begs for mercy . . . right after I rescue her.

Dinner was finally over. Robert leaned back and lifted his monocle to observe the cherry tart that had been placed before him. He crinkled his nose and pushed the dish away. “Ross, thank you for an interesting dinner.”

“It was quite good, wasn’t it?” Moira said.

“It was interesting,” Robert repeated. He eyed his host, who sat at the head of the table. “I don’t wish to be rude, but the time has come to take possession of the box I purchased from you.”

Robert had done his part during dinner, slyly suggesting that Scotsmen couldn’t hold their drink, which had caused their host to imbibe what Moira suspected was much, much more port than he normally drank.

“We shall get to that presently.” Ross held up his empty glass. “Oh ho, another measure gone. And you, Mr. Hurst? Is your glass empty?”

“No, I fear not.” Robert examined Ross’s flushed face. “When may I have the box?”

Ross frowned. “You’re insistent, sir.”

“I’ve already paid for it, and I must return to London before this treacherous damp air gives me a lung infection.”

Moira hid her chuckle behind a cough.

Ross took a deep drink. “I shall give it to you in the morning.”