Stewart blinked. “But, sir, I can—”

“Mr. Stewart, you are one of the few men I trust with my most clandestine efforts. However, this is no ordinary woman. She charms like a cobra and she’s managed to escape more than once by using that charm. I won’t have that happening again.”

“Sir, I can assure you that I’m no’ likely to become a slave to a woman, beautiful or no’.”

“I’m gratified to hear that. But where this particular woman is concerned, I’ll take no chances. Take Leeds to the inn and make sure he sees her before you leave, so he knows whom he is to watch. Then you are to return here to prepare for a journey tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” Stewart replied stiffly. “Will there be anything else?”

Robert eyed his offended servant and said softly, “Yes, you can cease being so dramatic.”

Stewart flushed and bowed. “Yes, sir. I’ll take Leeds to the inn right now.”

“And tell him I may visit our little thief before the night is out. I have some questions that need answers and I must start my journey come morning.”

“Aye, sir. Am I to come with ye?”

“Yes. You’ll be playing the part of my groom. Leeds will be a footman. I shall take two more footmen and an undergroom, as well.”

“Very good, sir. If I might be so bold, is Buffoon a-comin’, too?”

Robert sighed. “Stewart, I’ve told you many times that my valet’s name is ‘Buffon,’ which is a highly regarded French name.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but I dinna care wha’ the French think.”

Robert hid a grin. “Why do you ask about Buffon?”

“It just seems tha’ whenever we bring yer valet along, we end up in more mischief than usual,” Stewart said in a distinctly morose voice.

“You think him bad luck?”

“Aye. I also think he’s a whey-faced, weak-kneed, poufy-shirted fool.”

“Pray don’t hold back,” Robert said politely. “You can tell me what you really think of my valet.”

Stewart broke into a reluctant grin. “Sorry fer bein’ so forward, sir, but that valet o’ yers is nothin’ but a Frenchified piece o’ lace.”

“I know. That’s why I take him with me.”

Stewart blinked. “I beg yer pardon?”

“People judge one by one’s servants. When they see Buffon they assume that I, too, am a whey-faced, weak-kneed, poufy-shirted fool. That ruse has helped me on more than one occasion.”

“I ne’er thought o’ tha’.”

“Which is why I will ask you to do less thinking and more doing.” Robert waved a hand toward the door. “Off with you, Stewart. And tell Leeds to keep a sharp eye on Mrs. Randolph. She has been known to disappear from locked rooms.”

“Och, sir, have no fear. Leeds is as good at watchin’ as I am.” Stewart gave a smart bow and left the study.

Robert regarded the closed door for a long time before he rose and went to his desk. There, he sat and, using a key hidden under an inkwell, unlocked a drawer and pulled out a leather folio holding a thick stack of papers. The dispatches told the exact locations of Miss Moira MacAllister, as well as whom she spoke to, for how long, and—where they could—what about.