She smiled. “You understand me. No one else ever does.”

“We understand one another. Although I wonder why you didn’t tell me about our daughter before now.”

“You didn’t want a child.”

“No, but I—”

“I did.” Her gaze met his, clear and honest. “So I didn’t tell you about our daughter because I wished to keep her to myself, without any interference from you.”

Robert frowned. He should be thankful to hear the truth, regardless of how damning it was to his pride.

This tonic had many uses indeed. It would have taken him weeks, perhaps months, to get so much honesty out of her. “Moira, shouldn’t that have been my decision, too?”

Her brows lowered. “Robert, if I’d told you, you would have been upset and thought it a trick and always wondered if she was really yours.”

Moira was right; he would have wondered. “Is she?”

“Yes.” Moira yawned, suddenly looking very sleepy. “You can see it now, but not when she was younger. She grows more like you every day, which is . . . most unfair. Since I’ve been the one . . . doing all of the . . . work.” Moira’s eyes closed as the tonic claimed her.

“Even asleep, you are the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met,” Robert told her. With relief, he heard Stewart’s voice and another one, loud and aristocratic. Help has arrived.

His head spinning with the shocking fact that he was a father, Robert climbed from the coach to organize Moira’s rescue.

CHAPTER 8

A letter from Michael Hurst upon his older brother, Robert, gaining a position with the Home Office.

Now that you’re with the secretary’s office, I’m sure people are asking you right and left to espouse their causes. Fortunately for you, I have no cause except to find the Hurst Amulet. You’ve mocked my ambition, but I’d give up life and limb and honor to restore it where it belongs, with our family.

I know you’re now shaking your head, but trust me on this, brother mine: it’s good to have a purpose in life, and much more amusing than merely existing from day to day. When you get bored playing hide-and-seek with disreputable persons, I suggest you, too, find a purpose for your life. It may be just the thing to settle your restless spirit.

She awoke slowly, blinking in the darkness of the huge, gray coach. It was cold. Shivering, she looked at her hands, neatly gloved, her feet shod in plain, brown shoes like those worn by housemaids. That’s odd. I don’t remember purchasing those.

Disoriented, she looked out the window of the coach. The scenery was idyllic and peaceful. Green hills, blue lakes, summer sun splashing over beautiful fields of flowers. And approaching in the distance, a child riding a big black stallion.

She leaned forward. Was that Rowena? As if in answer the child waved, and Moira waved back, laughing as Rowena rode the magnificent horse up to the coach.