“You’re welcome.” He plucked her hat off and tossed it aside. “Now I can see your eyes.” He took the chair opposite hers, his dark blue gaze hard. “You’re a fool to have come all this way. Less than a week ago a fever nearly killed you.”

“Robert, this isn’t your fight; it’s mine. I will do whatever I must to get that box, and my daughter, sick or not.”

“She’s my daughter, too.”

Moira rested her head against the tall back of the chair. “This is too important for us to argue over. I came here to you, because I think we’ll do better if we work together.”

“I can get the box without your help. I’ve already made arrangements through Ross’s Edinburgh agent to purchase it.”

“As did I,” she replied. “Before I left town.”

Robert paused. “Mr. Gulliver?”

“At number four High Street. A rather unctuous man with a tendency to sneeze.”

Robert muttered a curse. “That arse sold the box to both of us!”

“Yes.” She took another sip of the brandy. “Did you ever wonder why Ross, who isn’t well known in the world of antiquities, possesses such a unique item?”

Robert shrugged. “I assumed he’d somehow recognized its value.”

“No. He purchased it because it is easy to reproduce.”

“Ah, he sells copies.”

“Yes. I recognized Mr. Gulliver, though he didn’t know me, since I was veiled. He used to go by the name of Comte Constanti. Before that, he was a well-known forger of Greek statuary.”

“Bloody hell. You knew this when I caught up to you in Edinburgh. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because you left me at the squire’s before we could discuss it.” She placed the empty glass at the table by her elbow, glad that her trembling had stopped. “If you had taken me with you, I’d have shared my information.”

“I was coming back to get you.”

“After you’d retrieved the wrong box.” She lifted her brows and waited.

Robert regarded her for a long moment. “I suppose you think I owe you an apology.”

“Several.”

“A pity. You’re not going to get a single one. You were ill and still aren’t well enough to travel.”

“Nonsense. I’m tired, but only because your valet apparently feels he is very important to your comfort and he pushed the coachmen the entire way. I rode almost nonstop, and I didn’t expect that.”

Robert sighed. “Buffon thinks I can’t pull a shirt on without his assistance.”

A soft knock preceded the innkeeper’s wife, who brought in a small tray with a bowl of gruel and a glass of milk. When she caught sight of Moira wearing trousers, she gasped.

Robert smoothly cut in. “My wife’s love of a good joke sometimes betrays her sense of decorum.”

“I see,” the woman said primly. She set the tray before Moira and said in a disapproving voice, “There, miss, some gruel fer ye.”

Moira looked at the thin, watery gray gruel and tried not to curl her nose. “That’s very kind. This will serve as a beginning. Do you have anything else to eat in the kitchen?”