“You can thank me once we have Rowena back.” His expression softened. “I look forward to meeting her.”

Moira’s heart gave an odd jerk. She was beginning to realize that her decision to cut Robert from his own child’s life had been made too hastily. She’d assumed many things, among them how he felt about having a child and whether he would be a good father, all without consulting Robert. At the time she’d been so certain she was doing the right thing, what was best for Rowena. Now she wasn’t so certain.

Robert began to talk about various hidden places he’d found in previous cases, and Moira listened with growing appreciation for his resourcefulness. It would be wonderful if he could find the artifact and they could just slip away, though she knew better than to count on anything being easy. There were too many unknown factors.

But the nice thing was that she was no longer alone. Together, she and Robert would see this through to the end.

Moira twisted the ring on her finger. Just a little longer, Rowena. Just a little longer.

CHAPTER 15

A letter from Robert Hurst to his solicitor in London, following Moira’s first disappearance.

Please continue looking for the woman in question. She has gone by many names—Moira Cunningham, Moira Bruce, Mary K. Poole, and Maria Chavez among them. Lately she has gone by Princess Alexandria Romanov.

While I believe her real name to be Moira MacAllister, I’m not yet certain. I am making inquiries to the four corners of the kingdom and hope to have more answers before long.

Whatever her name is, this woman crossed the wrong person. A Hurst never quits.

Balnagown Castle was located in the craggy highlands. Perched on a bluff covered in green ivy, a glass blue loch at its feet, the castle towered over the landscape.

Moira, who was leaning out the carriage window, pointed at the castle as they rounded a bend. “Oh, you must see it! It has one, two, three, four turrets!”

Robert, reclining in the corner, didn’t bother to open his eyes. “I daresay it has an unwieldy number of windows, too. It wouldn’t surprise me if Ross’s servants are hard-pressed to keep them all clean.”

Moira sat back and eyed him with reproach. “Must you ruin every romantic notion?”

“Only the ones involving clean windows.”

“You’re hopeless.” She looked back out the window. “It’s beautiful, but so isolated. How can he live here alone?”

“I think he is more comfortable surrounded by adoring servants than by people of his own class.”

The coach continued up the long, winding drive, the castle whisking in and out of sight behind the growing clouds. Moira glanced at Robert. The few times he bestirred himself to look out the window, he seemed genuinely unimpressed by the gorgeous castle. What does impress him?

There was no way to know. He was so carefully put together, so cautious about revealing himself—whether because of his position with the Home Office or some more personal reason—that it was frustratingly difficult to tell what he thought. She’d made her way in life by reading people, and was better at it than most, which made her inability to read Robert all the more annoying.