The words grated on Moira’s nerves. She’d never counted on a man in her entire life and was glad of it.

Some of her irritation must have shown on her face, for Ross’s thick brows lowered and he said in a rather uncertain voice, “Is-is something wrong? You seem—”

“I’m fine, thank you. I was just wondering about your artifacts. Tell me about them.”

He launched into a rather thin explanation that made it obvious he knew only minimal information.

While he spoke, she moved to the desk and leaned against it, spreading her skirts a bit to cover the edge of Robert’s shoe. Then she stepped on it lightly.

From where he hid, Robert grimaced and pulled in his foot. Damn it, I thought I was well hidden.

As soon as he moved, Moira whisked away from the desk.

Robert tilted his head so that he could see her standing by a large black marble sculpture of a jackal. Ross’s back was now to Robert, too. Clever girl.

Moira touched the statue’s wolflike head. “Ah, Anubis.”

“Who?”

“Anubis is the god the jackal represents. He was the god of death. Where did you find this piece?”

“I have many sources for my collection. I buy. I sell. Sometimes I keep something special.”

Yes, something you think has extra value.

There were many men who collected artifacts for the sheer pleasure of owning a piece of history. They were very careful with the objects, and many items would be lost or destroyed if not for them. Robert disliked it when men collected artifacts solely for their monetary value, without regard to their historical worth. Their possession of such valuable treasures was like hanging a diamond necklace on a donkey.

Robert watched as Moira sent Ross a look from under her lashes. It was an intentionally sensual look, and yet she made it somehow seem innocent. “I would love to see your private collection. If there are Egyptian items in it.”

“There are a few. Since you know so much about artifacts, what can you tell me about that one?” Ross pointed to the next statue on the shelf.

“The Madonna? Fifteenth century, I’d think. Perhaps Spain.”

“How can you tell?”

“The style, the smoothness of the stone—even the base tells you something about the piece. Hurst is an avid collector, and I’ve picked up information here and there.”

“I’ve no doubt you’re vastly superior in judging such artifacts.” His tone indulged her.

“Not compared to Hurst. When it comes to collections, Robert is an expert though it’s a love of mine, too. Some women love jewels, some houses, some gowns.” Robert saw her elegant shrug. “I prefer antiquities.”

“Perhaps that is the reason you married Hurst. I haven’t been able to see what the attraction could be. He’s not the sort of man I’d think a woman like you would enjoy.”

“He has his uses, as do all husbands. But one should never expect too much from a husband. They can’t answer every need.”