Soon, Buffon arrived, fresh cravats carefully folded over one arm. “Good evening, monsieur. I’ve ordered a bath. I thought you might need one after climbing under furniture all day and rolling about on the floor.”

“It was amazingly dust free.”

“I am not surprised. Sir Ross has far more servants than he needs. The number of chambermaids is astounding and many of them have nothing to do but talk, talk, talk.”

“Have you discovered any information yet?”

“I’m very close, monsieur. Very close.”

“I hope you discover something, for I’m at a loss. I’ve searched the obvious areas, with the exception of Ross’s bedchamber. That will be my next goal, though it will be quite difficult.” Robert sent a sharp glance at Buffon. “I shall reward you handsomely if you find any information leading to discovering that damned box. I’m certain Ross will try to pass a fake to us this evening.”

“If that barbarian is so bold as to attempt to cheat you, monsieur . . . Pah! The blood boils at the thought.”

“Yes, it does.” Robert’s blood boiled even more, thinking of Moira’s flirtation with the man. One way or another, it was time for this game to end. “By the way, you did an excellent job of providing distractions today.”

A pleased smile crossed Buffon’s face. “Oui, monsieur. I am quite good at distractions. It is my forte.”

“I shall have to increase your pay if you continue being so indispensible.”

“It is my job, monsieur. It is what Buffon does.”

It was difficult to stay discouraged in the face of Buffon’s confidence. The bath arrived shortly, and Robert washed and dressed for dinner, with the exception of his coat. After a brief tussle with Buffon over which robe he would wear, Robert sent the valet on his way and settled by the fireplace.

He wasn’t comfortable with the way Ross looked at Moira. It wasn’t a look one gave a woman one wished to conquer, but something more primal.

Robert didn’t like it. In fact, he hated it with a passion. Damn it, I need to regain my perspective. I’m here to get that damned box, and that’s all.

Still, he should remind Moira once again to be cautious around Ross. He was a very large, very powerful man. A mere pistol might not be enough.

Robert rose and turned the key in his lock, then he crossed to the window and pushed back the curtains. The wind had picked up as night had fallen, and gusts danced along the stone façade. It was pitch-black outside, although the courtyard far below was pooled in yellow, flickering light.

Robert pulled the collar of his robe a bit higher and opened the window, then stepped out onto the wide ledge. The wind tugged at his trousers and the folds of his robe. Placing his hands to either side of him, he edged along the ledge toward Moira’s room. Halfway there, the edge of his foot hit something. He paused to look down. The pale light from his window outlined one of the stone gargoyles, the little creature hunched in place, his face frozen in a mocking sneer.