A Most Dangerous Profession by Karen Hawkins Read Free Book Online Page B

crossed the foyer. So Moira still had a weakness for a hot bath. He wondered what other things about her were the same. Did she still enjoy warm, buttered bread? Reading the morning paper over hot tea and crumpets? Lolling in bed until the afternoon?
    Of course, Moira’s idea of lolling was rather vigorous, and the memories warmed him as he headed up the stairs.
    After he found her room, he pressed his ear to the door. He heard humming, followed by a splash.
    Good. She won’t have that damned pistol on her.
Still, he’d take no chances. He pulled out his small silver mounted pistol and checked it quickly. Then he slipped his key into the lock, turned it, and swung the door open.
    Moira was indeed naked and glorious in the bath . . . and holding a pistol aimed right at his heart. “What an unpleasant surprise,” she murmured, her smooth voice at odds with the anger that sparkled in her green eyes. “May I suggest that the next time you decide to surprise a person, that you have your pistol ready
before
you get to their door? I heard the chamber click.”
    He closed and locked the door behind him, his own pistol held steady. “You heard that, hm?”
    “Barely, but it was enough.”
    He noted that water dripped from her fingers. “Do you think you can fire accurately with a wet hand?”
    “I am willing to try. In fact,” she smiled as she lowered the pistol so that it pointed to his crotch, “we could up the stakes a bit just to make it interesting.”
    “No, thank you. I prefer not to tempt fate, especially where my, er,
parts
are concerned.” A faint quiver of amusement crossed her face and to his chagrin, he found himself smiling in return. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”
    “Again. It’s getting a bit old. Sooner or later, one of us will have to best the other.”
    “One would think.” He crossed to a chair and sat. “Very comfortable.”
    “I don’t want you comfortable. Robert, please leave.”
    He merely uncocked his pistol and replaced it into his coat pocket.
    Moira’s lips tightened, a flash of disappointment crossing her expressive face. Robert hid a grin. By putting his gun away and sitting so innocuously in a chair a good distance from her, he’d removed himself as an immediate threat. For all of her faults, Moira would never shoot someone without a damn good reason.
    Of course, if she
had
perceived him as a danger, she’d have shot him without a qualm and with deadly accuracy.
    She sighed and set her own pistol on the small chair beside the tub. “Stay if you must. I’m going to finish my bath.”
    “Feel free.”
    “You are too kind.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I can’t think of how to thank you.”
    “Oh, I can think of a way.” His gaze traveled over her. She was indeed now a brunette, though the tub reflected the copper light of her hair through thedyed strands. She’d piled her waist-length hair on her head and pinned it there, but there was no containing the wealth of silken tendrils, and several had found their way to her creamy shoulders, where they clung as if afraid to let go.
    Robert realized he was staring, and dropped his gaze to her pistol. “Still armed everywhere you go? That must be a weighty habit.”
    “It serves.” She soaped a large sponge. “So why are you here?”
    Robert stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankle. “I came to tell you that your journey tomorrow has been canceled.”
    Her green gaze locked on his. “How did you know I was going on a journey?”
    “I know many things.”
    “Oh, for the love of Saint Christopher, stop being so damn mysterious.” She rubbed the sponge along one elegant arm. “It’s annoying.”
    He chuckled. “I knew you were leaving because I discovered George Aniston’s lair yesterday and I’ve been having him watched. One of my men overheard him instruct his groom to bring a coach to you in the morning.”
    “Oh.”
    “Oh, indeed. Why are you still working for George Aniston?”
    She