Page 61 of Their Master

“She wanted me to tell you that you have less than six weeks,” Turnbull had informed her the first time he’d visited.

“Why? What happens in six weeks?” she’d retorted.

“I don’t ask questions; I just relay the messages.”

Moira hadn’t been able to blame him for that; it was Marie who should have sent instructions by letter rather than passing such information along to a stranger—not to mention such a stupid, arrogant one.

“It will be easy enough to change the day or time of your lessons when the time comes, butyouneed to conceive of a way to get your brother and whoever he’s bringing with him into the house,” Turnbull had ordered, as if Moira were some sort of servant—and a dumb one, at that.

It had amused—but not surprised—her that Turnbull didn’t know who Etienne’s accomplice would be. Marie had kept theComte’s identity a secret to protect him, and only him. If this stupid kidnapping scheme were to fall apart, her father would not be among those who were arrested.

“Do you think I haven’t already been trying to work that out?” Moira had snapped at Turnbull, playing scales on the piano while they spoke. Fortunately, one of them knew something about music. Although Marie had spent money to procure a false identity for Turnbull, the man didn’t know a piano from a porpoise.

“So, what have you come up with, girlie?” Turnbull had persisted.

“Nothing yet. You know the guards never leave a door unattended—what am I to do? Shoot them?”

Not only were there always four men on guard—two at the front and two at the back—but they were armed and prepared to maim, or even kill, to protect their employer.

“Just do whatever it takes, girlie,” Turnbull had shot back. “We need to fix a date and time if I’m to get everything else in order.”

Girlie.

“Smith has been in Liverpool for almost a week. How am I to set a date if he isn’t even here?”

“Isn’t it yourjobto keep him here? Open those thighs—or that mouth—and give him a good reason to stay.”

Moira had wanted to punch him in the face so badly she’d had to bite her tongue until it bled to stifle her rage.

Instead of smashing a poker over his head, as he deserved, she had taken every opportunity to introduce him to the other servants—and the guards—hoping that making him familiar would help to make him appear harmless.

He was certainlyuseless, as far as Moira was concerned, but she doubted that would help convince Smith’s guards to dismiss him as a threat.

Even when Smith was away, the guards were on the doors. They’d taken Victor’s name and address, as they did with every visitor, and sheknewthat somebody had investigated the false background Marie had paid for.

All she could hope was that her mother had fashioned a fake identity for Victor that was better than the one she’d devised for Moira.

Gambling debts driving her from Marseilles! Moira didn’t even play cards—although she was quickly teaching herself since Smith had said that he wanted to take her to his bloody gambling club when he returned from Liverpool.

And now he was back, but he’d not come to her first. No, he’d apparently missed his gymnasium more than her.

Which meant Moira needed to go to him.

Victor’s last words to her today had been, “Keephim in town or I’ll be telling the boss who is to blame for any delays.”

And so here she was, knocking on what was widely considered to be Smith’s private sanctum.

Ugh. Moira felt like an idiot for questioning her actions, but she didn’t know Smith or his habits well enough to guess if what she was about to do was a good idea.

She hadn’t even known he was coming home today. It had been Luke who’d delivered the message before dinner.

Indeed, Smith had not contacted her at all this past week.

Left alone with nobody but Victor and her new drawing master—Victor’s idiot nephew, Dennis, who knew nothing at all about art—Moira had found herself increasingly drawn to her handsome, pleasant, and unerringly helpful personal servant.

Luke was also as difficult for her to read as a book written in Chinese.

As accustomed to sexual activity and multiple partners as she was, Moira had still been disconcerted the night she’d realized that Luke had patiently waited with a tea tray while Smith had fucked her.

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