Mary's gaze was fascinated. "I didn't even know you were acquainted with Miss Beauchamp. You've never said a word."

"He knew her years ago," Robert said.

"Many years ago. So many that I'd almost forgotten." William sent Robert a dour glare. "Here's what happened. When I arrived on ship she was already in my cabin. It never dawned on me that she wanted the artifact; I didn't know anyone other than ourselves was even aware of it."

"And she just demanded it?" Mary asked.

"No. She said she needed my help with something, and when I told her no and ordered her to leave, she asked for a drink, which she then poured. She'd doctored the port before I'd even arrived."

"I daresay she knew you wouldn't help her," Robert said.

"She was right." William ground his teeth. "While I was incapacitated, she stole the artifact."

Caitlyn shook her head. "Someone must have known of your connection and sent her to steal it."

"Perhaps," William said grimly. "She said something as she left-something about needing the artifact to win her freedom."

"What did she mean by that?" Caitlyn asked.

"I have no idea."

"She can't be in need of funds," Caitlyn said, pursing her lips. "Everyone knows she enjoys Colchester's protection."

"And he is as wealthy as Croesus," Mary added. "If I had a protector, I'd want one with that much money."

Robert's black brows snapped down. "That is not a proper subject for a lady." He shot a glare at MacLean and Erroll, who were both grinning. "I'm surprised you find that amusing."

MacLean placed a hand on Caitlyn's shoulder. "I find plain talking and forward thinking a joy in a spouse."

"It's one of Mary's best traits, too," Erroll added.

Mary sighed. "Please stay on the topic. We must figure this out." She turned to William. "What do you think Miss Beauchamp wanted with the artifact? She's not a known collector."

"We won't know until I catch up with her." He hesitated a moment. "I don't believe she did this for herself; she was sent by someone."

Robert leaned forward. "By whom?"

"More than likely, the person Michael warned Erroll about."

Everyone looked at the earl, who nodded thoughtfully. "The letter I received from Michael warned that I should be cautious with the object and trust no one, not even people I knew."

"Good G.o.d," Robert said with obvious disgust. "Trust Michael to make such a dramatic statement and not bother to explain it." He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Not only have we lost the box, but only three of you have seen it-which means the rest of us cannot a.s.sist in any real way. We could stumble upon it and never even know it."

"I have a picture of it."

All eyes turned to Mary, who tugged the drawstring of the reticule hanging from her wrist. "I drew it when I was working with Erroll. I brought the drawing with me to show to a curator at the British Museum to see what he thought of it." She held out a drawing on high-quality paper.

William leaned forward but Caitlyn was quicker. "Is this the correct size?" she asked.

Mary nodded.

Robert leaned to the side so he could see the drawing. "Odd. I think I've seen that before, but it was a long, long time ago ... No, it couldn't be." He flicked a glance at Mary. "How accurate is the detailing?"

William reached across to take the paper from Caitlyn. "This is exactly it. Well done, Mary."

She smiled, her face pink. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And now I will bid you all adieu. I must pack my bags and leave."

Robert stood. "You plan to follow Miss Beauchamp?"

"Yes. I must find out who wanted that. I have it on good authority that Miss Beauchamp is leaving within the next few hours, and wherever she's going, she plans to stay overnight."

Robert looked skeptical. "How did you discover that? You just arrived."

"Oh, I have my methods."

Mary's gaze was bright with curiosity. "William, just how well do you know Miss Beauchamp?"

He shrugged. "Well enough."

"That's an understatement," Robert murmured. At William's sharp look, he continued, "I take it you're telling us you don't need our help?"

"Not yet. I will contact you as soon as I know more."

Robert nodded. "That's good. I've an errand of my own in Edinburgh."

MacLean quirked a brow at Robert. "Shall we expect the pleasure of your company after you finish your errand? You would be within a day's ride."

"Perhaps," Robert said, favoring them all with an odd smile.

William scowled. d.a.m.n Robert and his mysterious airs. "If you don't mind, I shall leave you all now. I must be off as soon as possible if I'm to retrieve that artifact."

Robert turned to his sisters. "Shall we retire to my house? Unlike William, I will offer you food and a very nice Madeira."

William added, "I've already ordered your coaches to be brought around."

A sudden knock sounded as Lippton stood in the doorway. "Sir, you asked that I inform you when your caller arrived. I escorted him to the library and he is awaiting you there."

"Very good. My family was just preparing to leave." He turned to them. "As soon as I know something more, I will write."

Robert stood and adjusted one of his French cuffs, his shrewd gaze locked upon William. "You know where this artifact-and Miss Beauchamp-have gone, don't you?"

"When I regained consciousness, I immediately sent word to my friend Fielding who oversees the Bow Street Runners. I asked him to have an agent keep an eye on the elusive Miss Beauchamp."

"Ah. That is your visitor, then."

"I believe so."

Robert turned to his sisters, who were standing ready to depart. "I suggest we leave this mess for William to sort out. He'll contact us if he has need of our help."

"William, please hurry," Caitlyn begged. "I worry about Michael."

"I don't," Erroll said.

Mary sighed. "Erroll says Michael is fine, and that in some foreign climes being held for ransom is almost an honor."

"It is until they cut off your head," Robert said blandly.

At the reproachful looks tossed his way, he shrugged. "I am merely repeating something Michael once said. I'm of the opinion that so long as our brother is under the protection of the indomitable Miss Smythe-Haughton, he will come to no harm."

Mary frowned. "She's just his secretary."

"She is his translator, curator, administrator, organizer-in a word, she is his everything. He just hasn't realized it yet."

"They don't even like one another," Caitlyn said. "Michael's said so in his letters."

"Exactly," Robert replied with a smug smile.

William made an impatient noise. "Whatever Miss Smythe-Haughton is or is not, I will get that artifact and deliver it as soon as possible. I will keep you all apprised of the situation as it develops."

He gave a quick bow and left the room, his mind focused on the man who awaited him in the breakfast room. Michael, it won't be long now. Wherever I have to go, whatever I have to do, I will find that artifact and win your release.

Letter from Michael Hurst to his sister Mary, from a rented room overlooking a busy bazaar in Turkey.

I am awaiting my new interpreter. He is to take my party on a two-week journey into the mountains, where the locals swear a number of ancient ruins are hidden. One of our contacts suggested that there is also treasure to be found, but finding just one ruin of a proper antiquity would be enough of a treasure for me. One never knows until one investigates. Never believe the ears until confirmed by the eyes.

CHAPTER 5.

The young porter dropped Marcail's trunk to the floor, then pulled out a kerchief and wiped his brow. "I'll fetch yer portmanteau from the bottom of the steps next, miss."

"Thank you." Marcail unhooked her gray cloak of fine wool, trimmed with deep red satin, and hung it on a hook by the door. The room was a far cry from the luxurious house she occupied in London, but charming nonetheless. The bed's thick coverlet was decorated with yarn bows that matched the curtains, and the furniture was of good quality. As far as accommodations went, it was much better than she'd dared to hope.

The only difficulty had been finding a place for her coach and six. This inn's stable was small, so she'd had to send her equipment down the street to a less genteel inn with a larger stable. All told, it was a relatively minor inconvenience.

The porter returned with her portmanteau and she pointed to a clear s.p.a.ce beside the bed.

"Very good, miss. They's fresh water in yer pitcher and clean gla.s.ses, too."

"Thank you."

The porter's bright gaze locked on her veil and bonnet as if he wished he had the nerve to ask her to remove them. "Pardon me, miss, but I was surprised to see a genteel lady like yerself comin' into town, it not bein' ocean bathin' season no more."

The small town she'd been ordered to report to was eerily empty, as the weather had turned cold several weeks before. "I wish to enjoy the quiet."

"Ye'll still find plenty t' do if ye like walks upon the beach," the porter said helpfully. "'Tis a grand little town, fer all that it's not as popular as Brighton. Queen Charlotte herself stayed here one night twenty years ago! The day after she left, the lord mayor renamed two buildings and three streets after the royal family, hopin' more o' them might come."

"And did they?"

His face fell. "No. But we've grown all the same. Why, the town's twiced as big now as it was then."

Realizing she was about to receive an exhaustive history of Southend-on-Sea, Marcail quickly pressed some coins into the porter's hand. "Thank you again for bringing up my luggage."

He backed toward the door, beaming. "It's my pleasure, miss. If'n ye need anything else, just ring the bell and someone will come t' see what ye need."

"Thank you." Smiling, Marcail herded him from the room.

"I'll be glad to brush yer shoes if ye leave them outside the door," the porter added as he crossed the threshold.

"I shall remember that, thank you." With that, she closed the door and turned the key in the lock.

After the porter's footsteps faded away, she hurried to her portmanteau. She removed all of the clothes from the bag and dislodged the false bottom, revealing the carefully wrapped artifact. "Good," she murmured, repacking the bag and returning it to the floor.

Now all she had to do was wait. If this was like her other exchanges, Miss Challoner would show up when she chose, which often left Marcail waiting for hours and sometimes days. The whole thing was most unnerving.

But the worst part was behind her. She'd procured the artifact; now she could deliver it and be done with it.

Yet she couldn't forget the blaze of William's eyes as he watched her, condemning her every move. Don't be silly; he was drugged. He probably wasn't fully aware of what occurred.

The thought should have rea.s.sured her, but it just made her heart ache a little more. Blast it, she should be done with feeling bad about things that had happened, especially about things that had to happen. Perhaps I should have just told him why I'd come, that I needed the artifact to protect my family.

But even as she had the thought, she shook her head. He'd been too angry to listen to her. If she'd been on fire, he wouldn't have spared a gla.s.s of water to save her. I had no choice; I did what I had to.

Heart heavy, she removed her veil and bonnet and set them on the bed. She pulled out all of her hairpins and placed them on the nightstand, then threaded her fingers through the ma.s.s of waves that fell about her shoulders.

She was tired, worn, and ached from head to foot. Southend-on-Sea was almost a twelve-hour ride from London. Why had her blackmailer chosen this town? It was in the middle of nowhere, which made her uneasy.

She ruffled her hair and then went to look out one of the windows. The town sat on the North Sea at the mouth of the Thames, built upon a graceful slope that led to the sea's edge. The rainy street below was nearly empty, except for a man in dark clothing who appeared to be waiting for someone and a stray dog that was digging under a stoop.

Beyond the street, she could see a long pier jutting out into the water. Several boats were tied there, including a large ship. In the distance, two more ships slowly sailed toward the pier. It was a pretty scene, worth painting.

Sighing, she dropped the curtain and looked about the room, suddenly feeling very alone. "Just come and take the blasted thing," she murmured sourly. "I don't have all week to wait for you."

Not to mention that the longer Miss Challoner waited to claim the artifact, the longer William had to find her. She was safer here, away from London, but still ... He had been so very, very angry. She would have to face him when she returned home. She'd been extremely careful that no one knew she was coming here. Except for three of her servants, everyone thought she was at home in bed, ill with the ague.

Still, she couldn't linger too long; she was due to begin rehearsal on a new melodrama ent.i.tled Ali Pasha. The script was in her portmanteau, as she'd planned to read it on the way, but the bouncing of the coach had prevented it.

Impatient, she went to the dresser and poured herself a gla.s.s of water, then sat in a chair and stretched out her legs.

It was as if the blackmailer was purposely trying to grind her spirit into dust. That was a silly thought, for it suggested that the person had a personal grudge against her, and she had no real enemies.

That is true, isn't it? Is there any reason someone would want my life disrupted in such a fashion?