“Was he blackmailing you, Moira?”

The gentle words filled Moira’s heart with such longing that tears filled her eyes. If only she could tell Robert, explain things, lean on him, trust him. But she already knew the cost of trust—and she couldn’t take the risk.

She pulled her wrist from Robert’s grasp, turning away to swipe the tears from her eyes. “Don’t be foolish. . . . I don’t know anything about your precious onyx box. If I did, do you think I’d be here?”

A flicker of something crossed his face—was it disappointment?

He shrugged. “You must have thought it might be here, or you’d never have come.”

“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t believe you . . . Mrs. MacJames.” He almost spit the name.

“You don’t like it? MacJames is a time-honored name that—”

“I doubt you know your real name anymore, but I do. It’s Moira MacAllister—Hurst.”

“An entertaining romantic battle of wits . . .
[a] humor-rich historical.”
—Chicago Tribune on Scandal in Scotland