Chapter Two
C asting a glance about the cluttered space that looked to have once been a bookseller’s shop, Logan MacLain questioned his resolve to take on a fool’s errand. What in blazes was he doing in a library—a ladies’ lending library, no less?
Surrounded by high-backed upholstered chairs, shelves brimming with well-used books, and the unmistakable aroma of rosewater in the air, Logan ruthlessly shoved aside his doubts. He had bloody little choice in the matter.
Years earlier, he’d incurred a debt. And he had given his word that when the time came, he would settle it. By God, he intended to honor that vow. Even if the woman at the heart of his quest regarded him as if he had gone mad. Or daft.
Or both.
From the moment he’d first stepped inside the place, Amelia Stewart and her companions had made clear their dismay that any man—much less a rogue like him—had dared to enter their domain. He’d seen no hint of fear in the lass’s deep blue eyes, nor in the gawking countenances of her companions. Rather, he had spotted indignation that he’d had the gall to burst in and disturb their peace.
Now, he regretted the raw honesty of his too-blasted-blunt declaration. Amelia Stewart’s lips had parted slightly, and she eyed him with ice in her gaze, seeming to search for a suitable rebuke.
Her sapphire eyes narrowed as she found her voice. “I know full well who you are. I’ll ask you only once more to leave this establishment.”
“I cannot do that.” Damned if he would toss the promise he had made to her brother upon the rubbish heap. “I must speak with ye. Alone.”
She threw her companions a sneaking glance. “Bea, please summon a constable.”
“That would be a mistake.” He spoke the truth. Any of the patrolmen in the vicinity could be allied with the schemer who’d led Amelia’s brother to his death.
With a deliberate motion, he reached for the links of the watch fob dangling from his vest. Bringing the timepiece into her sight, he displayed its engraved gold back. P.J.A. A courier had delivered her brother’s watch to Logan’s doorstep, mere hours after a letter he’d never expected to receive made its way to him—a letter containing a desperate plea written in a dead man’s hand.
For a long moment, she stared at the watch. The skin at her throat rippled slightly, as if she’d swallowed against an emotion she didn’t want him to see. And then she set her keen-eyed gaze on him.
“Bea... wait.” She threaded her fingers together, as if to steady them from trembling. “If the two of you would not mind staying a while longer, I would appreciate your presence. Perhaps you might peruse the periodicals that have recently arrived while I step into my office with our visitor.”
One of the women, a dark-haired lass with a comely round face and a scattering of freckles over her nose, shot him a look of distrust. “If you need us, we’ll be right here.”
“Thank you, Edith.” Amelia turned to him. “Very well, Mr. MacLain. Follow me. Please.”
He trailed her into a cramped room filled with more books and shelves. She lit a lamp, closed the door behind them, then stepped behind a large desk.
Amelia Stewart was pretty. There was no denying that. Her golden hair bore hints of ginger, while her rosy mouth needed no assistance from lip rouge. But fine lines of tension feathered around her eyes, and the set of her mouth was taut. Unyielding. No wonder that. Her brother’s demise had no doubt been hard for her to accept. The inquest had ruled his death a suicide.
But Logan knew better. And he suspected Amelia did as well.
Leaning forward, she pressed her hands against a small area on the desktop that was not covered with books or paper. Her knuckles whitened. Was he the cause of her distress? Or did something else trouble her?
“Mr. MacLain, you are not the first to claim to bear a message from my brother. And from beyond the grave, no less. Evidently, preying on those who’ve lost loved ones can prove quite lucrative. But you are the first who’s dared to cross my threshold bearing stolen goods.”
He drew the pad of his thumb over the back of the timepiece. “I take it ye recognize this.”
“You knew I would.” She reached for the pocket watch, but he closed his fingers around it.
“Not so fast.”
Her eyes darkened. Hardened. “I’d dismissed the fanciful rumors that you were an outlaw. It would appear I was correct. You are merely a thief. But you are wasting your time. I will not offer payment for what is rightfully mine.”
“I am no thief.”
“Then tell me where in blazes you got your hands on my brother’s watch?”
The fire in her voice appealed to him, even as she eyed him with cold daggers in her gaze. This woman had courage. Even when face to face with a stranger, a man she didn’t think she could trust. Her brother had spoken of her intelligence. Of her gentleness. But never of her spirit.
“A courier brought it to the tavern this morning. The letter from Paul arrived last night.”
“Ah, so that’s it. The message from my brother’s ghost, conveyed alongside stolen gold and Swiss-made gears.”
“I assure ye he’d written the letter while he still walked this earth.”
“Is that so?” A small sigh escaped her lips. “I must confess, I am surprised you would admit Paul did not communicate with you from another realm.”
“I have no reason to mislead ye, lass. The messages I received appear genuine to my eyes, but ye can see for yerself.” He reached into his jacket to retrieve the letter, but she stopped him with a curt wave of her hand.
“That will not be necessary. I have no desire to see another not-so-clever forgery.” She folded her arms at the waist, as if to insulate herself from the fresh pain he had stirred. “The last seer to pass through this door also bore dubious proof of his communication with my brother. The conniver offered to lead me to a mysterious inheritance. For a generous fee, of course.”
Meeting her eyes, he saw the distress she could not hide. Anger set his teeth on edge. Bloody bastards, harassing a woman in her grief. If he were to encounter one of their ilk, he’d set the villain on his arse.
“I am not here to seek monetary gain. Paul’s letter will be yers to view when ye’re ready. But in the meantime, I’m asking ye to trust that yer brother sent me to protect ye.”
“Sent you? A man he had not spoken to in years?” Her lower lip trembled. “Yes, I know of you. Paul spoke of you when he was at university. Later, he said the two of you had parted ways. He wanted nothing to do with you.”
Her words cut deeper than she might have imagined, but as he’d learned to do all those years ago, he paid the twinge of emotion no heed. If Amelia had known the truth, she’d have realized he was not the reason his friendship with Paul had splintered into a thousand sharp bits. But none of that mattered. Not now.
“The letter I received last night was penned a short time before your brother died. He knew he’d made enemies. And he feared they would come after ye.” He met her questioning gaze. “He asked me to protect ye when ye became their target.”
“Enemies he’d made? Target?” She twisted her hands together, as if that might ease her pain. “How dare you! I have experienced cruel attempts at deception, but I believe this may be the most vile.”
“I have no desire to mislead ye.” Dangling the timepiece from its chain, he extended his hand. “Take the watch. Yer brother wanted ye to have it.”
Curling her slender fingers around the watch, she snatched it out of his reach. Did she fear he would have a change of heart? She raised it to the light, the faintest of smiles lifting the corners of her mouth.
“Paul treasured this watch so very much. Our father gave it to him on his twentieth birthday.” Her eyes brightened as she examined the engraved initials. “I’d believed it had been lost forever.”
He allowed her to enjoy this moment of happiness before drawing her attention back to him with a purposeful clearing of his throat.
“Paul believed you were in danger. He wanted me to look after ye.”
“Look after me?” she scoffed. “I do not need a protector, Mr. MacLain. Much less the likes of you.”
“The likes of me, eh?” He pulled up a chair, sat down, and stretched out his legs. “So, what is it ye’ve learned about the Scoundrel MacLain?”
Her teeth grazed her plump lower lip, drawing his gaze. Bugger it. He forced himself to look away. By God, the woman’s lush mouth could tempt a dead man to sin. Bloody shame her lips were pinched tight with disdain.
Disdain for him.
There was no changing it. Not that it mattered. He didn’t need her to like him.
But he needed her to trust him. At least long enough for him to root out the vicious bastard who’d hurt her if given a chance.
“The Scoundrel MacLain?” She hiked her chin. “A bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say?”
“Would ye expect anything less from a scoundrel?”
She pursed her lips into a bow. “In regard to your question,” she began, keeping her tone crisp, “I am not about to discuss the salacious details with you. But I have heard enough to know you are no gentleman.”
“Yer brother knew a gentleman could not defend ye.”
Slowly, she shook her head. “You’re worse than the charlatans who seek to profit from my grief.”
“What do ye think I have to gain from this?”
“I do not know, Mr. MacLain. Nor do I care to find out. But I’ve heard enough—you need to leave.”
“Not until you understand the danger ye’re facing.” He needed to choose his words carefully, but he could not turn away from the ugly truth. “Yer brother’s death was no accident. Ye know that, just as well as I do.”
Amelia went still. The color drained from her cheeks. “How cruel of you to twist the knife.”
An invisible fist dug into Logan’s gut. He hadn’t intended to cause her pain. But at the moment, he had no choice. He had to convince her to accept his protection.
“We both know the truth. Paul was murdered. And I have good reason to believe ye’re now a target.”
*
“Again, I must ask you to leave, Mr. MacLain.”
Pulling in a low breath, Amelia steadied her racing pulse. If the arrogant rogue thought to frighten her, he was sorely mistaken. In those bleak days after her brother’s death, she’d had quite enough experience with those who preyed upon the vulnerable. She’d learned to steel her spine and send the swindlers and cheats on their way. This was no different. She could not fathom Logan MacLain’s true motives, but she had no tolerance for unsettling claims. Protector, indeed.
“I cannot do that.” His gravel-edged words were firm with resolve.
“Please go.” She bit the words between her teeth. “Now.”
“Paul feared ye were in danger. He trusted someone—someone I do not know—to contact me when the threat became clear.” Fierce determination blazed in his dark eyes. “Yer brother asked me to watch over ye.”
“You speak of danger as if some dastardly villain lurks in the shadows. You must realize I have no reason to believe you.”
“Aye, I do. When I received the first letter last night, I dismissed the message as so much rubbish, nothing more than a cruel prank. But when the courier brought Paul’s watch to me, I took it as proof that he’d trusted someone to seek me out. I believe the message is genuine. And I will not cast aside my duty to watch over ye.”
His gaze betrayed no hint of duplicity. Still, he had to realize that his claims were beyond belief.
“Tell me, Mr. MacLain, why would my brother send for you, of all people?”
“I owed Paul a debt, one I vowed to settle. I intend to see it through.”
“Rather odd that he had not spoken to you in nearly a decade, wouldn’t you say?”
“Our paths were different,” he said. “But Paul knew I was a man of my word. He knew he could trust me, no matter what had gone before.”
“You speak of paying a debt to my brother. That’s quite the opposite of what I usually hear.” Amelia let out a sigh. “If you lost to him at cards, I have no desire for your money.”
“It has nothing to do with cards. Or money.” MacLain plowed long fingers through his straight, dark hair. “I owe yer brother my life. Were it not for him, I’d have been long dead and buried.”
Poppycock. Biting back the unladylike word, Amelia marveled at the gall of the man. Logan MacLain was not the first person who’d tried to deceive her since her brother’s death. But Mr. MacLain’s approach was far different from the rest. How dare he seek her trust with false claims of loyalty?
Did the rogue take her for an utter fool? She’d adored her brother, but Paul had never aspired to be a hero. Let alone one who’d saved a man’s life. Even while they were children raised in a staid household, Paul had been wily and clever. He’d grown to be a schemer, a gambler, a man true to very few. Amelia might have been the only one Paul trusted. Even so, her brother had kept much of his life well concealed. Many of his activities remained a mystery, even to her.
But she certainly knew better than to believe the balderdash spewing from Logan MacLain’s mouth.
Swallowing against a bitter lump in her throat, she glanced at the gold timepiece cradled against her palm. “I do want to thank you, Mr. MacLain. You have my gratitude for returning Paul’s watch to me.” She forced herself to meet MacLain’s dark gaze. “But it is cruel for you to persist with this bizarre charade. Please do not disturb me again.”
“I will leave ye. For now.” He turned to the door. “If ye need me, send for me. Any time of the day. Or night.”
“I assure you, Mr. MacLain, I will not be darkening your doorstep.”
“Do not be so sure.” He threw her a look over his shoulder as he walked away. “Trouble is coming. I sense it in my bones. When ye need me, ye know where I’ll be.”