Chapter Five
D ebating how much to tell her of what he’d witnessed, Logan turned away from Amelia. For the span of several breaths, he stared into the night, focusing on the sliver of moon against the stark blackness of the sky. In his life, he had seen violence. He had seen death.
By hellfire, he’d never encountered a more vile sight than what he had seen in that holding cell. The bastard who’d come after Amelia Stewart had died a violent death. Brutal. Bloody. Vicious.
God almighty.
He had watched as a detective retrieved a folding knife lying on the floor, inches from the man’s right hand. How had her assailant smuggled a blade into the jail? Surely the guards had searched him. They would not have made such a careless error.
Had the cur actually taken his own life?
Or had he been silenced?
Turning back to her, Logan caught Amelia’s hands in his. Her rounded face had gone pale, her mouth thinned to a taut seam. Was that fear in her sapphire eyes?
Damn the jackals who’d set this scheme against her into motion. If anyone tried to hurt her, they would pay a steep price. He’d see to that.
He drew his thumb over the back of her hand. Her skin was soft, smooth as satin. So very different from his. At his touch, her fingers trembled against him. If she’d been taken aback by his bold move, she did not show it. A current of awareness flowed between them.
Had she sensed the connection?
Her gaze softly questioning, the tension in her mouth eased. “You say he died by his own hand. Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t have the answer, lass. But I know this much: I’ll be damned if I am leaving ye to spend this night alone.”
Her eyes widened. With a slight lift of her chin, she slipped her hands from his grasp. “I have no need for a bodyguard. I am a librarian. Not a damsel in distress.”
“And I’m not blasted Prince Charming, out to slay some fairy tale monster. But as long as ye’re still in danger, I’ll take no chances with yer safety.”
Lacing her fingers as if to steady them, she pulled in a low breath. “The man who attacked me is lying dead in that cell.”
“The threat has not passed. Ye will stay with me, in my home.”
The set of her jaw betrayed her response before she spoke the words. “Out of the question, Mr. MacLain.”
“I will protect ye. But ye must listen to reason. Ye have to—”
She hiked a feathered brow. “Listen to reason?”
Bollocks. Hard-won experience had taught him never to utter those words to a woman. From the look in Amelia’s eyes, he should have heeded the lesson.
A minor setback, at worst. He’d advance a rational argument to convince her.
“If ye look at this logically—”
Heat blazed in her sapphire eyes. “Rest assured, I am viewing your proposal through a lens of reason and logic. And I must tell you, the word that springs to mind when I consider the notion that I might sleep under your roof is never .”
“Surely ye know ye can trust me by now.”
“Frankly, that remains to be seen,” she said with a little huff. “You’ve yet to explain why Paul would call upon you to protect me. And against schemers and murderers, no less. Perhaps some insight into the nature of your mysterious debt might inspire a bit more trust.”
“That time will come,” he said, doubting his own words. If Amelia knew the full truth of what had happened all those years ago—of the circumstances that had compelled her brother to pull a trigger to save Logan’s life—she might never forgive him.
“Will it now?” Her tone told him she’d read the truth in his expression. “In any case, I’ve no intention of spending the night with a—”
“A man like me?”
“With any man.”
“Ye’re concerned for yer reputation?”
“You are not the only one the gossipy biddies like to talk about. Preserving my good name is rather a lost cause.” A low breath escaped her slightly pursed lips. “I am most grateful for your assistance. But I have no intention of warming your bed.”
For reasons he couldn’t entirely work out, her insinuation stung. “Ye think that’s what this is about, do ye?”
She gave a little shrug. “It is very late. At this point, I possess neither the strength nor the mental energy to puzzle out your true motives. I wish only to return home.”
“Whatever the bastard was searching for is still out there. Ye don’t know who’s lurking about, who’s waiting for ye.”
The stubborn tilt of her chin ratcheted higher. “I had not expected you to be so melodramatic. Perhaps I should check my armoire for a monster or two before I lie down to sleep.”
“A woman alone is easy prey. Surely ye know that.”
“I will not be alone,” she countered. “Have you forgotten about Heathy?”
Had the lass not been in harm’s way, the notion of the four-legged mop of fur acting as her protector would have given him a chuckle. But at the moment, he was in no mood for amusement.
“I’ll be damned if I’m leaving yer defense to that wee beast.”
Her eyes glimmered with emotion. Was that a hint of fear? She was a strong woman, but she had to see she was still vulnerable.
Still in danger.
“Heathy is not a watchdog. But as you’ve seen, he’s quite capable of deterring an attacker.”
“We both know that mop on legs is no match for an armed man.”
As he spoke, Detective Inspector Herrin returned to the office. His expression grim, he closed the door behind him. He turned to Amelia. “At this time, I have no further questions. I will summon a constable to escort you home.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Logan said. “I will see to her safety.”
The detective frowned. “Mrs. Stewart, I would not be doing my duty if I did not entrust the task of seeing you home to one of our men. They are of the highest character.”
“That will not be necessary,” Amelia said. “I do appreciate your concern, but I have confidence in Mr. MacLain’s ability to see me safely to my doorstep.” Was it his imagination, or had her tone been rather cheeky, as if she felt both men were worrying far too much over a threat she felt had been extinguished?
“Very well.” Inspector Herrin pinched the bridge of his nose. “In that case, I will send a patrolman to escort you to the station house in the event that I have further questions.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Inspector, do you believe the man who attempted to rob me acted of his own accord?”
“At this point, there is no evidence that anyone else was involved. If he had an accomplice, you can be confident we will apprehend the lout.” Weariness fell over the detective’s features as he returned to his desk.
“Thank you, Inspector,” she said, offering a warm smile, as if she’d found an ally.
She flashed Logan a sneaking glance. So, she thought she’d won this battle, did she?
“There’s something else.” The detective sank into his chair. He reached for the decanter on his desk. “Something you need to know.”
Amelia’s smile faded. “And what might that be, Inspector?”
“It has been a very long night,” he said, pouring a hearty draught of brandy into a glass. “You’re entirely certain you’ve had no prior acquaintance with the man who attacked you?”
“As I’ve told you, I had never laid eyes on him before this evening.”
The detective nodded his understanding. “There is one thing that I find rather peculiar.”
“What are ye getting at?” Logan pressed for an answer.
Herrin studied Amelia for a long moment. “Paul Anderson was your brother, was he not?”
A tiny vee formed between her brows. “You know very well he was. But what could he have had to do with any of this?”
The detective pinned her with his gaze. “That’s what I was hoping you could tell us, Mrs. Stewart. You see, the man who died tonight carried your brother’s calling card.”
*
Amelia stayed by Logan MacLain’s side as they left the station house. She’d seen no need for an escort by a member of the police, yet another stranger whose presence she would have to endure on this horrid night. But she harbored no illusion that the streets of London were safe for an unarmed woman, much less after dark. Though the man who’d come after her was no longer a threat, she knew full well that more ordinary dangers lurked about at this hour of the night.
Casting MacLain a sidelong glance, she felt herself relax, if only a bit. Something about his very presence offered a sense of security, something she had not expected to feel. It may have been the confidence in his manner and the ever-so-serious set of his features, the sense that he was a man with a purpose he intended to fulfil. It might have been the image she carried in her mind of the capable way in which he’d dealt with the man who might well have killed both her and Heathy. Or, perhaps—just perhaps—deep within her, she wanted to believe his claim that Paul had trusted MacLain to be there for her when she needed him the most.
Amelia drew in a calming breath, then another. Regardless of whatever it was that made his nearness reassuring, she knew better than to give in to his urging to spend the night under his roof. Even if his motives were pure and chivalrous, unlikely as that might be, she certainly could not leave Heathy to his own devices all night long.
Weary to the bone, she longed for the comfort of her own bed. She’d be safe in her own flat. After all, the intruder could no longer hurt her. Even so, her thoughts raced. Inspector Herrin’s revelation had shaken her to the core. Why in heaven had the brute possessed a card engraved with her brother’s name? Surely Paul would not have associated with the ruffian who’d invaded her library.
Hazy gaslight cut through the darkness of the alley, bringing into focus an ebony-enameled coach. MacLain had sent a messenger to summon a carriage to transport her home. The rather stodgy conveyance was not at all what she’d expected. A pair of horses that looked to be well past their prime waited patiently to pull the coach. She glanced up at the driver’s bench. A lean man with a thick mop of wheat-brown hair tipped his flat-brimmed cap while the silver-haired woman at his side smiled down at them. The woman held the reins in slender, gloved hands.
“I was starting to wonder if ye were ever going to show yer face, MacLain,” the woman called from her perch. “Tim and I have been chilled to the bone.”
“These things take time,” MacLain replied. “I’d think ye’d remember that, given how many times ye fished yer husband out of jail.”
“Those were the days. Ah, how I miss that man.” The woman’s voice bore a touch of sadness.
“I know ye do, Mrs. Langford. As do I.”
Turning to Amelia, MacLain introduced her to the woman at the reins and the young man who’d accompanied her, the barkeep’s assistant, Tim. Following the exchange of pleasantries, he opened the door and assisted Amelia into the carriage. He then turned his attention back to Mrs. Langford. “Now I’ll ask ye to join Mrs. Stewart in the coach.”
“’Tis a beautiful night. A grand time for a drive,” she replied. “There’s no need for me to be cooped up inside.”
“I must insist,” he said, his tone firm.
She shot him a scowl belied by the twinkle in her eyes. “I seldom find an opportunity to take the coach out at night. You’re too blasted protective of me.”
“Mrs. Langford, I would be obliged to ye if ye’d convince the lady I am not a scoundrel.”
“Why in heaven would I want to do that?”
“Because it is the truth.” He grinned. “Even if I am inclined to get my way.”
The appealing touch of humor in his tone made Amelia smile despite the weary pounding in her head. She heard Mrs. Langford scurry down from the bench, impressively nimble despite the flowing wool of her skirt.
The older woman flashed a warm smile as she entered the coach. “Ye’ve no worries, MacLain. I’ll get the lass on yer side.”
“Ah, ye’re in for a treat,” he said to Amelia, wry amusement flavoring his words.
Mrs. Langford settled onto the bench across from Amelia, so near their knees almost touched. As she smoothed her skirts into place, she made no attempt to hide the fact that she was sizing Amelia up.
“So, lass, I understand ye’re in a bit of a fix.”
“I am confident the situation has been resolved,” Amelia replied, followed by a silent prayer that the words contained more fact than wishful thinking.
As the carriage rumbled down the street with MacLain at the reins, Mrs. Langford’s mouth pulled into a soft smile. “Logan is of a different mind on the matter. Believe me, if he sees a threat, it’s because one is there.”
“I must disagree. The man who tried to harm me is dead,” Amelia explained. The words seemed so very matter-of-fact, yet her pulse hammered with a fresh burst of fear.
“I know he is headstrong. Always has been, since he was a wee lad.” Mrs. Langford lowered her voice as if she confided a grand secret. “But ye will not find a man more true to his word. Logan will watch over ye. He will not let ye down. Ye can count on that.”
Welcoming the warmth in Mrs. Langford’s smile, Amelia bit back the reply that had sprung to mind. In truth, she had no reason to count on Mr. MacLain. Nor to fear he would let her down. Hours earlier, Logan MacLain had been a stranger to her. The events of this evening had not changed the fact that she knew almost nothing about the man other than breathlessly spoken gossip. But there was no need to dismiss the older woman’s confident assurances.
“He does appear rather determined to play the protector,” Amelia said gently.
“When the courier brought the message to come for the two of ye, I breathed a sigh of relief. The barkeep had already spread the word about the nasty bloke who attacked ye. And in yer own home, no less.” Mrs. Langford lightly touched Amelia’s hand, her expression revealing a genuine concern. “But I shouldn’t have worried over Logan. He’s a scrapper. Always has been.”
“I do hope it was not inconvenient for you and Tim to be summoned for an errand so late into the night.”
“’Tis no trouble. Logan and his family have been good to me. I am happy to return the favor whenever I have the chance.”
“I appreciate your help.”
Amelia peered out the window, searching for a way to change the subject. The more they spoke of Mr. MacLain, the more inclined she was to like the man. Which was most unwise. It was far better not to trust him, far better to not give her trust to any man. No matter how appealing his raw courage might be.
“I quite enjoyed the outing, dear. That is, until Logan banished me from the driver’s bench.” Mrs. Langford shrugged. “He worries there might be danger afoot, what with criminals lurking about, chasing after ye.”
A reply hovered on Amelia’s tongue, but she held it back. There was no point trying to convince the older woman that Mr. MacLain’s assessment of the situation was not entirely logical. Not that it mattered. Not really. In a few minutes, she’d be home in her own flat, with a cup of chamomile tea, and this dismal night would be near its end.
Minutes of engaging conversation passed between them before the carriage slowed to a stop, mere steps from Amelia’s home. Mrs. Langford glanced out the window, then back to her. “Ye’re the one who opened the lending library?”
The question conjured bittersweet memories. Her brother’s smile as he’d first escorted her into the rather plain brick building that now housed her collection. The sense of accomplishment upon seeing the carpenters install the shelves to house the collection. Her delight when the first shipment of books arrived. Many hours of planning and work had gone into setting up the library. Paul had not fully understood her fierce desire to open an establishment women could view as a haven. But he’d supported her endeavors with his whole heart.
Amelia swallowed against a lump in her throat. “My brother also played a part.”
Seeming to detect the emotion that had swept over her, Mrs. Langford placed a gentle hand over hers, a simple, reassuring touch. “Sometime soon, I may pay ye a visit,” she said. “That is, if ye’ll have me.”
The uncertainty in the older woman’s voice touched Amelia. Did she fear she would not be welcomed by the ladies who frequented the library?
“I do hope you will join us,” Amelia said. “I expect you’ll enjoy the conversation as well as the collection.”
Mrs. Langford flashed a grin. “I would relish time away from the tavern.”
“We must take tea one afternoon,” Amelia offered.
Mrs. Langford’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. “With this chill in the air, I would enjoy a cup of Earl Grey.”
“Would you now?” MacLain said as he appeared at the door. Extending a hand, he escorted Amelia from the carriage.
As she fished her key from her reticule, Mrs. Langford called out to her. “Good night, Mrs. Stewart. I’ve enjoyed our conversation, brief as it was.”
“As have I,” Amelia replied. Mrs. Langford waved from the window as Tim cracked the reins and the coach wheels rumbled over the pavement.
How very odd.
“Ye look puzzled,” MacLain observed with a deliberately bland air.
She stared after the carriage as it clattered off into the fog. “I cannot help but wonder why the carriage is departing.”
A hint of humor danced over his features. Drat the man. He had no right to look so devilishly appealing when he’d left her utterly confounded.
“How else did ye expect Mrs. Langford to return to the pub?” If only he didn’t sound so very logical.
She turned to him. “I assumed you would see to that.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I’ve entrusted that task to Tim.”
“Why?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
A half-smile played on his full mouth as the coach turned a corner some distance down the road, evidently heading toward MacLain’s tavern.
Now she was alone with him.
What in blazes was Mr. MacLain up to?
She swallowed against a lump of apprehension. “Dare I ask why you are still here?”
“As ye’re not willing to spend this night at my residence, ye’ve left me no choice.” His half-smile transformed into a sly grin. “Tonight, I will be yer guest.”