Chapter Ten
R eady for trouble as he escorted Amelia from her home, Logan counted himself ready to face most any threat that might arise. Before leaving the Rogue’s Lair, he’d strapped a sgian dubh to his calf and holstered a gun beneath his jacket. He’d inspected the derringer she carried in her reticule, judging with his own eyes that it was a viable weapon in the event something rendered him unable to defend her. Determined to ensure her safety, he’d mentally mapped out the spots along the way to and from her residence where an assailant might hide in wait. He thought he was well prepared to watch over Amelia.
Bloody hell, he’d been wrong.
He could not have predicted that Amelia would thrust a leather travel case containing her wee beast—a decidedly unhappy wee beast at that—into his hand. Nor that she would flash a deliberately sweet smile as she made her request that he, of all people, transport the dog to his coach.
When he started to scowl, signaling that he’d prefer a night in the Tower to the task, her delicate brows knit into the beginning of a frown.
“Heathy is exceedingly unhappy. Perhaps I should reconsider... leaving, that is.”
“The dog will be well enough once he can take leave of this little box.”
She nodded, her weary expression making it clear that the wee beast was not the only one who felt no joy at leaving her home.
“You’re quite right,” she said. “I suppose we should hurry along.”
“My housekeeper will see to it that the dog has an abundance of bones to gnaw on and whatever else it is that he fancies.”
“He’ll like that,” she said half-heartedly. “I’ll gather my things.”
With that, she turned on her heel, leaving him standing on the front steps, bearing cargo that yipped in an infuriatingly steady rhythm. Bloody hell, was the dog actually counting the beats between his plaintive barks? If the good townsfolk were to witness the sight of The Outlaw MacLain hauling a mop with teeth, they’d bloody well enjoy a hearty chuckle at his expense.
“Well, well, Logan MacLain. If this isn’t a rich sight.”
Blast the infernal luck. Hearing the laughter in the man’s familiar voice, Logan tossed a glance over his shoulder, spotting Finn Caldwell as he cut a quick path across the street.
Holding the carrier steady as the squirming dog within let loose a mournful howl, Logan met his cousin’s questioning gaze.
“Murray said ye’d be here,” Finn said. His eyes narrowing, he stared at the bag. “Good God, man, that is a hound, isn’t it?”
“Unless the lass’s clothes have come to life, I’d say it bloody is.”
Finn chuckled. “And a fearsome little beast he is.”
“I’ll have you know he is quite fierce,” Amelia said as she emerged from the library, carrying a bulging traveling bag in her hand. “There, there, Heathy. You’ve no need to fret.”
As if in hearty disagreement, the dog barked more vigorously. Blasted shame the pup didn’t realize he was not likely to stir a fright in any creature larger than a field mouse. His niece’s wee tabby kitten wouldn’t even bat an eye over the dog.
“Naughty boy,” Amelia scolded lightly. “Hush.”
Finn hiked a brow. “I presume she is speaking to the hound.”
“Ye’re still an arse, Caldwell,” Logan muttered.
“Ah, tell me something I didn’t already know.” As Finn laughed, his attention lingered on Amelia. She’d hiked her skirts to the ankle while making her way down the stairs.
“I take it you are a friend of Mr. MacLain,” she said as she stepped onto the pavement.
“Cousins. I have far better taste in friends,” he said. “Finn Caldwell, at yer service. It is my pleasure to make yer acquaintance.”
A raw epithet sprang to Logan’s lips, but he thought better of it. “If ye’re attempting to win over the lady, she will not be impressed by whatever it is ye’re calling wit.”
“Mr. Caldwell, if you would be inclined to assist me, I have another satchel.” Her expression bland as porridge, Amelia motioned to the entry. “It’s just beyond the door.”
“Never let it be said Finn Caldwell is not a gentleman.”
Amelia’s mouth curved in the faintest of acknowledgement. “Oh, and if you would, please grab Heathy’s bag as well.”
“Heathy?” Finn repeated.
“My dog.”
Finn’s forehead furrowed. “The hound possesses his own satchel?”
“Of course.” Amelia flashed a smile.
“Consider it done, lass.”
She stepped aside, and Finn bounded up the stairs. Logan shot him a glare. God above, his cousin was bloody shameless.
“I take it he fancies himself to be charming,” Amelia said in a conspiratorial whisper.
“If that’s what ye want to call it.”
Amusement played on her rosy mouth. “I have little use for a charming man. I much prefer an honest one.”
“In that case, ye’re in bloody luck. I’m not inclined to spout silky drivel.”
As she placed her traveling case on the floor of the coach, Finn descended the steps, an over-stuffed carpet bag in one hand and a blue satchel embroidered with a large black “H” in the other. A metal bowl and a well-gnawed bone protruded from the case. By Zeus, she’d actually monogrammed the dog’s bag. Amelia Stewart was nothing if not surprising.
In place of his typical smug smile, Finn flashed a scowl. Logan let loose the rumble of laughter he’d held back. At least he wasn’t the only man whose fearsome reputation was at risk of crumbling to dust.
“Do ye intend to tell me why ye’re here?” he asked Finn as his cousin set the bags inside the carriage.
“I understand ye’re taking her to yer place. Someone needs to watch yer back.” Finn motioned to his carriage. “I’ll follow ye there.”
“Ye know of a threat?”
“None that I have confirmed.” Finn’s expression revealed more than his words.
Amelia’s top teeth grazed her plump bottom lip. The worry in her eyes was like a fist digging into Logan’s gut. “Has something else happened?”
Finn shook his head. “But we can’t let down our guard.”
“We’ll keep ye safe,” Logan assured her. “Ye can count on that.”
*
From her comfortable seat within MacLain’s carriage, Amelia took in the scene as they made their way to his West End townhouse. Through the back window, she spotted Finn Caldwell at the reins of his sleek conveyance as he trailed their coach at a discreet distance.
Peering up at her from his spot by her feet, Heathy yipped for attention. Amelia slid a finger through the mesh at the end of his case and petted his head. “Oh, hush. You’ll be out of there soon enough.”
Turning back to the window, she drank in the fine craftsmanship of the elegant brick and mortar buildings lining the streets as the carriage made its way over the cobblestone pavement.
The carriage slowed as they approached a stately red-brick townhouse with gleaming black shutters. An ebony gaslight on a pole near the front windows lent the premises an understated charm.
MacLain climbed down from the driver’s bench and escorted her from the coach to the entry of the house.
“Welcome to my home.” His tone was casual, but the expression in his eyes betrayed the intensity of his mood.
Amelia gulped a breath and gripped Heathy’s carrier more tightly. To her dismay, the dog fidgeted and barked, announcing their presence.
As soon as MacLain opened the polished wood door, Mrs. Langford hurried to greet them. Looking past them, her smile lit her eyes. Amelia glanced over her shoulder as Mr. Caldwell strolled through the entry.
“Ah, if this isn’t a pleasant surprise,” Mrs. Langford said. She flushed like a young lass and touched her fingertips to her cheek.
Caldwell’s smile carved an appealing dimple in his cheek. “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Langford.”
Amelia caught the sour glance Logan shot his cousin. As if to announce his dismay at the attention everyone was receiving except him, Heathy let out a bark, then another.
A vee etched between Mrs. Langford’s brows. She leaned closer to get a better look inside the satchel. “Goodness, is that what I think it is?”
As if in reply, Heathy barked, a bit less plaintively this time.
“A wee hound.” Mrs. Langford looked to MacLain. “Why, he’s so very much like the one yer mum had when ye were a lad.”
MacLain met her gaze. “Ye still remember old Silas?”
“Who could ever forget the valiant little creature? No vermin dared trespass in yer mum’s home, not with Silas in residence.”
“That was a long time ago,” he said.
“I remember ye playing with the pup,” Mrs. Langford said with a touch of wistfulness. “Back in those days, ye did not even come to my chin. Yer mum was none too pleased by the dirt the two of ye would drag into the house.”
MacLain rubbed his jaw, the look of a pleasant memory softening the set of his features. Something in his expression—something Amelia couldn’t quite define—fascinated her. What an imp he must have been as a boy, a handsome lad with mischief dancing in his dark brown eyes.
Caldwell chuckled under his breath. “Getting soft-hearted, are ye?”
MacLain’s jaw hardened. He’d displayed a side of himself Amelia suspected he did not usually reveal. “The dog earned his keep, I will give him that.”
“Just as Heathy does,” Amelia spoke up proudly.
His brow furrowed. “The dog’s a wee terror, he is.”
Caldwell leaned toward Heathy’s case. He drew back quickly when a growl met his action. “That he is.” He chuckled. “Why, I’m shaking in my boots.”
“Heathy can be a wee bit cantankerous, but I’m confident he will warm up to you,” Amelia said. “In time.”
A primly attired wisp of a woman whose dark hair was generously sprinkled with silver entered the front hall. “Cantankerous, you say?” Wry humor played on her thin mouth. “In that case, the dog will be right at home among this lot of scoundrels.”
“A warm greeting, as usual, Mrs. Garrett.” MacLain’s mouth hitched up at one corner, not quite a grin. “No one could accuse ye of dripping honey to gain favor with yer employer.”
“Would you have it any other way?” she replied.
“I do value honesty. But I place even more worth on yer lamb stew,” MacLain said. “A finer cook ye could not find in all of England.”
“It’s a good thing you were blessed with that smile. I’ve no doubt it has helped you charm your way out of many a fix.” The woman’s eyes warmed as she turned to Amelia. “As my employer is taking his fine time offering an introduction, I will see to that task myself. I am Mrs. Garrett. You must be Mrs. Stewart.”
MacLain slanted the older woman a glance. “Impatient as ever, I see.”
Mrs. Garrett flashed him a little scowl that appeared to be for effect. “I keep house, and from time to time, I prepare meals for MacLain—on those rare occasions when he’s actually in the residence.”
Amelia offered a smile. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“As ye can see, Mrs. Garrett’s cheerful disposition endears her to all she meets,” Caldwell said with a cheeky grin.
Mrs. Garrett’s mouth tightened, as if she held words perched on the tip of her tongue that she’d thought better than to voice. Waving him away, she turned to Amelia. “If there is anything you need while you’re under this roof, please do not hesitate to let me know. I will be seeing to your accommodations.”
“Thank you,” Amelia said as Heathy yipped again.
Mrs. Garrett bent down and spoke gently to the dog. Her smile seemed as genuine as Heathy’s enthusiasm while he wagged his tail.
“The little fellow is a good judge of character.” She turned to Finn, her eyes narrowing. “’Tis no wonder he growled at you.”
“Ah, ye’ve a cold heart,” Caldwell protested as MacLain chuckled under his breath.
“You’d do well to remember that. Your sly ways do not work on me,” the housekeeper said. “As long as I am here, you will treat the ladies in this house with the proper regard.” She sent Amelia a wink that told her she had an ally under MacLain’s roof.
“Mrs. Garrett, I trust you will find suitable accommodations for Mrs. Stewart’s pet,” MacLain said.
“If it’s no trouble, I would prefer that Heathy stay in my room,” Amelia said.
“It’s no trouble,” Mrs. Garrett replied. “I’ll see to the darling pup’s comfort.”
MacLain’s brows hiked. Standing behind the housekeeper, he mouthed the words darling pup to his cousin.
“As I recall, ye did not regard yer own grandson so kindly when he paid ye a visit,” MacLain pointed out.
Mrs. Garrett’s thin shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t expect this pup will be nearly as insolent as my kin. His mum—my harridan of a daughter—is raising the lad to be a hellion, she is.” She let out a little sigh. “At least I do not have to worry about the influence the two of ye will have on a dog.”
“True enough,” MacLain agreed. “Finn and I will see to Mrs. Stewart’s bags. And then, we have matters to discuss.”
“If Mr. Caldwell is involved, it is safe to assume the matters are not fit for a lady’s ears,” Mrs. Langford spoke up. “I’ll be happy to help Amelia to settle in.”
“This time, I am only the messenger.” Caldwell raked a hand through his wavy wheat-brown hair. “Fit for a lady or not, Mrs. Stewart needs to hear what I’ve learned.”