Chapter Eleven
A melia paced the floor of MacLain’s study. Staring down at the intricate design woven into the rug beneath her feet, she struggled to hold her tongue as the allegations Finn Caldwell uttered clawed deeper and deeper at her chest. Each calmly spoken word seemed a sharp dagger to the heart.
Mr. Caldwell was mistaken. Surely the information he’d gleaned from his so-called sources was wrong. It simply had to be.
The very idea that her brother had become entangled with criminals was ludicrous. Paul had been many things in his life.
But he was no thief.
Finn Caldwell’s accusations could not possibly have merit.
But as she studied him, seeing the solemn truth in his eyes, the pain in her heart grew more intense with each beat. Mr. Caldwell had no reason to deceive her.
Unlike her brother.
For months before Paul’s death, she’d suspected he was hiding something. He’d become unusually reticent, especially when she inquired about his trips to the Continent. Deep down, she’d known he was harboring secrets.
Had he been trying to protect her?
Or had he feared she would be ashamed of him if she knew the truth?
“I know this is not pleasant for ye,” Caldwell went on. “But we need ye to tell us about yer brother’s dealings.”
“Paul was an authority on the art of the Renaissance. He traveled the Continent in search of works of interest to his clients.”
Caldwell nodded. “What do ye know of his clients?”
“He acquired works for museums and public galleries, for the most part. Though from time to time, private collectors employed his services.”
Standing by a well-stocked bookcase, MacLain leaned an elbow against a shelf. “What do ye know about these collectors?”
“Paul shared very little with me. His clients demanded a high level of confidentiality.”
MacLain nodded. “What do ye recall of his travels in the months before his death?”
“He spent several weeks in Paris. He returned shortly before he died.”
“What business did he have there?” MacLain pressed.
“I don’t know. As I’ve said, my brother did not often discuss his ventures with me.”
“I don’t wish to upset ye, but the facts are plain. Yer brother was involved with some very bad people.” The furrows in Mr. Caldwell’s forehead betrayed his tension. “We need to know why.”
“Paul was not a saint. Not by any measure.” She dragged in a deep breath. “But he was not a criminal.”
“We can’t ignore the truth. There’s good reason to believe he’d been working with schemers and cheats,” MacLain said, gritting out the words as if they pained him. “He got himself in over his head.”
A swell of brutal emotion crashed into her. “My brother was neither a thief nor a swindler.”
“We are not here to sully Paul’s name.” A tiny muscle in MacLain’s jaw ticked. “But we need to know what in blazes he did that made ye a target.”
“I was able to track down information on the fortune teller, the woman who calls herself Madame Helena.” Caldwell said. “I’m told she also has ties to your brother. Why would he involve himself with a charlatan?”
“Charlatan?” she repeated dully. An image of Helen laying out her arcane cards in a distinct pattern on a silk-covered table flickered through her thoughts. At the time, Helen’s fascination with interpreting the images had seemed an amusement, a bit of harmless fun.
“Helen Tanner deceived gullible men,” Caldwell said. “Was yer brother one of them?”
“My brother was no fool. Paul’s interest in Helen had little to do with her fortune telling cards.” Amelia stared down at her hands, searching for the right words. “She was his mistress.”
“Could she have lured him into a scheme?” MacLain asked.
“Paul was not na?ve.” She let out a low breath. “But it is possible she deceived him.”
Caldwell stood and went to the window. “Did he ever refer to a man who calls himself Mr. Hawk?”
Amelia searched her mind. “The name is not familiar. Is he a collector?”
“The man is an art thief,” Caldwell said. “My sources believe yer brother aided Hawk in his schemes.”
Amelia met his hard gaze. “I’ve told you—Paul was not a criminal.”
“I’m not here to pass judgment. But my sources—”
Amelia squared her shoulders, shoring up her resolve. This was all quite beyond belief. “Your sources? I presume they have names.”
Caldwell regarded her for a long moment. “I am not at liberty to reveal their identities. But ye can trust they are reliable. Word on the street has it that Hawk believed yer brother and Miss Tanner betrayed him.”
Amelia gulped against a searing lump in the back of her throat. The very thought that Paul had consorted with criminals was nearly beyond comprehension. Yet, deep inside, she could not deny how his behavior had changed in the time before his death. He’d seemed to keep his distance from her, becoming colder. Evasive. So much had seemed out of character. At the time, she’d suspected he’d developed an overfondness for the gaming tables. But this... this was far worse that she’d ever imagined.
“You believe this man called Mr. Hawk... killed Paul?”
Caldwell’s tone was raw. “Yes.”
Yer brother and Miss Tanner betrayed him. The revelation struck like a slap to the face. Dear God! If Mr. Hawk had murdered Paul over some act of disloyalty, would Helen be next?
Glancing to MacLain, she read his grim expression. Her pulse raced. “Helen is in danger. We have to warn her.”
“Don’t worry, lass. We’ll find her,” Caldwell said with a brisk confidence.
MacLain pinned her with his dark gaze. “Ye’ll stay here, where ye will be safe.”
Amelia shook her head. “Even if you locate her, she won’t believe you,” she said. “Helen needs to hear the truth from someone she knows. She trusted Paul. And she will trust me.”
“I won’t allow it,” MacLain said in a tone that brooked no dissent.
Amelia cocked her chin. “You will need me. Helen will not confide in you.”
MacLain’s eyes narrowed. “But ye think she will talk to ye? Bloody unlikely.”
“I believe she will tell me the truth, if only for Paul’s sake.”
MacLain regarded her for a long, silent moment. “I will not expose ye to danger.”
Amelia forced a little shrug. “We may work together to find Miss Tanner. Or I will make inquiries on my own. The choice is yours.”
He flashed a scowl. “Ye are a confounding, headstrong woman.”
“I consider that high praise.” She met his fierce look with a little scowl of her own. “You know I am not bluffing,” she added for good measure.
“Much as it pains me to admit it, she’s right,” Caldwell spoke up. “We’ll have a better chance convincing Helen Tanner to tell us what she knows if she can confide in someone she already knows.”
MacLain slowly shook his head. “That is too damned risky.”
The note of concern in his voice warmed Amelia’s heart. The most talented of thespians could not have feigned the emotion.
She allowed a faint smile. “If anyone dares to threaten me, I am entirely confident you will teach them the error of their ways.”
“That goes without saying.” MacLain plowed a hand through his hair. As Amelia’s gaze trailed the path of his fingers, a longing to touch him kindled deep within her.
“We will protect her,” Caldwell said, his tone resolute. “Ye know we can.”
Amelia planted her hands on her hips. She would find justice for her brother, one way or another. And now, she had acquired allies in the battle. “So tell me, gentlemen, what is our plan?”