Chapter Twelve
A lone in his private office at the Rogue’s Lair, Logan savored the quiet. He draped his jacket over the back of a chair, went to the sideboard beneath the window, and poured two fingers of good whisky from a decanter that had been in his family for generations.
Weary to the bone, he eased back against the leather of a well-padded chair, stretched out his legs, and willed himself to relax. Taking a drink, he studied the play of gaslight and shadows against the ceiling. Tension held him alert. God only knew he’d never planned to play the protector.
Not for Amelia Stewart. Not for anyone. But he would defend her. He would keep her safe.
No matter the cost.
At first, he’d been determined to honor the vow he’d made so long ago. But now, his need to keep Amelia safe had more to do with the woman herself than a promise he’d uttered in his youth.
Since the moment he’d strode through the door of her library, much to the shock of her prim patrons, his world had shifted on its axis. Before he’d first laid eyes on Amelia, his drive to restore this once-decrepit tavern to its former glory had consumed his energies.
He would bring the Rogue’s Lair back from the brink of ruin, just as he’d once pulled himself up from the shattered depths of loss and betrayal. He’d spent years in America fleecing British fops gone west, night after night plying his mathematically precise skill at cards in rough saloons that brimmed with guns and rotgut whisky. When he’d tired of the smoky rooms and drunken fools, he upped the stakes, risking his ill-gotten gains on wildcat wells that had the good grace to gush oil, and with it, a fortune. Weary of an existence where he never knew when he’d end up on the wrong end of a gun, he’d returned to England.
Since landing in London, he’d poured money, time, and energy into the old pub his kin had believed a fool’s purchase. Despite their doubts, the sense of history in this tavern had spoken to him. This place would be his home, its restoration his greatest accomplishment.
Until suddenly—unexpectedly—he’d been drawn into another quest, this one far riskier. And far more crucial.
It was as if a temporary madness had overtaken him. He had not felt himself capable of caring about a woman in a very long time. God only knew he didn’t want to. Not since he’d watched the lass he’d been engaged to wed enter a rich man’s carriage and leave him behind.
Forever.
In those moments of pain and the miserable years that followed, he’d believed his heart too hardened to ever hold feelings for another woman.
Until he’d seen the quiet storm in Amelia’s sapphire blue eyes.
Closing his eyes, he pictured her in his mind. When she cocked her chin defiantly, a challenge had flashed over her delicate features. By Zeus’s thunder, she was beautiful, even if she didn’t seem to know it. Amelia had not been bent on seduction. But she’d drawn him in nonetheless. Her intentions hadn’t mattered to his body, not in the bloody least.
Even though he craved her beauty, he could rein in that hunger.
Blasted shame the need in his soul was another matter.
He relished her determination, the courage and spirit that had led her to insist she would seek out Helen Tanner on her own. She’d forced his hand in the hunt for the fortune teller.
By hellfire, he had been a fool to give in. He was sworn to protect her. But he did not doubt she would rush headlong into trouble, caution be damned, if he’d tried to exclude her from the search. She was desperate to talk to Helen Tanner—not only to warn her of the danger, but to glean whatever information the charlatan might have that would answer the questions that tore at her. At least this way, she’d have the protection he could offer.
For some reason he didn’t understand, Amelia had faith in him. Faith that he could lead her to Helen. Faith that he would defend her, no matter the odds. By thunder, he would justify her trust.
At the moment, Amelia was at his home, safe behind stout, bolted doors not even Goliath could break. In his mind’s eye, he pictured her pacing a trail over the carpet as she waited to put their hastily cobbled-together scheme into play.
Finn had gone into the night to make the rounds of his contacts, searching for some clue to Helen Tanner’s hideaway. Bloody good thing his cousin knew how to blend in with the high society types who flocked to midnight séances as readily as he could slide into the city’s underbelly. Someone knew where the fortune teller had gone. It was a matter of time before Finn convinced some bloke to reveal her secret.
A muffled noise just beyond the front door tore him from his thoughts.
A bark, of all the blasted things.
He would’ve described the sound as grumpy if it had come from a human being.
Bollocks.
“MacLain, are you in there?” Amelia called.
He threw open the door. The perceptive gaze of the woman who’d consumed his thoughts met his eyes.
“I take it this is not a pleasant surprise,” she said before he could get a word out of his mouth.
“Ye are a clever lass, aren’t ye?” Forcing a bland tone, he motioned her and the dog into the room.
“I realize I’d agreed to occupy myself at your home tonight. But unfortunately, fate had other notions.”
“Fate, is it?” He pinned her with what was meant to be a steely gaze, but she merely hiked her chin as if to counter his expression.
“Mrs. Langford offered to take out the carriage. She’s downstairs, chatting with Mr. Murray.”
“Somehow, that does not surprise me.”
“She does seem to be rather fond of him,” Amelia said. “Sadly, I do not sense the feeling is mutual.”
“Now, that is an understatement,” Logan said. “I see ye brought yer guard dog.”
“Of course. After all, there is no way of knowing what sort of brute we might encounter.” Her coral lips curved into a smile. “Heathy did enjoy the outing. I do believe he finds the night air quite refreshing.”
The dog stared up at him, as if uncertain whether to give a little growl or to plead for a treat. The poor wee beast wore a blue bow on his ridiculously ornate silver collar.
As if on cue, her pet began to sniff about. Good God. Was the dog looking for a place to relieve himself in his office?
“Heathy, naughty.” She curled the end of the dog’s pale blue leash around her hand and brought him closer to her skirts. “I am quite confident he would deter an attacker.”
“If the villain is concerned about a dog piddling on his trousers, he might think twice.”
“I’ll have you know Heathy is well trained. He does not have accidents.”
As the last syllable passed her lips, the dog sank his pointy teeth into the edge of the carpet, a costly rug Logan had acquired on his last voyage as lieutenant on a merchant ship.
“I take it he has not been as well-schooled on the matter of property destruction.”
“Oh goodness, Heathy,” she scolded gently.
Seemingly chastised, the dog released a mouthful of carpet and regarded Amelia with mischief-filled eyes. Was the spoiled little beast actually grinning?
Forcing his attention back to the matter at hand, Logan shot Amelia a look he’d intended to be commanding. “Do ye care to explain what compelled ye to venture out tonight?”
“Something came up.” Her tone made it clear the scowl he’d perfected while an officer on a rowdy ship’s crew had not fazed her in the least.
“Something?”
“Something related to our plan... a matter of great urgency.”
“So ye persuaded Mrs. Langford to disregard my instructions?”
Amelia’s mouth thinned. “She understood the need to reach you. I do hope you will not be upset with her. She was only trying to be of help.”
He scrubbed a hand against his jaw. Amelia’s concern for his driver touched something deep within him. It seemed a lifetime since he’d encountered someone outside the small circle of souls he trusted who gave a damn about anyone other than themselves.
“Ye’ve nothing to worry about where Mrs. Langford is concerned.” He rubbed the back of his neck, easing out a knot of tension. “But what was in yer head, lass, risking both yer necks?”
Challenge glimmered in her eyes. “Do you want me to tell you why I’m here? Or would you prefer to glare at me a bit longer?”
I’d bloody prefer to kiss that teasing little smile off yer perfect mouth.
By hellfire, the woman was maddening. Somehow, that made her all the more enticing. He wanted to hold her. Wanted to touch her until she was too weak in the knees to think of anything but the taste of his mouth and the feel of his fingertips upon her skin.
Blast it, his own body threatened to betray him. Dragging his attention to a generations-old dagger mounted on the wall, a solemn symbol of pride in the Clan MacLain, he shifted his stance and tamped down the sudden hunger, if only enough for rational thought to prevail.
Logan glanced down at the floor, spotting Amelia’s dog as he set his sights on a pair of boots stowed under his desk. If Heathy—poor mutt with that atrocious name—had his way, the leather would soon lay in shreds.
Silently thanking the dog for the much-needed distraction, Logan snatched up his boots. Was he going daft, or had the pup actually looked disappointed as he set them out of his reach?
A bland smile touched Amelia’s lips. “Heathy has no fondness for shoes.”
“I’ve no inclination to test yer theory.”
“If you don’t mind...” She strolled over to the sideboard and looped the dog’s leash around a stout wooden leg. “This will ensure that Heathy stays out of mischief.”
The dog sank upon his haunches, his expression fairly shouting that he would not be so easily deterred. He turned his head, seemingly intrigued by the play of light against the cut crystal bottle. Finally, the wee beast had something else to take his interest. With any luck, he’d be quiet and still while Logan got to the bottom of Amelia’s unexpected arrival.
Folding his arms, Logan leaned against his desk. “Tell me, Amelia Stewart, what compelled ye to put yerself in danger—at this hour of night, no less?”
Her expression was placid, though her eyes sparkled with the look of a truth she was eager to reveal. “Mr. Caldwell no longer needs to search for Helen.”
“What in blazes are ye saying?”
“I know where she is.” Amelia paused, glancing toward the clock on the wall. “To be precise, I know where she will be at midnight.”
Her words plowed into him. This had the markings of a trap. Damned if he’d let her rush headlong into it.
“How do ye know this?”
“Helen sent a message by courier tonight. This time, it was addressed to me.” Amelia retrieved an envelope from the reticule dangling from her wrist. “She has information... about Paul.”
“Bloody hell.”
“I quite agree.” Amelia handed him the note. “I suspect the messenger might’ve been the same lad who delivered the letters from Paul.”
God above, that was it. Helen Tanner had sent the parcels. She’d ensured the letters from Paul had made it into Logan’s hands.
And now the fortune teller was aware that Amelia was staying at his residence.
How the hell had she come upon that knowledge?
Quickly, he scanned the message. “If that woman thinks we will agree to her terms, she’s mad.”
“I do not believe that is the case. But there’s really no alternative, is there? She needs to know that she’s in danger. And I need whatever information she is willing to offer.”
“Ye’ve no idea what ye’ll find there. God only knows who could be lying in wait. I’ll be damned if I will let ye rush in on your own.”
“I cannot imagine you would. After all, there is that mysterious debt you owe my brother.”
“This has nothing to do with a debt,” he said, the words as honest as any he’d ever spoken. “Ye should know by now that I would not leave ye to harm.”
Her eyes seemed to darken as she studied him. “I do believe you mean that, Mr. MacLain.”
“Logan,” he corrected.
“Very well... Logan. Since you will be putting yourself in harm’s way yet again, I suppose we might as well proceed to given names.”
“It’s about blasted time.”
He’d expected her to counter his statement, but she smiled, a wistful look in her eyes. “I do believe I am beginning to enjoy having a bodyguard.”
“Are ye now?”
“Oh, yes. If only the gossips could see me now, accompanied by a strapping Scotsman on a perilous quest. And at such a scandalous hour, no less.” A hint of a smile played on her soft features. “The only thing more intriguing than scandal is sin. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He cocked a brow. “I’d wager ye’d appreciate a taste of sin.”
Intrigue glimmered in her eyes. “Wickedness does possess a certain allure. But in my experience, it is rather overrated.”
He took her hand in his, drawing her closer. “I could convince ye a bit of wickedness is a delight to be savored.”
“You seem rather confident.”
His gaze was drawn to her like a moth to the flicker of a flame. “I’ve no doubt.”
“In due time, perhaps, you will leave me thoroughly... convinced.” Her words seemed a dare, a challenge he knew better than to accept.
Damned shame his good sense had flown out the window.
Before logic could overrule the hunger deep within him, he caught her in his arms. Holding her close, he could feel every rise and fall of her chest, sense every beat of her heart.
“Would that please ye, Amelia?”
Her mouth curved, a perfect temptation. “Yes.” The single word was uttered in a husky voice, a siren’s song he did not have the strength to resist.
A true madness filled him. Drinking in the heat in her sapphire eyes, he drew the pad of his finger over the curve of her face. “In my world, there is never a better time than the present.”
*
As if under his spell, Amelia nestled against his long, lean body. His natural heat penetrated the layers of clothing which separated them. Gently, he framed her face in his hands. So warm. So strong. He regarded her with a sense of fascination. Ripples of awareness coursed through her, and she stilled. There’d be no harm in a simple kiss, would there?
It wasn’t as if she were an innocent. She could savor a mere taste of passion in his caress.
Nothing would come of it.
Yes, she could tell herself that.
His eyes thoughtful, he watched her, taking his cues from her. Holding back. Logan had sensed her hesitation. He had given her time to change course.
Not so very wicked, are you now, Mr. MacLain?
His hands slid lower, and she smiled to herself. He caressed the small of her back before his fingers settled at the flare of her hips. She let out a low, calming breath and allowed her fingertips to glide over the silk of his silver-gray waistcoat, taking in the flex of the powerful muscles in his shoulders.
Subtle notes of bergamot on his skin stirred her senses. The heady aroma conjured a longing deep within.
With a smile that would tempt an angel to sin, Logan met her gaze, offering a moment for her to slip away from his embrace. Allowing her one last chance to guard her heart.
Pity her craving for his caress was far more powerful than her desire to protect her heart. Unwilling to deny herself this delicious pleasure, she coiled her arms around his neck. With a whisper, she invited the intimacy of his touch.
He dipped his head low to taste her lips. Slowly, at first. Teasing her. Tempting her beyond all reason.
Until she lost herself in delicious sensation.
Passion surged, nearly a tangible thing. Losing herself in a whirlpool of feeling, she closed her eyes. His long fingers splayed against her corseted ribs, and he held his muscles taut, his strength restrained.
Logan wanted more. In her heart, she knew that undeniable truth. Yet he took nothing she did not offer.
She sighed against his full, utterly delectable mouth.
Suddenly, a crash of glass against the floor tore Amelia from her bliss.
Logan’s head jerked up. In unison, they turned to the source of the noise.
A crystal goblet lay shattered beside the carpet. Near the mess, Heathy sat not quite peacefully, guilt clear upon his canine features.
Her suspicions confirmed, Amelia rushed to the sideboard and scooped the dog into her arms. Frowning, Logan surveyed the scene.
Oh, you’ve done it now, Heathy. You’ll be banished to your travel case. No more running about for the likes of you.
Logan’s forehead furrowed. He leaned down and reached for one of Heathy’s paws. Tiny lines crinkled around his eyes as he examined each paw in turn.
How very fascinating. Was kindness another weapon in his rogue’s arsenal?
How very unfair of Logan MacLain to take her by surprise and further erode her defenses.
“The wee beast avoided injury.” Taking a step back, Logan looked down upon the scattered shards. “I cannot say the same for the glass.”
“Heathy must’ve fiddled with his leash and jarred the sideboard. I’m quite sorry—”
“Do not worry yer head, lass.” He tapped a finger to the decanter, a faint grin pulling at his lips. “Now if the pup had ruined my whisky, that would be another matter entirely.”
Amelia glanced down at the unusually quiet dog in her arms. Pity Heathy had not been so well-behaved moments earlier. She would still be savoring Mr. MacLain’s kiss.
“I’ll find something to clean it,” she said.
He shook his head. “Do not trouble yerself. I’ll have Murray send up one of the barmaids to take care of the mess.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed against a sudden, nervous lump in her throat. “In that case, I suppose Heathy and I should be on our way. Miss Tanner is expecting me at midnight.”
“If ye are intent on this meeting, ye know I will be at yer side.”
“If you insist,” she said. It went without saying that his presence would give an attacker pause.
“As for the dog, Mrs. Langford can take him with her when she returns home.”
Amelia nodded her agreement, even as a vein in her temple throbbed. “I’m afraid I should not have agreed to have you accompany me. You see, Miss Tanner instructed me to come alone.”
“I don’t give a damn what the woman told ye.” Logan’s tone made it clear he would not be swayed. “Ye’ll not be walking into a trap. Not while I am watching over ye.”