Chapter Twenty-Nine
B y sunset, the physician had tended Logan’s wound and examined his aunt, even as she insisted they were making too much of a fuss. Despite her protests, Logan had seen the clear look of relief on her face after the physician pronounced her in good health. Following ample rest, she would soon return to her energetic self. After Doc Stevenson went on his way, Aunt Elsie lay on her brass bed, comfortably propped up with pillows, a novel in hand. He chuckled at her tone of aggravation as Mrs. Langford interrupted her reading as she doted over her old friend like a mother hen.
With Amelia by his side, Logan went to his study. She relaxed in a well-upholstered wing chair while he eased into the Orkney chair he’d acquired during his travels and stretched out his legs. The whisky in his tumbler took the edge off the throbbing in his arm. He was a damned lucky man. The bullet had caught flesh, not bone. The wound had been a small price to pay for Amelia’s safety. God only knew he would have willingly taken a slug to the heart to protect her.
Allowing himself a moment of pure contemplation, he drank in Amelia’s unpainted beauty. Despite the dull ache in his shoulder, he smiled to himself. Thank God he had women like Mrs. Langford and Aunt Elsie in his life. Good-hearted and courageous, they’d stepped in to help raise him after his own mum died far too young. And now, the valiant women, unwilling to surrender to a brutal bastard, had defended his sweet Amelia. They had resisted Mansfield and his hired thug, and in the process, they’d bought much needed time. Suspecting Mansfield would return to threaten Amelia, Logan had raced to the library like a madman. But without the women’s efforts, he might have been too late.
Too late. The mere thought that he could have failed to protect Amelia seemed a bare-knuckled blow.
“Come, I’ve prepared a light supper,” Mrs. Garrett said, her face worn with care. “Ye both need to eat.”
In the dining room, he and Amelia dined in near silence. She’d been through so much. Her features were drawn, her reserved demeanor very much unlike her usually vibrant manner. At the moment, it seemed best to keep to his own thoughts. There would time later to discuss what had happened that night. And what he wanted to see happen in the future.
Shortly after they’d finished the last of their meal, Tim arrived from the tavern with a message from Finn, an uneasy look on his face. After reading the brief missive, Logan understood the younger man’s misgivings. Blast it, the detective who’d taken charge of the investigation had requested a meeting with Amelia. What in Hades was Finn thinking, sending for her at this hour? And after the hellish day she’d had?
“Tell him the inspector will have to wait.”
Tim shifted on his feet. “Finn said ye’d say that. He did not think that would be a wise move.”
“And if I don’t give a damn—”
“I’ll go,” Amelia spoke up, a steely tone to her words. “I need to I know whatever it is the detective has learned.”
The courage in her eyes touched him. But he had to watch out for her. “It can wait until morning.”
“I must disagree,” she said. “I simply won’t rest until I’ve heard the truth. All of it.”
“Ye’re sure?”
Her expression was weary. But determined. “I still have so many questions. Perhaps tonight, I will get some answers.”
“I’ll stay with the ladies,” Tim offered. “You’ve no worries. I’ve brought my pistol, and I’m a good shot.”
“Good enough,” he said, confident he could trust the barkeep’s capable assistant.
Keeping Amelia’s well-being in mind, Finn had wisely suggested that the detective meet with them away from the dismal setting of the jail. Inspector Herrin had agreed, and as Logan escorted Amelia into his office at the Rogue’s Lair, they found the men engaged in an animated discussion. Their conversation came to an abrupt halt as they laid eyes on Amelia.
After informal greetings were exchanged, Logan quickly got to the point. “I understand ye have news on Mansfield.”
Exuding nervous energy, Inspector Herrin paced the floor. “Cecil Mansfield deceived many in his path. His gallery served as a front for his criminal activities. We have evidence he ordered the killing of Jack Turner, the man who attacked you, as well as several other murders.”
As the detective laid out his findings, Logan observed Amelia as she took it all in. Her brother had crossed paths with an evil man whose greed had run unchecked until Logan sent him to hell.
“Inspector, it’s logical to conclude that Mansfield had Turner killed after he was in police custody to prevent him from telling what he knew.” Amelia was direct. “But the intruder seemed desperate, perhaps even frightened, when he accosted me in the library. Can you explain why he was in such a state?”
“As we understand it, Jack Turner was not acting on Mansfield’s orders that night.” Inspector Herrin’s expression was solemn. “This will be painful for you to hear, but you deserve the truth. Your brother became entangled in Mansfield’s criminal dealings. As a result, Turner and another ruffian were sent to silence him. They were also ordered to retrieve the art Mansfield had offered as a bribe.” The detective paused, rubbing the back of his neck as if to ease a sudden ache. “When they failed to recover the drawing, Mansfield suspected a double-cross. Turner’s accomplice met a rather ugly fate. When he realized he was next, Turner became desperate to find the sketch. And then, he came after you.”
Her complexion paled. Logan restrained the urge to mutter an epithet. Damn the brutes who’d dragged her through this ordeal.
Composing her features, Amelia spoke in a quiet, calm voice. “But why did Mansfield wait until after my brother’s death to come after the drawing?”
“He prided himself on his cunning and stealth. Often, his victims weren’t even aware they’d been robbed. When the Paris burglary led to murder, he blamed Turner and his two accomplices. One of them was stabbed to death the night before Turner came after you.”
Logan mulled the detective’s words. “And the other accomplice killed Turner to ensure he wouldn’t talk.”
Herrin nodded. “Frank Fincham had worked as a guard at the jail and killed Turner in his cell. Now the rotter won’t stop running his mouth. He thinks incriminating a dead man in his crimes will save him from the hangman.”
“He’ll be joining Mansfield in hell soon enough,” Logan said coolly.
“Indeed,” the detective agreed.
Finn turned to Amelia. “Do ye know a man who goes by the name of John Niles?”
Even more color drained from her face. “He was one of my brother’s associates.”
“The name is an alias. He was born John Stanton. The man’s an art thief wanted in London and Dublin for his crimes. He was working with Mansfield to retrieve the Caravelli sketch,” the detective explained. “He knew your brother had hidden the drawing. They searched his residence, then went after Miss Talbot with no success. So they concluded he had hidden it in either your library or your flat.”
Amelia went to the window and pulled back the curtain, taking in the cool night air. Her shoulders were taut with tension. “Are there others... who might come after me?”
Inspector Herrin did not hesitate with his response. “At this time, we believe Mansfield’s conspirators are dead or behind bars. But you would be wise not to let down your guard. Not yet.”
“Not to worry.” Logan joined her by the window, clasping her hand within his. “Yer brother trusted me to keep ye safe. Ye’re mine to watch over. As long as it takes.”
*
Seated on the garden terrace beneath the light of the full moon, Amelia studied Logan behind the veil of her lashes. His words played in her thoughts. Again and again.
Mine to watch over . . .
In Logan’s eyes, he was her protector. He would defend her, whatever the cost.
Pity she wanted more.
Ever so much more.
She should have known better than to heed her foolish heart. Now she’d fallen for a rogue, a charming, handsome man who could stir her hunger with his tenderness.
With his desire.
She had understood the risk she was taking when she kissed him that very first time. Logan knew how to be a lover. Knew how to be a protector who would do whatever it took to keep her safe.
If only she’d listened to the instinct deep within, warning her against her heart’s desire. If only she had not fallen in love with him. Logan had given her his passion. His courage. He’d adored her body with a tenderness she had never before imagined.
And still, he spoke of watching over her, as if his debt to her brother would never be paid.
Yer brother trusted me to keep ye safe.
Did he see himself as a guardian, willing to sacrifice even his own life to fulfill his obligation?
Seated in a wicker chair, he stretched out his long legs. “This has taken a toll on ye. We should’ve waited until the morning to meet with the detective.”
“No,” she countered softly. “It’s a relief to have it out of the way. To know the truth... at least in part.”
“Ye’ve nothing to concern yerself about, Amelia. I meant what I said. I intend to watch over ye.”
She took a sip of wine from a cut crystal glass. “I don’t believe that will be necessary.”
He shook his head. “I will not take any chances with yer safety.”
“The Caravelli sketch is now out of my possession. Before long, it will be returned to France, to its rightful owner. I am confident the threat has passed.”
“Ye cannot take any chances.”
Amelia pushed her back against the chair, steeling herself against her doubts. She couldn’t go on like this. She needed more than a lover. More than a bodyguard.
She couldn’t stay here for much longer. Heaven knew she wanted Logan more with every passing moment. With every breath, she craved a place in his heart.
No, she had to leave. She had to protect herself. The pain of leaving him behind would cut to the bone. But now, she could endure it. It wouldn’t be long before she’d be at the point of no return. She would be hopelessly in love. And then, the misery when they went their separate ways would be far too much to bear.
“I have an aunt in America, my mum’s sister. She’s a widow. Quite well off, with a lovely, rambling home. When Paul died, she invited me to come to live with her.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue. “Now, doing so might be for the best.”
“America.” His brow furrowed, as if he weren’t convinced he’d heard correctly.
“I have not seen Aunt Jane in more than a year. This seems an opportune time.”
Lines creased on his forehead. “And what of yer library?”
“I cannot go back there and simply carry on as if nothing happened. I must start over.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I cannot let ye do that, Amelia. The risk is too high.”
“I do not require your approval.” Softening her tone, she forced herself to meet his eyes.
A muscle in his jaw tensed. “I cannot stand by and see ye take such a chance.”
If his eyes had not betrayed a true sense of shock, his forceful words might’ve left her indignant. After all, it was not as if they had spoken any vows. Or made any promises.
They had never even uttered a single syllable of commitment.
Not a single word of love.
But she supposed he had a right to be surprised. Days earlier, she could not have anticipated she’d consider leaving the city that had long been her home. Let alone cross an ocean in the hopes of starting again. She might not find love in America.
But at least, she could still harbor that hope.
Amazing how very much could change in such a short time.
She reached out, drawing the tips of her fingers along the hard edge of his jaw. “You’ve settled your debt, Logan. You’ve protected me. Now, you will be able to return to your life.”
“And ye to yers, eh?”
She fought back tears. “Everything I thought I wanted in my life—it is no longer enough. I need to begin anew.”
He stilled, regarding her as if he’d discovered something quite new and rather fascinating. “What is it that ye do want, Amelia?” His question was raw, rough-edged with emotion.
“I’m not quite sure,” she said truthfully. “I only know that what I have—what I have with you—isn’t enough.”
He stared down at his hands. “The two of us... we are not so different, Amelia.”
“I beg to disagree, Mr. MacLain.”
“Mr. MacLain?” His brows quirked. “Rather formal coming from the lips of a woman who’s warmed my bed.”
She lifted a brow. “A gentleman would not speak of such things.”
“Ye knew I was no proper gentleman from the first time I laid eyes on ye.”
“Quite true.”
“And yet, ye wanted me.” His husky voice seemed a caress. “From the first time I kissed ye. Just as I wanted ye.”
She laced her fingers together, determined to project a sense of calm she did not feel. “Danger has a way of heightening passion, or so I’ve been told.”
His eyes darkened with emotion. “So ye’ve been told, eh?”
“Perhaps I read that . . . somewhere.”
His tempting mouth curved at one corner, as if he was not quite sure what to make of her. “Or deep inside, ye know the truth—yer body and yer heart can recognize a man who wants ye more than the air he breathes, even if that oh-so-practical head of yers cannot.”
For a heartbeat, perhaps two, Amelia could only look at him. He’d left her momentarily speechless.
Wants ye more than the air he breathes.
“And if wanting isn’t enough? If I need more... if I need love?” The words tumbled out in a rush.
“Then, lass, ye’ll have to make a choice.”
Without another word, he rose and crossed the room. The door to the terrace swung shut behind him.
He’d left her. Just as he had walked away that night in his study.
Tears she had willed herself not to shed burned her throat.
Ah, her heart had been stubborn. So wistful. And so foolish. But now she knew the truth. She knew better.
She would make a new life for herself. And in time, Logan MacLain would be nothing more than a memory. A tempting, infuriating, confounding memory at that.