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P unctuality was a virtue Macie had never aspired to possess. Since she was a girl, her family had teased that Macie-time could not be accurately measured by the hands on a clock. It wasn’t that she did not want to follow a schedule or did not attempt to arrive at appointments at the arranged time. Rather, it was a matter of her keen interest in the pursuits that captured her attention. From the days in her childhood when she sat in the garden, painting flowers with her watercolors, to these enjoyable moments expressing her creativity through the lens of her camera, she’d immersed herself in the creative challenges she found fascinating. And in the process, her awareness of time faded into the background. So, when Nell’s pointed tones cut through the pleasant tranquility she’d found behind the camera that afternoon, Macie was not surprised she’d lost track of time.

“Macie, I don’t want to be that person who goes about reminding others about the virtues of punctuality.” Nell made a point of tapping the small watch she wore pinned to her lapel.

“But we really must be running along if we are going to make it to Lady Yarbury’s soiree.” Macie flashed a little smile. “I suspect your concern has less to do with punctuality than with the expected presence of that dashing viscount who recently returned from an expedition. Lord... Lord Highbrow. Something like that.”

“As you well know, his name is Daniel Craigston.” Interest flashed in Nell’s eyes as she uttered the Egyptologist’s name. “I understand he is quite esteemed in his field.”

Macie could not help but grin at the enthusiasm in her friend’s voice. “I hear he is very much available.”

“He is. For now,” Nell said with a conspiratorial tone. “If we hurry, I’ll have time to slip into something a bit less sensible.”

Macie quirked a brow. “A bit more decadent, perhaps?”

“Oh, dear. Have you developed the ability to read my mind?” Nell teased.

“I know you very well. Neither of us possesses a talent for disguising our thoughts and feelings.”

“How very true.” Nell smiled. “Perhaps one of Professor Craigston’s colleagues will be in attendance this evening. Wouldn’t it be something if you fell for an explorer? The mere thought of riding off on an expedition through the desert heats my blood.”

“Does it now?”

“Ah, yes.” Nell’s voice was ever so slightly breathless. “I can imagine how dashing he might be, atop an Arabian stallion, riding off into the sunset.”

Macie’s brows lifted higher. “With you, of course?”

Nell’s cheeks flushed. “Of course. Heading off to some vibrant oasis.”

“Goodness, what sorts of sensation novels have you been reading lately?”

“The best kind,” Nell replied coyly. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll have an equally dashing friend for you.”

“Explorers come in pairs, do they?” Macie said dryly.

“I would imagine so,” Nell said with a hopeful tone. “No one in his right mind would go into one of those dusty old tombs on his own. Can you imagine being swept up into an expedition with a rugged archaeologist?”

“Oh, I can see it now. My skirts flapping in the wind as I struggle to balance on some cantankerous camel’s hump. Perhaps my daring explorer will catch me before I fall face-first into the sand.”

“You never know. A daring explorer might be precisely the one for you.”

“Only if he has a lofty title. That’s the only thing that will make my father happy.”

Nell’s smile faded. “But does that really matter?”

“I suppose not. I’m not willing to tie myself to some highborn dolt simply to satisfy Papa’s wishes.” Macie pictured her beautiful, vivacious mother. So lively. So filled with joy. And so very happy with the man she had vowed to love until her last breath. “If Mum had cared about titles and all that nonsense, she would never have given my father a kiss, let alone two children. Papa had scarcely a shilling to his name when he proposed. And she’s never regretted saying ‘yes.’”

“They do seem quite content with one another.”

“Content?” Macie smiled to herself. “My mother would never have settled for mere contentment. I’ve seen how she looks at Papa. Even now. At times, his stubborn ways drive her mad, but he can melt away her irritation with a smile.”

“I must confess, I’ve never seen that side of her.”

“Oh, I know she can seem a bit airy. But Mum possesses a fire that she rarely shows to anyone other than Papa.”

“How very unexpected,” Nell said. “Whoever would have imagined?”

“Mother defied her family to marry Papa. Her father threatened to disown her. But her belief in our father was fierce. Utterly unshakable. Behind a pensive smile that might have inspired da Vinci, she has a will of iron.”

“Like her daughter.”

Nell had spoken the words as a compliment, but Macie could not bring herself to agree. Her mother had defied Macie’s grandfather and had never looked back. And yet, Macie could not bring herself to do so. Not outright. Instead, she played these rebellious games so she didn’t have to tell Papa the truth. She would never substitute an existence with a titled bloke for the kind of love Mum had savored throughout many rewarding years of marriage.

Someday, Papa would give up on his dream of Macie forging a socially advantageous marriage. Sooner. Or later. With any luck.

*

Gripping the edge of the seat as the coach rattled over the pavement, Macie peered into the waning daylight. Thank heavens the route to the Mayfair townhouse she shared with Nell was neither long nor arduous. The bumps in the road gave her a new appreciation for the padding afforded by her bulky skirts.

Dash it all! She pictured her sketchbook in her mind’s eye. She’d placed it on the desk in her grandfather’s study. Surely she had not forgotten it. She would not have been so absent-minded. Hope flickered in her thoughts. She tapped Nell on the hand to pull her out of a daydream.

“By any chance, did you think to take my book of drawings on your way out of the house?”

Nell shook her head. “I take it you left it behind?”

Drat her forgetfulness. Preoccupied with talk of dashing Egyptologists and bouncing along on camels to some sheik’s oasis, she’d neglected to gather it with her equipment. She needed that book. She had planned to pass most of the night sketching scenes of the grand ballroom of the Yarburys’ magnificent home with images of Finn sprinkled in for good measure. If the nosy belles helped themselves to a look, they’d come to their own convenient conclusions about her choice of subject matter.

She sat up tall in her seat. “I must retrieve it.”

Nell frowned in puzzlement. “You need the notebook this evening?”

“Indeed, I do.” Macie pulled a cord to alert the driver of the hansom.

“Shall we turn back, Miss Mason?” the man called from his bench.

“No need,” she replied. “From here, I can walk quickly and take another cab to the house. I shall only be a bit behind schedule.”

“Walk?” Nell regarded her as if she’d proposed a journey on foot to the Highlands. “Don’t be silly. We’ll have to go back.”

“I shall enjoy the exercise and the fresh air,” Macie countered.

“You won’t have time to prepare for Lady Yarbury’s party.”

“Nell, you’ll want time to ready yourself to enjoy the gathering. But you know I could not give a fig about styling my hair just so. I won’t need more than a few minutes to prepare.”

Her friend’s brow furrowed. “Is retrieving that sketchbook truly so urgent?”

“I’ll see you within the hour.” Making her way out of the carriage, she smiled over her shoulder. “’Till we meet again.”

Macie hurried away before Nell could say another word. Truth be told, she was rather looking forward to a few moments of relative peace and quiet while she made the short trek back to the mansion.

Bustling up the steps, she retrieved her key from her reticule. As she reached for the door, she stopped. With a light touch against the latch, the sturdy oak door swung inward. She’d had no need for the key in her hand. The door had not been fully closed.

How very peculiar. Pulling in a low breath, she shook off her doubts. Surely there was a simple explanation. Busy as Nell’s thoughts had been with preparations for the elegant soiree—with an eligible and adventurous lord in attendance—she’d likely forgotten to secure the door. The newly stirring breeze had done the rest.

Still, a whisper of warning nagged at her. Taking one of her grandfather’s canes from the stand in the entry hall, she curved her fingers around the handle. It certainly would not hurt to carry some sort of protection, just in case. Proceeding with brisk steps up the stairs to her grandfather’s study, she spotted nothing out of place. As she entered the room her grandfather had considered a sanctuary, she spotted her sketchbook lying open on a marble-topped table. Rather curious, that. She was quite certain she’d left it on his desk. How had it ended up turned to a page where she’d jotted images of an old church?

Had Nell glanced over her notes? Perhaps that was it. After all, the simplest explanation tended to be the most logical.

A sudden draft from the window by the fireplace prickled her skin. Her fingers tensed around the handle of the cane. Oh, don’t be a goose . She was letting her imagination get the better of her.

An unexpected noise cut through the echoes in the nearly silent house. A heavy thump. And then, another thud . More pronounced than footsteps, rather like the sound of something—books, perhaps—striking the floor. What in blazes was going on?

A sensation like icy raindrops trickled over her nape. Her gaze darted to the double doors connecting the study with her grandfather’s library. The doors had been closed when she’d left with Nell. Now, one of the chestnut panels was ajar.

Someone was in her grandfather’s library.

Someone was tossing his books to the floor.

Dear Lord. Her pulse raced. She had to leave. She could not stay in the house a moment longer. Dragging in a calming breath, she gripped the cane firmly, readying herself to use it.

Suddenly, a cry drifted to her ears. A man’s voice. Weak. Quavering.

“Please . . . please, help me.”

“Who’s there?” Macie’s heart hammered in her chest. Fear murmured in her thoughts. Run! But something held her back. The voice beyond the door sounded frail. Powerless. Desperate.

She reached for the glass knob. Without warning, the heavy panel shifted, tugging the knob out of her grasp. Stunned, she gazed up at a man who clutched a hefty tome against his body.

Good heavens.

She’d seen those pale eyes hours earlier while he’d stood across the street, silently watching her. This close, he seemed taller. More imposing. With his pallid skin and silver-gray hair pulled back in a queue, the elderly man might have passed for a specter from a century long past.

His lips were stretched taut, misery etching his angular features. Pressing a hand to a shelf to hold his unsteady frame upright, he held tight to the book.

“Help... me.” The words sounded choked from his throat.

“Who are you?” Her voice sounded remarkably calm to her own ears.

Slowly, he shook his head. Was the man refusing to answer? Or was he simply too weak?

“You’ve been injured,” she said. “Let me help you to a chair. Then I will summon a physician.”

Again, he shook his head. “No.” The word was a near-whisper, yet unmistakably firm.

“Tell me who you are.”

He struggled to speak. His voice was a low rasp. “Murder.”

Dear God. Macie’s blood ran cold.

He took a lumbering step forward. Then another. Macie backed away, careful not to trap herself against the wall.

His eyes were glassy with pain. “Murder,” he repeated in a low murmur.

She edged along the hallway, keeping her gaze on him. “You need help.”

“Leave.” His eyes implored her. “Before he comes... for you.”

He staggered forward. Reached for her. Instinct taking over, she darted away from his grasp.

His gaze fixed on her, a wild desperation in his eyes moments before his legs buckled. Like a puppet unmoored from its strings, he collapsed. Unmoving. Still.

Too still.

Macie heard a scream. Vaguely realizing the sound had come from herself, she raced away. Down the hall. Through the entry door. Cool air on her face reassured her she was out of the house.

Away from the intruder who’d seemed a walking phantom.

Her cumbersome skirts nearly tripping her, she rushed down the steps and continued to run. Until the moment she careened into a man. Into his broad chest, to be specific.

Gasping for breath, she gazed up into familiar amber eyes.

“We must stop meeting like this.” Finn’s mouth had crooked at the corners, but as he stared down at her, the amusement faded from his eyes. “Ye look as if ye’ve seen one of yer ghosts.”

“Not a ghost,” she managed between breaths. “An old man. In the study.”

Finn’s gaze hardened. “If he hurt ye—”

“He didn’t,” Macie murmured. “He did not hurt me. I think... dear God, I think he’s dead.”