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S taying close to Finn, Macie led him to her grandfather’s library. Before entering the house, he’d instructed the elderly driver he trusted at the reins of his ebony enameled carriage to summon a constable and a physician. As they entered the room, Macie spotted the slight rise and fall of the stranger’s chest. A small sigh of relief escaped her. The man was alive. Thank heaven .

Motioning for her to stay back, Finn went to the unconscious intruder and crouched by his side. He pressed two fingers to the man’s throat. “His pulse is weak.” His tone was grim as he opened the man’s jacket, baring his white shirt for inspection.

Macie crouched down. Her gaze traveled over the man’s chest. No blood. No torn fabric. Not so much as a missing button.

Finn met her eyes. “Was he in this condition when ye first encountered him?”

“He was on his feet, though he was quite unsteady.” Her hands trembled as fear shuddered through her. “Nell and I had left for the day, but I came back. And then, I found him here.”

Finn proceeded to look the man over, searching for an injury. “I can’t be sure, but I see no sign of a wound. He may have suffered a seizure of the heart.”

“How very awful.” A bitter taste filled Macie’s mouth. “But why would he come here? Why wouldn’t he seek out a physician?”

“It doesn’t make any blasted sense.” He shrugged off his jacket, folded it, and placed it as a cushion beneath the stranger’s head. “Do ye have any idea who he is?”

“I have no idea.” She swallowed against a lump in her throat. “Finn, he was pleading for help.”

Finn’s gaze swept over the books scattered on the floor. More than a dozen volumes had been strewn haphazardly over the wooden planks. If she had not heard the tomes landing on the floor, she might’ve believed there had been a struggle. His jaw hardened as he turned to her.

“Ye said he didn’t hurt you.”

She shook her head as the old man’s murmurs played in her thoughts. Leave. Before he comes... for you. “I suspect he was trying to warn me. Though I’ve no idea about what.”

“While he was ransacking the library?”

“I don’t think he intended any harm. He looked like he’d been searching for something.”

“Did he know yer identity?”

“I cannot be sure,” Macie said. “He never addressed me by name.”

Finn rose to face her. His brow furrowed. “What in blazes did he say to ye?”

Murder. The very thought of the man’s low, desperate whisper unfurled a chill along the length of her spine. Would Finn become too protective if she told him the content of the stranger’s warning? Would he try to keep her away from the mansion?

“He was out of his head with pain. And perhaps fear. It’s possible he was suffering from a delusion and believed me to be someone else.”

“Tell me what he told ye,” Finn pressed.

“First, he called for help. He sounded quite desperate. And then, he rambled on about a murder.”

Finn plowed a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell.”

A stocky gent boasting bushy gray mutton-chop whiskers marched through the door. His physician’s satchel swung in his hand as he headed directly to the unconscious man. A patrolman followed close on the doctor’s heels.

“What’s all this about, Caldwell?” The patrolman punctuated his question with a scowl.

“And a good day to ye, Constable Lewis,” Finn said, appearing unfazed by the man’s expression. “Miss Mason encountered an intruder.”

“Ye had nothing to do with the man’s current state, I presume.” The constable didn’t hide the note of skepticism in his voice.

“I arrived after the man had fallen unconscious.”

Tempering his scowl, the constable turned to Macie. “Miss, I need ye to tell me what happened.”

“First things first,” the physician interrupted. “This man needs immediate transport to the hospital.”

Constable Lewis went to the door, calling over his shoulder. “I shall summon an ambulance.”

“Do it now.” The physician’s tone was grim. “With any delay, he may not survive.”

*

As he escorted Macie through Metropolitan police headquarters, Finn spotted a detective approaching them. He resisted the impulse to utter an epithet. Inspector Bradley. The by-the-book clod’s terse words of introduction confirmed he had been tasked with investigating the now-unconscious intruder in Bennington Manor.

Bollocks.

Inspector George Bradley was a stuffed shirt whose skill at deduction had yet to be demonstrated. Why, the horse pulling Finn’s carriage might have possessed more instinct for bringing criminals to justice.

The detective’s redundant questioning dragged on until well past sundown. When the dull bloke finally indicated that Macie was free to leave, they returned to Finn’s waiting coach.

His driver, Reggie, peered down at them from bench. Concern filled his eyes. “Have they deduced a reason for that bloke to be in the lady’s house?”

“Not yet.” Finn kept his tone bland. He didn’t have much faith they would get an answer to that pressing question that night, if at all.

Reggie adjusted his flat brimmed hat on his gray-haired head. “Good thing ye arrived when ye did.”

“Indeed,” Macie agreed, flashing a soft smile. Once inside the carriage, she took a seat on the upholstered bench and peeled back the curtain, appearing to settle her gaze on the crescent moon. “I had not expected Inspector Bradley to go on and on as he did. I suspect the man does enjoy the sound of his voice.” A little sigh escaped her. “Thank goodness we were able to dispatch a messenger to Nell. She does tend to worry.”

Finn settled in across from her. “Does she now?”

“At times.” A look of amusement played on her lips. “She’s a bit on edge when we’re traipsing about old houses. All those gothic novels she’s so fond of have her jumping at every creak of the floorboards.”

“That’s understandable. After all, ye never know what ye’ll find.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Macie posed the question with a little grin.

By thunder, she was pretty when her eyes sparkled with mischief. “I’m starting to see why Jon is going gray,” he said, if only to disguise the direction of his thoughts.

“My brother rather exaggerates the toll my supposed antics have taken upon him,” she said lightly. “I do hope Nell is enjoying the soiree. She was so looking forward to the evening with Lady Yarbury and her guests. The countess is a gracious hostess. She’d generously offered her personal carriage to transport us to her home.” Once again, she glanced up at the moon. “I suppose we are well past the point of arriving fashionably late.”

“I am a poor judge of such matters,” he admitted. “Tonight, I’m more concerned with keeping ye safe.”

“Inspector Bradley seemed quite sure I was not in danger.” She turned to him. “Certainly that poor man in Grandfather’s library poses no threat.”

“I do not share his confidence.” Now was not the time to mince words. Not when Macie’s safety was at stake.

Her eyes narrowed in surprise. “You disagree with his conclusion?”

“The man pays more attention to the starch in his collar than to any evidence of danger.”

“Inspector Bradley sent patrolmen to search the house. I understand they found no one there,” she countered logically. “No evidence of theft, nor of some other sort of criminal scheme.”

“I would not rely upon Bradley to solve the taking of sweets from a chocolate shop, let alone trust him to resolve a case where your safety is at stake.”

Folding her arms before her, she hiked her chin. At that angle, the light from the streetlamp cast a glow over her features, in particular the luscious little dimple on her left cheek.

“The detective believes there is no further threat. It does seem the most reasonable conclusion.”

“It is also the most convenient. The esteemed inspector arrived at his deduction in less time than it takes for paint to dry. I have little reason to have faith in his instincts.”

God knew the detective had exerted neither his brain nor his brawn in searching for the bastard who’d left his kind-eyed young cousin lying dead in a dismal alley.

“My, I had not taken you for a cynic.” The lightness in her voice was not echoed by her eyes.

“It’s too soon to know if Bradley has it right this time.”

“This time?” Her brows rose. “You have a previous acquaintance with the inspector?”

“Not an acquaintance.” Finn measured his words. “Bradley was the lead detective on a case of personal interest to me.”

Her expression softened with compassion. “Your cousin?”

Finn nodded, steadying himself against the bitter memories. “Colleen’s murder was never solved.”

Macie’s mouth thinned. Sadness filled her warm green eyes as she placed her hand gently upon his. “I was heartbroken to learn of her death.”

“We all were. If I had been on my guard, I might’ve intervened,” Finn said. “Before it was too late.”

“Jon told me what happened.” She softly squeezed his hand. “It was not your fault.” Her gentle touch and words warmed his heart.

“That may be true. But I will carry regret in my heart to my dying day. In any case, I have no faith in the detective’s abilities. Nor in his judgment.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” she said, her tone resolute. “It’s quite likely the intruder was himself a victim. It is not far-fetched to believe he was attacked by street criminals.”

“In that posh part of London?”

“It is entirely possible,” Macie went on, seeming to reassure herself. “When the old man spoke to me, he seemed quite desperate.”

“Need I point out that no one knows the man’s identity? We cannot be certain he was alone in the house before ye came upon him.”

Her chin hiked a fraction higher. “You will not frighten me into living like a caged bird, Mr. Caldwell.”

He smiled despite himself. “Please, for the love of Zeus, stop calling me Mr. Caldwell. I’ve known ye since ye were a girl in braids and ribbons.”

“And we’re all grown up now, aren’t we, Mr. Caldwell? ” She put deliberate emphasis on his name.

“We most definitely are, Miss Mason .” Two could play her game. “As a man who honors his word, I intend to see that ye remain in one piece until yer brother returns. After Jon steps off the train, ye will once again be his—”

“Problem.” She completed his sentence, her eyes sparkling like the most precious of emeralds. Damnation, when she looked at him like that—so blasted beautiful, so tempting and yet so very off-limits—his more primal instincts reared their head.

A knowing little half-smile played on her mouth. Did the minx know precisely the effect she’d had on him?

Not that it mattered. He had meant every word he’d said to her when she’d proposed her bold scheme to send the fortune hunters in search of other prey. He would watch over her. He would protect her, and he would do his damnedest to chase off the vultures. But if she decided to tear her good name to shreds with a foolish act that could not be undone, he would not be a party to it.

Even if the mere thought of kissing her heated his blood. Even if the temptation to close the curtain, draw her into his arms, and explore her sweetly curved body urged him to cast aside all reason.

Even if he no longer gave a bloody damn about her brother’s blasted devil’s bargain.

“Tell me, Phineas Caldwell, why are you here?” Her voice had gone low and velvety, though her eyes had cooled.

“Ye’ve forgotten so soon?” he said, meeting her questioning gaze.

“You know what I mean.” She pressed the matter. “Why are you playing a role that doesn’t suit you at all?”

Something in her expression gave him pause. Was she starting to sense the truth? Did she realize that he would watch over her—contracts be damned—simply because he couldn’t bear the thought of some bastard hurting her?

He plastered on an expression that betrayed none of his thoughts. “Is it not enough to believe that I intend to protect ye while yer brother is not here to watch out for ye?”

“If Jon were truly worried about my safety, he might have hired an actual bodyguard. A big, burly fellow with a fierce scowl, if you will.”

“I had not realized a scowl was a requirement for protecting ye. I’ll have to remember that,” he countered.

She gave a little shrug. “I doubt that it would matter. When you scowl, it’s not at all frightening. In fact, it’s rather—”

“Rather what ?”

She hesitated for a long moment. Her cheeks had turned a bit pink, while a look of amusement danced in her eyes. “The word that comes to mind is brooding. Rather like a moody poet.”

Bollocks. In his life, he’d been called a rogue and a rake and a rotter. But never had he ever imagined being dubbed a blasted poet, moody or otherwise.

“A villain would not find me menacing?”

She nibbled her lower lip, seeming to consider his question a bit more seriously than he’d expected. “Perhaps if you were in your fisticuffs—or is it brawling?—stance. That might give a villain pause.”

“I will have to keep that in mind. Perhaps I’ll add a well-timed snarl.”

She bit back the grin that sparkled in her eyes. “That might do the trick. In any case, I do wonder what Jon could possibly have offered to convince you to take on the monumental task of keeping me out of trouble.”

“I thought ye did not care to know the details.”

The amusement drained from her eyes, replaced with a more pensive expression. “I suppose I am curious, that’s all.”

For a heartbeat, he considered revealing the bargain he’d made, the simple trade-off of protecting Macie and her all-important family name in exchange for a lucrative contract that would ensure the prosperity of his family’s business. After all, she was not some starry-eyed schoolgirl who didn’t understand how the world worked. She was the daughter of a tycoon. An heiress. She would understand.

Perhaps he should tell her the truth. But what was the truth? Was the bargain the whole story?

Or was it that he couldn’t bear the thought of someone—anyone—dimming the bright light that was Macie? Even if a man like him could never fully drink in the warmth of that light.

“It’s not complicated, Macie.” He caught her hand within his fingers, seeing the surprise on her features. “This city can be a brutal place. And I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”