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I t takes a brawler to defend a lady.

Logan’s words swirled in Macie’s thoughts. For reasons she could not begin to explain, even to herself, she found the notion utterly delicious. An image of the man in what could only be described as a primal masculine state began to take shape in her mind. How very unexpected.

If anyone could have read her thoughts, my, how scandalized they would be.

Heaven knew her own reaction caught her off guard. It wasn’t as though she had never thought about Finn taking on opponents with both his fists and his wits. With a little shake of her head she hoped no one had noticed, she cleared her thoughts. Goodness, what had come over her?

Finn had left his seat to head to the bar with Logan. Pulling in a low breath, she allowed her gaze to trail his long, sure strides. Even fully clothed in gentleman’s attire, Finn could not conceal the powerful build of his chest and the sleek, lean strength of his legs. With that clever, quick-witted mind of his, she had no doubt the man could bring down a larger, heavier opponent by employing strategy and calculation in his blows.

Lowering her gaze, she pretended an interest in the lemony dessert that sat before her. As an educated woman of an independent mind, the notion of Finn perpetuating violence in the name of sport should be entirely repellant to her. But her response was quite the contrary.

Finn Caldwell fascinated her.

Tall, infuriating, and more handsome than a man had a right to be, he intrigued her beyond all reason. Utterly so.

How very ironic that the man who filled her waking dreams was standing before her. Yet he was off limits.

Heaven knew her father would not approve of such a match.

Finn was not a duke. Nor an earl, viscount, or baron, for that matter. Beyond that, his reputation as an unrepentant rogue preceded him. On more than one occasion, she’d overheard her brother regaling his friends about their exploits.

No, Finn Caldwell was not suitable. Not at all.

But that didn’t stop her from drinking him in. Feeling a bit bold, Macie savored the sheer masculine appeal of the man. In her mind’s eye, she sketched a picture of him facing off against an opponent. His trousers hugging his lean muscled legs. The muscles of his bare chest flexing, a light sheen from exertion enhancing the contour of his biceps and pectorals. The set of his jaw as he eyed his combatant with utter focus. His wheat-brown hair, slightly dampened with perspiration. The seductive half-smile playing on his full mouth.

Her imaginary Finn turned to her and threw a wink, cheeky as ever.

Her mouth went dry. How very intriguing.

Had her cheeks actually heated?

Macie banished the delicious, far-from-chaste image from her mind. Her thoughts of the man tasked with playing bodyguard were more heated—and more risky—than any scandal she’d ever concocted. She could no longer look upon him as a means to deter the heiress hunters.

No. Finn was more than that.

Could she play out the romantic charade she’d planned without getting carried away?

“Rumor has it you’re exceedingly proficient at well-timed moments of, shall we say, a deliberate lack of grace.” Amelia’s question offered a welcome distraction. Leaning closer, she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “Is there any truth to the stories?”

“Perhaps.” Macie reached for her glass of white wine. “Though I suspect some of the tales might be a bit tall, so to speak.”

“I suspected as much. Heaven knows I would never take what the gossips say at face value. Why, some of the bored biddies believed my husband to be an outlaw. In the American west, no less. Of course, he does look the part, doesn’t he?” Amelia’s coy half-smile revealed more than her words. “And he did spend time in America. I suppose he was a bit of a rogue in those days.”

“My brother spoke of Logan’s travels. I do believe Jon would have loved to have joined him, but he’s spread rather thin with his various enterprises.”

“I’ve made his acquaintance. He seems to be a most responsible man.”

“Responsible,” Macie repeated as more apt descriptions ran through her thoughts. Staid. Stodgy. Oh-so-dedicated to Papa’s businesses. “That is one way of putting it. He’s so very sensible. I do wish he would loosen up and enjoy life a bit.”

“Perhaps that time will come.” A reflective look fell over Amelia’s features. “Not long ago, I would have described myself in like terms. Sensible, but a bit too independent to be prim and proper. Above all, I wanted a quiet, serene life. Until the day when Logan marched into my library, clad in black from head to toe. The very thought of him still makes a bit warm all over.” Amelia’s mouth curved in a little grin. “Trust me when I tell you that marriage to a reformed rogue can be quite delicious.”

“I do hold out hope. Perhaps, someday, I’ll be swept off my feet.”

“As I said, I put little stock in the rumor mill. But the tales of your shenanigans putting bores in their place are delightful.”

“Putting bores in their place,” Macie repeated. “I do like the sound of that.”

“I simply must know what really happened at the Midsummer’s Night masquerade.” Amelia’s eyes brightened. “I’m told the incident involved a fairy wand, of all things.”

“Ah, the summer party. I cannot say precisely how I accomplished that feat, though I’m certain a bit of luck was involved.” Macie smiled at the memory. “My costume was quite a bit of fun, with lovely ruffles, sea-blue wings, and a large, pointy wand. The villainous viscount should consider himself fortunate he walked away unscathed.”

“The villainous viscount?” Amelia chuckled. “What a marvelous title for a penny dreadful.”

“Ah, the man was an utter cad. I had no intention of causing a scene that night. The ballroom was rather crowded, and I was enjoying the lovely evening. Until the viscount invited to me to dance. I saw no harm in it, but when we attempted to waltz—despite the dolt’s utter lack of rhythm—he dared an overly bold maneuver. As I slipped away from his reach, the tip of the wand struck him soundly across his face.”

Amelia looked to be fighting laughter. “Good heavens.”

“Oh, it gets worse. The fop’s monocle flew off his face and landed in the midst of a lady’s ample cleavage.” Macie grinned. “I can still picture her look of utter shock.”

“Oh, dear,” Amelia said. “I can well imagine the scene. You must tell me this... did the cad retrieve his eyepiece?”

“He did,” Macie said with a little giggle. Before she could elaborate, Finn and Logan returned to the table. Their expressions were somber. Perhaps even grim.

She set her wine glass to the side as a slight prickle of alarm trickled over her nape. A visitor had arrived at the café a few minutes earlier, a wiry young man clearly known to both Finn and Logan. He had joined them at the bar for a few moments before making a hasty exit.

“Logan, why was your assistant here?” Amelia did not hide her concern. “Is something wrong?”

“One of the regulars at the Rogue’s Lair has a connection to the detective bureau. He tends to ramble, but the bloke usually knows what he’s talking about.” Logan kept his voice low. “Tim figured we’d want to know what the man revealed about the intruder. The old man has not regained consciousness. But the physicians believe they know why he collapsed.”

Macie leaned closer. “Did his heart give out?”

Finn shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. What happened... was not due to natural causes.”

An invisible weight sunk into the pit of Macie’s stomach. “Not natural?”

Finn plowed a hand through his hair. “The physicians observed certain signs of poison.”

“Poison?” Macie repeated dully.

Logan replied with a grim nod. “They suspect a toxin that accelerated his heart.”

“Will he... will he recover?” Amelia inquired gently.

“At this point, there’s no way to know,” Finn said. “They still have not identified him.”

“We’ll pay a visit to Inspector Bradley in the morning” Logan rested his hand on his wife’s shoulder, appearing to comfort her. “For tonight, Amelia and I would welcome ye as our guests.”

“An excellent idea,” she agreed readily, casting her husband a smiling glance. “We have ample room. I do hope you will join us tonight.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t think of imposing, much less at this late hour,” Macie said. “My friend Nell and I will be safe at home, locked behind stout doors.”

Amelia smiled graciously. “It would be no imposition.”

“Ye’re both welcome to stay with us. As is Finn,” Logan added.

Macie mulled their offer. “I truly appreciate your hospitality, but I cannot leave my housekeeper on her own tonight. Mrs. Tuttle will be worried as it is. If she has managed to fall asleep, I simply could not expect her to be awakened to travel to another residence, let alone at this time of night.”

“Mrs. Tuttle,” Finn repeated the name as if it were distasteful. He’d met her stern housekeeper years earlier, when he’d joined Jon for a holiday visit at her family’s country house. The perpetually cross woman was perhaps the only soul that Finn could not charm.

“You remember her, do you?” Macie said, if only to confirm what she already knew.

“How could anyone forget such a feisty old bag of bones. The woman possessed the ability to make a feather duster seem as threatening as a medieval mace.”

Macie shot him a small smile as he frowned. “She is a bit grouchy, I’ll give you that. But surely you understand my reluctance to leave her to fend for herself... or to rouse her from her bed at this hour of the night.”

“I must confess, this situation does make me a bit anxious. There are many questions left to be answered. You simply must be cautious.” Amelia’s concern showed on her taut features. “After the first incident in my library, I wanted to believe the threat was over after the attacker was jailed. But it wasn’t. The cur was not acting alone. Macie, that might be the case here. The threat may be quite real.”

“I do realize that,” Macie said. “Which is another reason why I cannot take refuge in your home. I cannot chance bringing danger to your doorstep. Much less with you expecting a child.”

“I do understand,” Amelia said while her husband lightly massaged her shoulders. “If something happens... if you experience a change of heart, our door will open to you and Nell any time of the day or night. Any friend of Finn’s is a dear friend of ours.”

Finn reached for his glass and took a drink. Macie could not recall ever seeing such a serious expression on his features. “I agree with ye, Macie. I would not think to expose Amelia to any risk, much less at this time. Until we can be certain ye will be safe, ye’ll be safe in my home. Even the old bag of bones.”

Good heavens, what was the man thinking? Finn had spoken with great confidence, uttering the words as though she would treat them as a command. Spend the night? At his residence? Even by her standards, that would be a scandal too far.

“Well, then,” Macie said, folding her hands together to form a little perch for her chin and met his eyes. “Have you perhaps experienced a temporary lapse in reason?”

The firm set of his jaw told her he was entirely serious. “I will not leave ye undefended, much less while you sleep.”

“It’s simply out of the question,” she said with a shake of her head. “Even if I had no concerns for myself, I cannot put Nell’s good name at risk.”

“Macie, I do understand your concerns. I believe I have a solution.” Amelia spoke up, gentle yet direct. She turned to Finn. “Unfortunately, I suspect you are not going to like it.”

*

As they made their way up the steps to the townhouse she shared with Nell, Macie bit back a giggle. Judging from Finn’s scowl, he was not looking forward to the night ahead. He’d pulled a knitted wool cap low to cover his hair and his forehead. With any luck, nosy neighbors burning the midnight oil would think her brother had returned early from his trip.

As Macie turned the key in the lock and opened the door, her housekeeper emerged from the darkened corridor leading to the foyer. Puzzlement was etched on Mrs. Tuttle’s careworn face. Her brows knit together as her gaze fell upon Finn.

“Who’s that you’ve brought with you?” She squinted hard. “My eyes must be playing tricks on me.” She shot Macie a frown. “Phineas Caldwell? Under this roof?”

He shrugged. “Would ye believe me if I said I was on assignment for the Crown?”

“Should I?” She batted the question back to him.

At that, he grinned. The old woman was a spry one, wasn’t she? “Not a chance.”

Mrs. Tuttle’s eyes twinkled. “I must say, that’s a relief. I’d hate to think the fate of Her Majesty depends on the lot of you.” She turned to Macie, pinning her with her gaze. “I saw you coming up the steps. If ye’re thinking to pass him off as your brother, you’ll have to work harder than that.”

“It was not a well-thought plan,” Macie said. “But I can explain.”

“Might I suggest that the next time you feel the need to smuggle in a man, you borrow my departed husband’s cloak. I’d imagine it would be a better fit.” Mrs. Tuttle studied him. “The tweed would do justice to those broad shoulders.”

Finn stared at the polished oak planks, looking as if he longed to disappear into the woodwork.

Macie bit back a grin. “Why, Mrs. Tuttle, are my ears deceiving me? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to flatter my bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” Mrs. Tuttle’s cough was strategically timed. “Somehow, I don’t think this is what your brother intended.”

Macie shrugged. “Jon is not here to offer his opinion on the matter.”

Mrs. Tuttle folded her arms and offered a sage nod. “After what happened to you at that gloomy old house, I suppose it would not be a bad thing to have a man about the place.”

“Indeed. Mr. Caldwell insisted on staying on to watch over us. He is chivalrous to the bone, a knight in not-so-shiny armor.”

Mrs. Tuttle chuckled under her breath. “Chivalry? So that’s what they’re calling it now.”

Finn summoned his most disarming smile. He’d melted the icy shields around many a lass’s heart with that subtle curve of his mouth. Unfortunately, Mildred Tuttle was not one of those women. As the housekeeper met his gaze, the glimmer of amusement in her eyes disappeared, replaced by an Arctic-thick frost.

“Surely ye do not doubt my intentions. Jon Mason is an old friend. I would not betray his trust. Ye do know that, don’t ye now, Mrs. Tuttle?”

“If Macie trusts that guarding against villains is all you have on your mind tonight, who am I to be doubting you?” Mrs. Tuttle’s eyes narrowed, strategic as her little cough. “But keep this in mind—I am a light sleeper. And let me assure you, Finn Caldwell, you will not be getting anything polished tonight.” A slow smile lifted the corners of her thin mouth. “Not even your armor.”

*

Finn shifted restlessly on the too-blasted-short settee that had served as his bed through the night. Drifting in that realm between sleep and awareness, he tugged the knitted blanket around him, still not quite ready to drag himself from slumber despite the ache in his bones. In his thoughts, he drifted on what seemed a calm wave, while a low, rhythmic sound that brought to mind the one his grandfather had made when he dozed off before the fireplace filled his ears.

But why in blazes was the noise so close? And why did he feel a gentle, even breath brush the tip of his ear? Bollocks, what was that touching the nape of his neck?

Opening his eyes scarcely enough to let in light, he craned his neck. Bloody hell. A midnight-black cat lay on the back of the sofa, blinking its amber gold eyes as it stirred from rest. One paw dangled over the upholstery, just low enough to touch Finn’s neck, while the rest of the cat’s plump body balanced on the wood trim at the back of the settee. Was it his imagination, or did the creature look annoyed that Finn had moved just enough to disturb her? The cat regarded him for a long moment, then yawned.

So this was Cleo, fishy breath and all. Jon had warned him about the feline curmudgeon who possessed a penchant for sharpening its claws on expensive rugs, ornate upholstery, and the occasional trouser leg. Macie had toted the cat with her across the continent, and if Jon’s claims were true, the cat was the bane of Mrs. Tuttle’s existence. That alone was enough to make Finn like the wee beast. Jon had speculated that his sister had trained the cat to drive off unwanted callers. Was it possible to perform such a feat? If it were, Finn didn’t doubt that Macie would’ve figured out a way to do it.

Regarding Finn with lazy interest, Cleo stretched out a paw, lightly brushing it against his shoulder. No claws. No hisses. Simply a look of intense curiosity about the human who’d taken over her sleeping spot in the parlor.

With what looked to be an expression of feline disdain, Cleo shifted her attention to something or someone behind him. Blinking against the morning light that streamed in between the gap in the curtains, Finn turned to face Macie’s housekeeper. Mrs. Tuttle stood in the doorway, her mouth pinched in a look of annoyance.

Behind him, the cat yawned again, stretching her body over the back of the settee. Mrs. Tuttle’s eyes narrowed, nearly as pinched as her mouth. “There you are, you willful minx.”

Minx ? He’d been called a lot of things in his twenty-nine years of life, but this was a first. Fortunately, his drowsy mind stirred to alertness and he realized she was speaking to the cat before he could embarrass himself with a reply.

“She isn’t supposed to be on the furniture,” the housekeeper said, as if he’d somehow been complicit in the cat’s disobedience.

Finn sat up straight, tugging his shirt tails down as his bare feet landed on the braided rug. He threw the cat a glance over his shoulder. Was it his imagination, or did the cat appear amused by Mrs. Tuttle’s reaction?

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this house?” he asked while lazily stretching his arms over his head.

“There is work to be done, Mr. Caldwell.” She walked over to the windows and opened the curtains. Bright rays of morning sun streamed in. “The morning meal will not cook itself. I presume you have a hearty appetite.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said.

Planting her hands on her hips, she pinned him with her weary gray gaze. “I know why you’re here. I trust Mr. Jon would not have called upon you to watch over her if he did not trust you. But I cannot say that I share that faith.”

“I won’t let anyone harm her, Mrs. Tuttle. Ye can count on that.”

She regarded him silently for a long moment, seeming to consider his words. “Miss Macie is a good girl, she is. Despite the worldly act she puts on.” Mrs. Tuttle met his gaze. “You will respect that.”

Despite the distrust in her eyes, Finn saw the protectiveness underlying the old woman’s hard veneer. The emotion in her voice touched him. More than he’d imagined possible.

“I will treat Miss Mason like the lady she is.” He spoke the truth. “Ye have my word.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Mrs. Tuttle’s stern expression eased, the thin line of her mouth relaxing. “You’re not like the others, Mr. Caldwell. Not like those dukes and barons and whatever they like to call themselves, with their noses high in the air, sniffing around for every pence they might get out of Miss Macie’s father. She knows how to send those rotters scurrying away. But you... I’m not so sure she knows how to protect herself from the likes of you.”