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S hifting restlessly on the chaise in her study, Macie stared down at the novel she was reading. Actually, attempting to read. As her eyes took in the words on the page, Miss Austen’s witty dialogue was all but drowned out by the echo of Finn’s words in her thoughts.

Any man who doesn’t want ye for who ye are... he’s a blasted fool.

Nearly twenty-four hours after she’d posed the question that had long weighed on her, Finn’s gruff voice played in her memory. Again. And again. His tone had been low and flavored with an emotion she could not quite puzzle out. Quite intriguing, indeed.

Setting the book aside, she closed her eyes. Truly, was it his surprising pronouncement that had put her in a stir? Or was it the possibilities of what might have gone between them if Nell had not returned home at that precise moment. Had he wanted to kiss her? Would she have savored the press of his lips to hers?

Good heavens, what had come over her? She knew better than to allow this man—of all the men in London—into her heart. Pretending that a romance had blossomed with Finn—no, not a romance, a mere infatuation, she corrected herself—had promised to be quite a clever charade. He had been the logical choice. But now, it was not nearly as simple as she’d thought it would be. She’d never imagined this man who’d been so very vexing would speak the words that soothed the doubts she’d harbored for so very long.

But she had to keep her head about her. Despite the moments when it seemed a true bond was being forged between them, Finn was a rogue. For a man like him, a kiss, a caress—even a tumble in her bed—would be little more than a fleeting moment of desire. He knew about passion. He could bring a woman pleasure. Of that, she had no doubt.

But love? Well, that was another story, wasn’t it? She couldn’t allow herself to be swept away by a delicious romantic fantasy. If she did, her heart might bear the scar long after their deal was done. Long after Finn had satisfied whatever bargain he’d worked out with her brother.

Drat. Drat. Double drat. Someday, she’d look back upon this moment and wonder at these fanciful longings.

It simply isn’t meant to be.

But would a love affair ever be meant for her? For years, she’d driven away one entitled Lord Nob after another. Would she need to settle for a placid existence in which she would never feel the depth of passion her mother and father had shared over decades of love and laughter and the occasional heartache?

Allowing herself a sigh, she tucked a ribbon into place and closed the book. Perhaps later, with any luck, could focus on the witty characters on the pages.

She glanced at the grandfather clock. It wouldn’t be long before sunset. The hazy light cast shadows on the wall, and she allowed her imagination to run wild for a few moments until the sound of brisk footsteps caught her attention.

Mrs. Tuttle marched into the room, chin up, looking as if her every nerve was as prickly as a porcupine’s quill. “Miss Macie, he’s here again.” She did not try to hide her exasperation.

“He?” Macie replied blandly, though she already knew the answer.

“You know of whom I speak.” As Mrs. Tuttle folded her arms at the waist, the tension in her mouth eased, if only a sliver. “Mr. Caldwell is in the parlor with Miss Nell. She’s got it in her head that he must have a costume for the masquerade tomorrow night.”

“Oh, dear. I suppose I should rescue him.”

The housekeeper shrugged. “I wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry to spare that man from Nell’s notions. With any luck, she’ll send him on his way without even realizing what she’s doing.”

“Not likely. He’s got good reason to stick around,” Macie said as she joined Mrs. Tuttle at the door.

“Does he now?”

“Soon, we will talk over tea,” Macie replied. “By then, it won’t matter.”

“Won’t matter, eh? I don’t like the sound of that,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “We both know how you like to scheme. I do hope you’re not getting in over your head this time.”

“I know better than to take a risk I cannot navigate. Much less with that man.” Macie sounded more confident than she felt.

The older woman gave a little sigh. “Will he be in the residence again tonight?”

“Possibly,” Macie said. “He’s determined to be the noble protector while Jon is away.”

“Phineas Caldwell? Noble?” Mrs. Tuttle scoffed. “I suppose I’ve heard everything now.”

“Ah, don’t be so grumpy,” Macie said lightly. “I believe his reasons are sound.”

A line of worry creased the older woman’s brow. “The police still haven’t found why the old man was in the old house, have they?”

Macie shook her head. “Not that I am aware. With any luck, they’ll be able to rule out a connection with our family after the man revives.”

“I’ll prepare the spare room for Mr. Caldwell. Just in case.” Mrs. Tuttle pulled back her shoulders, affecting an air of efficiency.

“An excellent idea.” Macie smiled. “Thank you.”

“There was no time last night.”

“It was definitely an unforeseen development.”

Mrs. Tuttle nodded. “What would your brother say about all of this?”

Macie gave a little shrug. “I’d like to think he would put our well-being ahead of false notions of propriety. But truth be told, what Jon doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

*

Macie was no stranger to unexpected scenes. After all, she’d become quite adept at creating them. But even she could not have expected to come upon Nell’s determined attempt to convince Finn to be fitted for a medieval tunic, of all the things.

“I have it on good authority that she is dressing as Maid Marian,” Nell said as Macie approached the doorway. “Her escort’s attire should complement hers.”

Finn stood by the fireplace in the parlor, his back to Macie. Though she could not see his face, she could readily picture the rise of his eyebrows as he spoke. “Have ye gone batty, lass?”

“Batty.” Nell blinked, looking a bit taken aback. “That was most unnecessary.”

“All right, then. Daft.”

Nell sighed. “You wound me, Mr. Caldwell.”

“Be thankful I consider ye a lady. Those are the mildest words I could come up with on short notice. Ye’re mad if ye think I’m wearing a blasted tunic to a ball.”

“Madame Lorette assured me she could devise a costume within a few hours. Once she has your measurements, of course.”

Macie strategically cleared her throat. “You have it on good authority, do you, Nell?”

“Oh, dear,” Nell said, with a touch too much dramatic flair. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“So, Madame Lorette revealed my secret?” Macie said, crossing into the room. “I was hoping my costume would be a surprise.”

“She did not,” Nell explained a bit sheepishly. “But one of the seamstresses mentioned that she’d had recently finished your gown. I was able to puzzle it out.”

“That makes me a bit cross, but I must forgive her. Her needlework is perfection.”

“Indeed,” Nell said. “I was quite relieved to learn you’d changed your mind. Your original idea would have been rather... unconventional.”

“Lady Godiva?” Finn sounded rather hopeful.

“An intriguing idea,” Macie said. “Though I doubt I could control a horse inside the ballroom. Lady Fenwick would have every reason to be displeased.”

“A man can dream,” he said, a smile in his eyes.

“You are incorrigible,” Macie said.

“One of my better traits.” Finn scratched his chin. “So, what was this unconventional costume?”

“I’ll leave you in suspense for the time being. I may choose to wear it to another ball.”

Nell turned her attention back to Finn. “Now that we’ve confirmed Macie’s costume, I’m even more convinced that Maid Marian needs her Robin Hood.”

“There’s a greater chance I will be knighted in the morning than that I will wear blasted hose .” Finn looked as if the words were painful to utter. “And a hat with a feather, no less.”

“I imagine you would look quite dashing. But I have confidence you will come up with something on your own. Something better suited.” Macie bit back a giggle. “A villain, perhaps.”

“Better than a blasted merry bloke in Sherwood Forest,” he agreed with a nod.

“Well then, I suppose that’s settled,” Nell said with a little pout. “Though Robin and Marian would present such a romantic image.” She folded her arms and pursed her lips, as she did when she was mulling a problem. “That is what you want, isn’t it, Macie? An illusion of romance?”

“Quite so. But actions speak louder than costumes.” She turned to Finn. “Don’t you agree?”

He shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”

“There is always a choice.” Macie kept her tone light. “I’ve been thinking about the night of Lady Drayton’s ball. As I’m sure you’ll recall, we shared a dance.”

“Even if I attempted to pry the memory from my mind, my toes would not allow me to forget,” he said.

My, he was a cheeky one. “I did not tread on your toes that night.” Though I probably should have stomped one or two for good measure.

“Are ye so certain, then, lass?”

“I saw the two of you on the ballroom floor,” Nell said, her tone betraying a bit of hesitation. “Macie looked as though she’d rather have been waltzing with the devil himself.”

Finn folded his arms casually and leaned against the back of a settee. “Lass, yer eyes did not deceive ye.”

“As I recall, I was in no mood to dance. My shoes were pinching my feet.” Macie attempted to explain away Nell’s observation.

“So that was it, was it?” Finn said, his tone deliberately bland.

Macie studied him for a long moment. The coolness in his expression bore little resemblance to the way he’d looked at her at the old house. She pulled in a breath, attempting to dull her feelings. “To be quite honest, this charade has proven more challenging than I’d hoped.”

“I say we toss this deceptive game upon the rubbish heap and enjoy the masquerade. Perhaps Maid Marian will find her Robin Hood after all.”

“The rubbish heap is not an option. Heaven knows I have no desire to find my own personal Robin Hood. The very thought of some porridge-faced nob gallivanting about in a tunic and plumes makes my stomach a bit unsettled.” She marched up to Finn, hiking her chin and looking into his eyes. “With that carved jaw of yours and that devil-may-care expression, I’ve no doubt you have charmed more than your fair share of women. Who’s to say that I could not be one of them?”

Indeed. Perhaps he already has.

But that was a truth best kept close to the heart.

He shrugged again. “Anyone who knows us.”

“At times, I do believe you are truly impossible.” She sighed. “But you’re my best hope. I feel confident we can put on a convincing performance.”

“Convincing, eh?” He gazed down at her, his amber eyes gleaming with mischief. “So, am I to seduce ye right then and there, with all of yer host’s high-born friends taking in the show?”

“You know better than that,” she said. “Believe it or not, Finn Caldwell, I can read you better than you know. After all, I had a lot a practice when you and Jon were lads.”

“Did ye now?”

She smiled, the memory of a younger, far less cynical Finn smiling in her thoughts. “You know I’m speaking the truth. Now, we’ll need to practice a bit and get... comfortable with one another if this is going to work.”

“Ye really believe that’s possible?” The mischief had drained from his eyes, replaced by an emotion she couldn’t quite read.

“We don’t need to convince anyone that you’re ready to drop down upon one knee and profess your undying love,” Macie said, the vision her imagination conjured of him doing precisely that as fantastical as the notion of him dashing about Sherwood Forest, bow and arrows in hand.

His brows rose. “Well, that’s a bloody good thing then, isn’t it? Undying love is not my strong suit.”

“Truer words have seldom been uttered,” she agreed. “But if we are to discourage the noble snobs, a hint of infatuation will do.”

A thin smile tugged at his mouth. “If one dares to touch ye, I’d offer a hint of bodily harm.”

Macie tried not to smile at the image of Finn hauling up a whey-faced lord by his lapels, putting his lean strength on display for all to see. “In the interest of sparing my dear brother yet another gray hair, I would prefer a non-violent approach. Would it be so difficult to act as if you have a tender affection for me?”

“Macie, do ye even know what that would look like?” His forehead furrowed as he studied her. “All this time ye’ve done everything ye could to chase a man away, short of carrying a sword at yer hip.”

“Actually, she has done that,” Nell quipped with a little grin.

“Ah, that’s right. Henry VIII and his infernal codpiece,” Finn said. “How in blazes could I forget that tale?”

“In my defense, it was not an actual sword.” Macie sent Nell a speaking glance. “You are enjoying this a bit too much, my cheeky friend. Whose side are you on? His? Or mine?”

“Both.” Nell replied. “If your plan is going to succeed, you need to look as if you are smitten. But given the choice between embracing one another or hugging a porcupine, I’m not entirely sure you wouldn’t opt to embrace the spiny little beast.”

Macie sighed. “That is an exaggeration.” But perhaps only a bit.

“The lass has a point,” Finn said. “This scheme of yers will not work.”

Macie narrowed her eyes at him. “Why, Finn Caldwell, I had not taken you for a man who runs from a challenge.”

His eyes gleamed like amber as he met her gaze. “I’ve never run from anything in my life. Save for an ornery wildcat yer brother and I once stumbled upon in the Highlands.”

“I thought as much,” Macie said truthfully. “In that case, we can and we will prepare for this challenge.”

“So what is it ye’re looking for, lass?” Macie felt Finn’s gaze on her. “Do ye even know?”

She glanced at the intricate design woven into the carpet, stalling for a better answer than the truth. Tracing the pattern with her gaze, she realized she was rather stuck. “Tender affection would suffice,” she said finally.

He quirked a brow. “And what precisely does that look like?”

She pulled in a low breath. “I’d imagine the way Robin Hood would have looked upon Maid Marian.”

“Robin Hood?” He raked his fingers through his hair. “How does a man trying to keep his neck out of a noose have time for tender affection ?”

“Oh, theirs was quite the love story,” Nell said. “So very romantic. I do enjoy a tale of true love.” She studied him for a moment. “Of course, I also find star-crossed love and a tormented hero rather appealing. Don’t you agree, Macie?”

Macie bit back a smile. “I do fancy a ripping good gothic.”

“Blast it, I’d figured as much.” He plowed his fingers through his hair. “The both of ye would get along famously with my sister. She actually shed tears while reading a tale of some bloke who went mad longing for his one true love, as she put it. The heroine had conveniently died, so the madman did not need to listen to her prattle on for eternity. I suppose that was an advantage.”

“Oh, I think I’ve read that story. I simply adore it.” Nell shot him a little frown. “Of course, no one would confuse you with a true romantic.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps I should carry a book of poetry at all times.”

“An apt accessory, indeed,” Macie said, cocking a brow. “As I understand it, flowery poetry is a tool for accomplished rogues.”

“I am not an accomplished rogue,” he said with a grin that was as infuriating as it was appealing. “I consider myself an amateur.”

“Perhaps that is to all of our benefit,” Macie replied. “After all, I can well imagine you reading a sonnet with a look of utter torment on your face.”

“Speaking of torment, a bit of practice for the dances may be helpful,” Nell suggested, her tone cheeky.

Macie glanced about the room with its abundance of furniture and artwork. She shook her head. “This space is far from ideal.”

“It will work.” Finn said quickly moved the furniture off the carpet, rolled up the rug, and motioned to the space he’d cleared. “Yer ballroom awaits, my lady.”

Nell crossed the room to the baby grand piano. “We will begin with a waltz.”

For the briefest of moments, Finn looked as though he was heading for his own execution. But then, he took Macie by the hand. “Shall we dance?”