Page 17

S ince she’d been a girl, Bennington Manor had seemed a haven to Macie. Now she was a woman, with an independent mind and pursuits, but the old house still represented a place where she could be entirely herself. Especially when she had her camera set up, experimenting with the light and lenses and shadows to capture the beauty of the grand old house. Finding a few hours in the day, Macie seized the opportunity to make her escape there.

Nell had made a dash to the library, intent on exploring Macie’s grandfather’s collections. While Macie set up her tripod, her friend strolled down the porch steps, toying with the miniature silver scepter her grandfather had kept on his desk. Good heavens, why had Nell decided to bring out the toy Macie had played with as a girl, of all things?

“It’s lovely.” Nell examined the tiny garnets gleaming against the silver. “How did your grandfather acquire it?”

“I believe he had it made especially for me.” Fond memories of the toy filtered into Macie’s thoughts. “Believe it or not, I pretended to be a princess when I was a little girl. Grandpapa had me convinced it was real and quite priceless.”

Nell tapped the length of silver that was a bit longer than her hand against her palm. “It has a bit of weight to it.” She threw Macie a speaking glance. “You should borrow this for Lady Fenwick’s masquerade. There’s a fair chance you’ll encounter Lord Hands-a-lot.”

Macie pictured the pinch-faced boor with his swath of pale-yellow hair and meaningless title. During their last encounter at Lady Who-ever’s soiree, she’d had to resist the impulse to toss her champagne, flute and all, at the viscount when he became a bit too free with his bony hands. She’d settled on accidentally treading upon his toes and making her escape. But this time, it would be different. In her mind’s eye, she pictured Finn taking action if the weasel dared to touch her. Surely Finn would face the viscount down with a stare that would make the bleary-eyed lord quake in his shoes.

“I don’t believe I will be needing that.” Macie smiled to herself and turned her attention back to her camera. The shadows surrounding the house were becoming ideal for the image she wished to capture. But not quite yet.

Focus.

Nell twirled the scepter. “In that case, I suppose I should put it back. Are there any other treasures I might come upon?”

“Most likely. Grandfather had a love of antiquities and all sorts of curiosities. Did I show you his collection of puzzle boxes?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“There are several on the shelves in his study. I think you’ll find them rather fascinating.”

“May I attempt to solve one?”

“To your heart’s content.”

“You’re quite sure?” Nell said with an eager grin.

“Very sure.”

“Just call out if you need any help. I’ll be in the study.” Flashing an eager grin, Nell hurried up the steps and disappeared behind the massive doors of the house.

Finally. She could focus her thoughts. Taking a step back, Macie assessed the angle of the shot. Positioning the camera just so, she juxtaposed the image of the bustling street with the staid old house. The shadows had fallen perfectly, creating the moody atmosphere she’d envisioned.

Just then, a jaunty coach briskly made its way over the cobbles. The driver tipped his hat and continued past. As the carriage rumbled out of view, her attention pulled to a larger, more imposing conveyance. The clop-clop of the immense steed pulling a midnight-black brougham stood out among the sounds of the city. Slowing to a stop across the street, the driver scrambled from the bench to assist his passenger from the coach.

A man disembarked and turned to Macie. With a hawk-like focus, he fixed his gaze on her. The gent might have been her father’s age, his bright-blue eyes creating a stark contrast with his silver-gray beard and hair. Boldly, he kept his attention on her and offered a nod, as if to confirm that he had indeed put her in his sights.

He approached with a brisk vigor that belied his years, his brass-tipped walking stick bobbing in his hand. As he neared, Macie noticed the unique handle of his cane.

As she tried to dismiss her instinctive wariness, the beady ruby eyes of the wolf’s head seemed to watch her. Something about the metallic beast sent a chill through her which the man’s overly broad smile could not warm away.

How very odd.

“I hope I did not frighten you, Miss Mason.” As he neared her, his voice sounded robust and cheerful. “Hiram Neville, at your service.”

Macie stepped away from her tripod. How did the man know her name? “I was a bit startled. Nothing more.” She searched for a memory of him. Surely she would’ve remembered those vivid eyes. “Have we met? I can’t say as I recall the occasion.”

“I wouldn’t expect you would remember me.” His smile broadened. “You were a wee girl the last time I laid eyes on you, young enough to bounce upon your grandfather’s knee.”

His words should have reassured her, but they rang strangely hollow. The faint essence of liquor on his breath intensified her uneasiness, but she forced a bland smile. “What brings you to London, Mr. Neville?”

His expression shifted, suddenly solemn. “Your grandfather, my dear.”

An invisible weight plummeted into her stomach. “I’m sorry if you’ve come a long way. He passed away. It’s been nearly a year.”

“Andrew’s death is why I’ve come. I only recently received the news, and I wished to pay my respects. I will miss my old friend.”

Was her imagination running wild, or did the odd gleam in his eyes belie his words?

“Thank you,” she said, even as her senses remained on edge. “Might I ask how you and my grandfather were acquainted?”

“Ah, we’d known each other since we were lads,” he explained. “Some time ago, we parlayed our mutual interest in antiquities into a shared venture.”

Macie met his eyes, searching for a reason to trust this man whose words posed as many questions as answers. Her grandfather had seldom passed up an opportunity to reminisce about his youthful exploits. Why, he’d relished those tales nearly as much as he’d enjoyed a rousing ghost story. Yet she could not recall a single mention of Hiram Neville.

“I am not familiar with the details of your enterprise,” she said truthfully.

“Sadly, I cannot say I am surprised. The endeavor did not succeed. Andrew no doubt wished to put the experience behind him.” He tapped the brass handle of his walking stick against his palm in a precise rhythm. “But that isn’t why I’ve come here today, Miss Mason.”

“Then . . . what might I do for you?”

He drew nearer, still toying with the cane. Each movement seemed to contain a nervous energy. His thin smile faded. “I understand you now hold the deed to Bennington Manor.” This close, there was no mistaking the odor of spirits. “That is correct, is it not, Miss Mason?”

My, the conversation had taken a peculiar turn. Suddenly, Macie wanted nothing more than to be away from this stranger who claimed a vague connection with her grandfather. Pulling in a low breath, she offered a crisp response. “That is correct. Not that it should be of any of your concern.”

The man’s gaze sharpened. His words were cool as a winter morn. “Your grandfather was a free thinker. He prided himself on being ahead of his time. Indeed, few would toss tradition to the refuse bin and bypass the true heir.”

The shift in his tone unsettled her as much as his words. “I presume you are referring to my brother.”

“As I recall, your grandfather was exceedingly proud of your brother. He believed Jonathan has a fine head on his shoulders. And yet, he bequeathed his most precious asset to you. Rather unexpected, you must admit.” He tapped his walking stick against the ground with restless energy. “I suppose he trusted you to care for this house. Just as he had.”

“Indeed, he did.” She kept her response bland, even as a tingle of warning ran along her spine.

“And what of his collections and his library?” Interest lit his pale gaze. “Have they remained with the house?”

“Several museums have benefitted from his bequests, as was his wish. Might I ask what concern this is of yours?”

“Your grandfather devoted years to the study of ancient cultures. The library he acquired reflected his dedication. If I may be so bold, his research should now be in the hands of those who could truly benefit from his work—not locked away behind the doors of this house.”

“In time, my family and I intend to see to the proper disposition of his collection, including his library.” The thought of it twisted like a fist in her belly.

“As I see it, intend is a rather unfortunate word.” The old man’s jovial attitude had been replaced by a diamond-hard look of scrutiny. “One can have the best of intentions, Miss Mason. But the wherewithal to follow through is what truly matters.”

Biting back the words that came to mind, Macie met his frosty gaze. Her nerves seemed to stand on edge. Instinct urged her to promptly dismiss him. But she would, however, act the part of a proper lady, if only for her grandfather’s sake.

“As I see it, Mr. Neville, my wherewithal is not of your concern.” To her own ears, her voice sounded tightly controlled, the ice in her tone making clear he had crossed a line.

“I am very much interested in your grandfather’s library.” He tapped the silver wolf’s head against his palm. “Especially the documentation of his field research.”

His words caught Macie off guard. “You are referring to my grandfather’s notebooks?”

“I am.” He gave a crisp nod. “I have a keen interest in acquiring the collection. Especially Andrew’s research.”

“I’m sorry, but my grandfather’s books and papers are quite precious to me. I could not possibly part with them.”

“This... this is what matters to you.” Mr. Neville pointed his cane toward her camera. “Not volumes of research that have no meaning to you. Of course, I would be willing to compensate you. The price I have in mind is most generous.”

“I cannot put a monetary value on my grandfather’s journals and papers.”

“Your grandfather did not intend that his library would sit behind the walls of this house and collect dust. It belongs in the hands someone who can make use of it.” Despite his otherwise bland expression, his eyes glimmered with a look of pure calculation. “I have delivered an offer to your solicitor. You shall find it most generous.”

“Mr. Neville, I am afraid you’ve wasted your time.”

He pinned her with his gaze. “Allow me to be blunt. I have my doubts that you possess the funds needed to fully restore this house. Without the compensation I am offering you, I cannot envision that you will manage to preserve it.”

She squared her shoulders and met his steely gaze. “That is not a matter of your concern.”

“You are mistaken, Miss Mason. What happens to this house is very much my concern. I presume you are aware of its history.”

“Of course. Grandfather spoke in great detail about the generations of our family who’d lived within its walls.”

“Lived.” He tapped the walking stick against the lowest step. “And died.”

Was that a note of warning?

Or a threat?

Macie’s senses responded in instinctive awareness. Suddenly, she needed to flee his presence. She wanted to be far away from this man who’d offered a jovial expression but was not what—or likely whom—he’d claimed to be.

“I appreciate that you’ve come to pay your respects to my grandfather.” She held her voice steady. “But I must be getting back to my work. Good day, sir.”

“I shall be on my way.” He met her dismissal with a glare. “But not yet.”

“I would not like to be discourteous, but I must ask you to take your leave.”

His fingers tightened around the head of his walking stick. “Andrew Bennington indulged the women in his life.” His words sounded flat with an effort of restraint. “His wife. Your mother. And now, you .”

Indulged. The word stung like a slap. Macie hiked her chin and met his icy stare. The man’s civil mask had not slipped. It had fallen away, leaving behind a look of clear contempt.

“Mr. Neville, I must insist that you go.”

“You would be wise to consider my offer.” He tapped his cane in a distinct rhythm against the pavement. “Perhaps I’ll simply bide my time. Talk about town has it that your father has no intention of pouring hard-earned funds into Bennington Manor. It won’t be long until you can no longer maintain the house. Then I shall purchase this place for a pittance.”

“How dare you?” Anger heated her cheeks, but she summoned the will to hold her voice steady. “I cannot fathom why my grandfather would have associated with the likes of you. I have grave doubts that you even knew him.”

“I have no desire to deceive you, Miss Mason.” He leaned heavily on the cane. “I’m too bloody old for games. I knew your grandfather. Quite well, indeed. Perhaps I shall buy the house and everything in it. I would be doing you and your family a favor.”

“Leave, Mr. Neville.” She bit the words between her teeth. “Now.”

“When the time comes—and I assure you, it will—your solicitor will know how to reach me.” He regarded her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. “Believe me when I say you’d be better off far from this place.”

As Macie’s gaze trailed Hiram Neville’s coach, the hair at her nape rose. Each clomp of his carriage horse pulling the conveyance away from Bennington Manor eased more tension from her body.

My, what an abrasive man. Why had her jovial, good-natured grandfather associated with such a flinty-eyed weasel?

She pulled in a calming breath. Then another. Turning back to her camera, she caught sight of Finn’s approach. His brisk strides made short work of the distance between them.

As he neared her, his brow furrowed. “Who in blazes was that man?”

“He claims an acquaintance with my grandfather.”

Finn’s jaw set in a hard line. “Shall I have a talk with him?”

“That should not be necessary. I doubt I will encounter him again.” She felt the tension creep back into her bones. If only she could be certain.

“What brought him here?” Finn pressed.

“The pinched old stoat expressed an interest in acquiring my grandfather’s library and his research notebooks.” She let out a low breath. “Among other things.”

“Does the pinched old stoat possess a name?”

“Hiram Neville.” She glanced down the street toward his posh carriage. “I cannot say I’d ever heard my grandfather speak of him.”

“And yet he showed up here today.”

Macie pulled in a calming breath, hoping to appear more confident than she felt. “I made it quite clear that I have no interest in dealing with him.”

Finn plowed his fingers through his hair. “After I have a talk with him, we’ll be sure of that.”

“I don’t believe that will be needed.”

Finn shook his head. “The man needs to know ye have someone watching over ye.”

“The dreadful toad would not be the first to try to intimidate me into selling my grandfather’s possessions for a pittance. But we both know I’m not easy prey.”

Macie toyed with her cuffs, pressing unpleasant memories back into their proper place in the back of her mind. Since she’d come of age, she’d fended off all manner of unscrupulous so-called gentlemen. Pauper lords and would-be tycoons. Men who might have seen only her father’s fortune when they looked into her eyes.

Except for Finn.

Her gaze trailed over his familiar features, dancing over the carved lines of his jaw. The curves of his mouth. His clever wit, gleaming in his amber-brown eyes. Unbidden, a low heat coiled deep within, a yearning words could not fully describe.

“So, I’m to stand by and do nothing?” Finn’s husky words drew Macie from her thoughts.

“For the time being, that would be best course of action.”

“Not bloody likely,” Finn muttered under his breath. He plowed his fingers through his hair, his slight scowl making it clear they did not see eye to eye. “I’ll respect yer wishes. But if the stoat returns, I will be paying him a visit,” he said as Nell appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Who was that fellow?” she asked as she navigated the steps to the pavement.

“He claims to have known my grandfather.”

“I was in the library, standing by the front window,” Nell said. “I couldn’t help but overhear that man say something about this house.”

“He blustered a bit of nonsense about purchasing Bennington Manor. I suspect he was in his cups.”

“Buy the house out from under ye?” Finn’s brow furrowed. “Ye had not mentioned that.”

“Given the liquor on his breath, I put no stock in his words.” Macie pictured the man’s contemptuous twist of his mouth as he’d taken his leave.

“If he dares to show his face here again, ye will let me know. Just because the bloke presents himself like someone’s churlish uncle doesn’t mean he is not dangerous.” Finn’s jaw set in a hard line.

Finn’s protectiveness appealed to her on an instinctive level. But she certainly didn’t need him to dash off and confront a man nearly twice his age.

Macie met his stern gaze. “Mr. Neville is a curmudgeon. Rather unpleasant, but I’ve no reason to fear him. After all, it’s not as if he issued a threat.”

In her mind, she heard his voice, the words he’d spoken in a cold, contemptuous tone.

You’d be better off far from this place.

A fresh ripple of apprehension set her nerves a bit ajar as an inner voice whispered in Macie’s thoughts.

No, not a threat. But perhaps a warning.