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A s the strains of a waltz droned on, Finn gazed into the narrowed eyes of the woman he awkwardly led through the motions of the waltz. He smothered a chuckle at the irony of her words. Shall we give them something to talk about ?

Macie had certainly gotten her wish, hadn’t she? Though not in the manner she’d anticipated.

As if she’d read his thoughts, her mouth dipped down at the corner, not quite a frown. Bloody hell. He winced as Macie’s not-so-dainty slipper mashed his toes. Again. Was she deliberately stepping on his feet? No, he doubted that. She’d nibbled her lower lip, as she tended to do when she was embarrassed or worried.

By thunder, between the two of them, they could do nothing right. While weaving through the dancers in the ballroom, they’d clumsily collided with another couple, nearly toppling the bejeweled crown perched upon a scowling socialite’s upswept hair. Moments later, Macie had nearly detached the preposterous tail from a dandified lion. Not that she was completely at fault. The scrawny noble within the costume had seemed nearly overwhelmed by his bulky, ridiculous mane. Even so, her cheeks had turned scarlet while she apologized for the single errant step that left the appendage dangling by mere threads.

For his part, Finn had not felt so bloody awkward since he’d been a green lad squiring about his first debutante. Each step was uneasy, as though he wore weights on his legs, each movement overly stiff as he held her as far from his body as the dance would allow. As for his own aching toes, he’d lost count of how many times Macie had managed to tread lightly—and not so lightly—upon his feet. With each wayward press of her shoe against his, he gave silent thanks for the decision to wear sturdy boots with his half-hearted attempt at a costume.

By the time they’d suffered through a few dances, Macie’s mortified reaction to trampling upon the bloke’s costume had eased, though her features were still a bit pinched. Through her terse, plastered-on smile, she appeared as ill at ease as he was. Perhaps even more so. Had she sensed the truth he was unwilling to speak?

You haven’t given anyone a reason to believe you were not merely watching over me .

As her words had tumbled out, he’d seen the disappointment in her eyes. Blast it, he had not intended to let her down. If she were some other woman, he could mimic an infatuation. He could make a show of holding her close and brushing his mouth over hers and whispering in her ear words the others could not hear, but would assume were spoken with desire and heat and passion.

She’d wanted him to pretend to be lovestruck, to put on a bloody charade. And all to drive off the noble nobs she detested. With another woman, he might’ve been able to pull it off.

But not with Macie.

The act she wanted him to perform was too blasted close to the truth.

He gazed down at her. She’d dressed as Maid Marian. Her fitted gown hugged her curves and flared softly over her rounded hips, while the light green silk intensified the emerald hue of her eyes. With her long, chestnut brown hair swept back in a simple braid, her high cheekbones and full mouth were framed to perfection. She was beautiful.

So bloody beautiful.

If Robin Hood’s lady had been as striking as Macie in that gown, the notorious archer would’ve spent far less time gallivanting around Sherwood Forest and more tending home and hearth.

His chest tightened. In all his life, he’d never known such a longing to simply caress a woman’s cheek, to brush his fingers over her lips and smile to himself as her lips curved in response to his touch. Blast it, this need was unfamiliar. So bloody unlike any hunger for a woman he’d ever experienced.

If he didn’t hold himself in tight check, there wouldn’t be a damned thing he could do to stop himself from admitting the truth. Even to himself.

He wanted her.

He hungered to taste the sweetness of her lips. Longed to feel the softness of her curves beneath his hands. Needed to see a subtle, sensuous smile for his eyes only. But she was not meant for a rake like him.

Macie was off limits.

Forbidden.

It shouldn’t matter that he wanted to touch her. To kiss her. To whisper words of love.

Finn pulled in a low breath. He had a job to do. The deal with Mason Enterprises would ensure that his family’s business could thrive for years to come. He’d do well to keep that in mind. He’d promised to watch over Macie, to protect her from the jackals. If he gave in to the hunger he could scarcely deny, he would betray her brother’s faith in him. And the faith his family had entrusted in him.

He had to think of Macie as well. She was determined to chase away the fortune hunters. But he’d no doubt she would someday encounter a man who was a good match for her. A man of who didn’t give a damn about her fortune. A man who shared her passions. Perhaps, even, a man who could offer her the adventure of a lifetime, as she’d put it. He could not stand in the way of a man who might be the one for her.

Finn set his attention on her delicate features, if only to distract himself from the temptation of her body. Meeting his gaze, a bit of confusion dipped her brows lower. She pressed her lips together, more of a pout now than a frown.

Had she sensed the truth?

He stiffened his elbows, increasing the distance between them. Not that he had a choice. It wouldn’t do for her to feel the undeniable evidence of his body’s response to her. Blasted good thing he’d worn a sack coat and not the ridiculous hose her friend had wanted to inflict upon him. Now wouldn’t that have been quite the blasted scene?

The musicians slowed their tempo, and the strains of the waltz faded. The notes of a more vigorous dance filled the room. Macie slowly shook her head and gently pulled away from his light hold.

“I believe I’ve had quite enough.” Her voice was low and husky, and an emotion he could not read played on her features. Was that anger? Or sadness in her eyes?

With that, she turned and left him standing on the dance floor.

Bloody hell.

*

Hurrying away from Finn and the smiling dancers who’d managed to move to the rhythm of the music without creating chaos, Macie wanted nothing more than to escape her humiliation. She should have known better than to think her plan would work. But she’d never imagined it could go awry in such dreadful fashion.

Her hopeful scheme should’ve created the illusion of a fairy tale romance that might finally throw the heiress hunters off her track. But utterly nothing had gone as planned. The quarter-hour or so she’d spent on the dance floor with Finn had seemed an eternity. Goodness, it was bad enough when she and Finn collided with a dagger-eyed dollar princess and her scowling prince. But her awkward steps that had nearly stripped a foppish lion of his tail created a humiliation worthy of the name Calamity Macie.

But that was not the worst of it.

No, that moment had come with Macie’s dawning awareness that as they danced—if that was what one could truly call their awkward one-two-three, one-two-three movements across the floor—Finn had rigidly extended his arms. Why, he’d held her as far from himself as humanly possible. And even that distance did not seem to suit him. When they were together, he’d been ill at ease, his expression pinched, as if he were counting the moments until the night was over. A block of cold marble might have conveyed more warmth than the tense set of Finn’s features.

He’d cautioned her against her scheme. More than once, actually. Had he known all along that he could not bring himself to convincingly feign an attraction?

Well, that was it. So much for her little game. Perhaps it was for the best. She had no true flair for deceit. And evidently, neither did Finn.

She spotted Nell tucked away in a shadowy corner of the ballroom, once again smiling and flirting with her handsome buccaneer. Good for her . At least one of them was enjoying the evening.

Macie glanced about, hoping to catch the attention of a passing server. A sip or two—or more—of champagne would be just the thing. She located a crisply dressed server, crossed the room to select a flute from his silver tray, and went in search of a retreat from the music and chatter and sounds she would ordinarily find quite pleasant. For the moment, all she wanted was to be alone with her thoughts.

She navigated past a gaggle of costumed socialites who murmured something they found rather humorous as she went past. Had they witnessed the awkward show she’d put on with Finn?

Let them have their laughter. She’d brought it on herself, now, hadn’t she?

Exiting the ballroom, she found herself in a gas-lit corridor. She tried to adjust to the sudden quiet. Odd, how it seemed so peculiar to be away from the noise of the party. Taking a small sip from her glass, she made her way down the hall. She spotted a door. Was that an entry to the gardens? A stroll in the fresh air might be just the tonic she needed.

Suddenly, a hand caught her elbow from behind. Definitely not Finn. He would not have pressed his fingers into her skin with punishing force.

Jerking free of the brutal hold, she whipped around. The ruff-wearing sot who’d suffered an undignified encounter with Finn stared at her. An ugly leer twisted his mouth. “You’re not enjoying yourself.” Reeking spirits on his breath assailed her. “I could change that.”

Blast the infernal luck.

“Do not ever put your hands on me again.” She gritted the words between her teeth.

“You don’t know who you’re talking to, do you?” He bit off the words with clear contempt.

“I do.” She hiked her chin. “And that, sir, is why I’m leaving.”

He reached for her again, but she slapped his hand away.

“Who do you think you are?” His mouth twisted into a scowl. “You’re nothing but a bloody merchant’s daughter.”

She turned to walk away. “You’ve said quite enough.”

He clamped rough fingers over her upper arm and yanked her around to face him. “Don’t you dare turn your back to me.”

Macie stared down at the glass in her hand. “Release me, you drunken cad.” With that, she tossed the champagne in his face.

His hold on her tightened like a vice as rage contorted his angular features into an ugly mask.

Fear trickled along her nape, but she would not show it. Macie met and matched his icy stare.

“Unhand me. Now.” She kept her voice under rigid control. “Or you will regret it.”

His grip eased. Had her words given him pause? His rough hold loosened, freeing her arm, but his fingers curled around the puffed sleeve of her gown.

“You’ve put yourself on a bloody shelf, so high and mighty. All you have to recommend you is your father’s—” His last word choked into a gasp as his hand fell away.

Macie looked up into Finn’s angry eyes. He’d seized the Shakespearean-attired boor by the edges of his collarless shirt. With a deliberate lack of speed, he hauled the rotter onto his toes.

Her pulse raced. She’d been prepared to put the tactics Jon had taught her to use. But the sight of Finn as he glared at the belligerent sot who now squirmed against his hold was something to behold. Most impressive, indeed.

“If ye value yer teeth, ye will not utter another word.” The quietness of Finn’s voice accentuated the danger in his tone.

The viscount’s eyes went wide. He nodded frantically.

“Evidently, I did not make myself clear the first time we spoke. If ye harass Miss Mason again, ye will answer to me. Do ye take my meaning?”

Again, the boor nodded.

“Fortunately for ye, Miss Mason would prefer that I not resort to physical violence. Ye owe her a debt for her kind restraint.” Finn’s gaze hardened. “Personally, I would enjoy teaching ye a lesson, man to man.”

The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “That will not be necessary. I will not trouble her again.”

“Ye know what will happen if ye do, don’t ye?” The edge to Finn’s voice was hard as flint.

“I do.”

“Good enough.” Finn released the man. “Now get out of her sight. Before I change my mind.”

Darting from Finn’s reach, the viscount looked as if he might actually break into a sprint as he rushed back to the ballroom.

Finn gently took her hand. “The rotter didn’t hurt ye, did he?”

“No.” She met his questioning gaze. “Sadly, he did cause me to waste a glass of perfectly fine champagne.”

“That can be easily rectified.” His brow furrowed as he studied her face. “Ye should not have come out here by yerself.”

“All I wanted was a bit of peace.” She sighed. “A few moments to myself after the fiasco of this evening.”

“If the bastard had gotten ye alone...” Rubbing the back of his neck as if it suddenly ached, Finn broke off the thought.

“I do believe I could have handled the likes of him.”

“Do ye now?” Finn sent her a little scowl. “Surely ye know what the likes of a cur like that is capable of.”

“I would not have let it go much further. My brother has shown me certain ways to defend myself if the need should arise.”

With a gentle touch, he cupped her face in his hands. “Ye may have been able to keep the bastard at bay. But given time, he may have hurt ye.” Macie’s breath caught as he traced his thumb along the curve of her chin. “Ye must trust me to protect ye.”

“I have no doubt that you will.” She hiked her chin, unwilling to show the surge of emotions swirling between her heart and her mind. “You have a task—protect the heiress, even from herself. And you’re ever so dedicated to seeing that task through.”

He set his jaw. “Ye don’t make it easy, lass.”

“Should I?” She folded her arms and regarded him for a long, silent moment. “I’d think a man like you would relish a challenge.”

“I am beginning to think challenges are overrated.”

She narrowed her eyes, flashing a brief scowl. “Such as the Herculean challenge of pretending to see me as something more than an heiress in need of a bodyguard?”

“Ah, yer blasted game.” His expression went cold. “If ye wanted a performance, ye should have found a bloody thespian.”

A performance.

His words stung, but she squared her shoulders and forced a cool tone. “I simply do not understand why you must be so very distant. No one would believe you were anything other than a brawny chaperone.”

“Ye think not?”

“I’m quite positive. You’ve mastered the art of playing the vigilant protector. But tonight—even more than most nights—you’ve been so cold. It seems all you could do to even touch my hand.” She pulled in a breath. “Can you deny it?”

He raked a hand though his hair. Meeting her gaze, his eyes gleamed with an unfamiliar intensity, even as a slight, wry smile played on his mouth. “Cold?” Slowly he shook his head. “I’m a blasted better actor than I thought. God above, lass, can ye really tell me ye haven’t felt it?”

She nibbled her lip. “Finn, what are you saying?”

“What I’m saying, Macie, is this.” Finn’s voice was low and edged with gravel. “Ye’re beautiful, lass. So blasted beautiful, a man like me doesn’t even have the words to tell ye... all night, I’ve wanted to do this.” He caught her hands in his. His smile broadening, he pulled her close. “I want to kiss ye, Macie.”

She met the fire in his eyes. A flame of her own kindled deep within her as she ran her fingers through the silky strands of his hair. “Do you, now?”

He held her to his long, lean body. His warmth was a potent elixir, a delicious heat that seemed a caress. Brushing his lips along the sensitive curve of her cheek, he whispered against her ear. “More than ye could ever know, my sweet lass.”

She looked into his eyes, drinking in the passion in their amber depths. Raising up on her toes, she coiled her arms around his neck. “I believe I would like that... I want you to kiss me.”

That. And more.

“I want to make ye wild for me, darling Macie.” He pressed a fleeting caress to her lips. Light and sweet and tender. “Believe when I say this, lass,” The light in his eyes kindled a delicious heat as he took her hand and led her to the gardens. “Tonight is only the beginning.”