Page 23

“R ise and shine, Mr. Caldwell,” Mrs. Tuttle said. “You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Finn’s voice sounded like a cross between a croak and a groan even to his own ears. He pulled the blanket over his chest and raised up on his elbows.

Macie’s housekeeper frowned. “He says his name’s Tim. Mr. MacLain sent him.”

Her words jarred him from his drowsy, sleep-deprived state. What in blazes was going on? Had something happened to Amelia or her babe?

“Where is he?”

“I’ll send him in.” The housekeeper beat a quick path to the door, pausing to throw him a scowl over her bony shoulder. “I do think I shall be having a few words with Miss Mason. First, a rogue for a bodyguard taking up residence, and now a messenger from a tavern, of all the unexpected things, knocking on the door before I’ve even had my morning tea.”

Finn donned his clothing and retrieved his shoes before Logan’s gangly assistant walked through the doorway.

“My apologies for disturbing ye.” The soft-spoken young man fiddled with the driver’s cap in his hands. “I’d gone to yer home, but when ye were not there, Logan figured ye might be here.”

“Did he, now?” Finn pulled on his second boot. “Has something happened to Amelia?”

Tim shook his head. “Mrs. MacLain is well. It’s nothing like that.”

Bloody hell, why was Tim so ill at ease? “Then why in Hades are ye here?”

“We were at the Rogue’s Lair awaiting the arrival of a shipment. While we were there, a constable came by to tell Logan something he thought ye should know.”

Finn could feel his impatience rising. “What is it?”

“It’s about Miss Mason.”

A strategically timed little cough caught their attention. Tim shuffled on his feet as they both glanced to the doorway. Macie stood in the doorway, questions dancing in her gaze. She strolled into the room, dressed in an unadorned walking suit in a shade of pale green that accentuated the color of her eyes. For a change, she had not pinned back her chestnut brown curls. They tumbled in loose waves over her shoulders.

By thunder, she was beautiful. Finn pulled in a breath, pushing the thoughts away. This was neither the time, nor the place, to think about running his fingers through her silky dark hair. And it sure as hell wasn’t the time to consider how bloody much he wanted to once again savor the sweetness of her mouth, which was now set in an intrigued semblance of a smile.

“News about me? How very curious,” she said in a husky voice that betrayed she had not been awake for very long.

“Not about ye, Miss Mason.” Tim seemed to be considering his words carefully. “My name is Tim. I’m Mr. MacLain’s assistant. He asked me to deliver a message.”

Macie’s complexion paled, even as her expression betrayed little emotion. She stood quite still, as if she braced herself against what he was going to say. Whatever the news was, Finn knew damned well they weren’t going to like it. Tim’s apprehension only served to fray his patience.

“What is it, Tim?” Macie asked gently.

“It’s a bit harsh for a lady’s ears, Miss.” Again, the messenger shuffled his feet. “Mr. MacLain instructed me to tell Finn.”

Macie hiked a brow. “But the message does pertain to me, does it not?”

“I suppose it does,” the young man admitted reluctantly.

“You will not offend me.” Her mouth thinned. “I promise you that.”

Finn shoved his fingers through his hair. Bugger it, Logan would not have dispatched a messenger at the crack of dawn if the news were good. He suspected he already knew what Tim had to tell him. Unpleasant or not, Macie needed to hear it.

“Out with it. Now,” he said.

“Mr. MacLain’s acquaintance got word about the intruder in the old house of yers.” Tim’s gaze dropped to the rug beneath their feet. “The man... he died during the night.”

*

Died.

The word echoed in Macie’s ears. Her pulse raced as the news triggered an instinctive alarm. This should not have rattled her so. After all, this turn of events was not entirely unexpected. The elderly professor had seemed to be in desperate straits. Perhaps he had not been poisoned after all. Could it be possible that his heart had given out? He’d been quite agitated and filled with fear.

Leave. Before he comes . . . for you .

The old man had uttered the warning moments before he collapsed. Now, any hope of an explanation was gone. She might never know his reasons for his desperate words. Nor why a man of learning would sneak inside the library her grandfather had so treasured and wildly toss books about the floor.

“Well, then, lad, have you told Miss Mason all you need to say?” Mrs. Tuttle asked pointedly as she marched over to the window and threw open the curtains with a dramatic flair.

The young man’s throat bobbed nervously. “Yes, ma’am. That’s all of it.”

Mrs. Tuttle turned to him and planted her hands on her hips in that imperious way of hers. “In that case, it would be best if you ran along. There’s work to be done, and as you can see, Miss Mason has not yet had a chance to take a sip of tea, let alone enjoy a bite of her morning meal. Any further unpleasantness can wait until later.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tim’s gaze shot to Finn, who nodded his agreement that the young man’s presence was no longer needed.

“Why don’t you come along with me, Miss Macie?” Mrs. Tuttle said, her tone more motherly than usual. “I’ll put on a pot of tea while I ready the morning meal.”

“Thank you,” Macie said.

Mrs. Tuttle sent Finn a speaking glance. “I trust you’ll be joining her, Mr. Caldwell,” she said. “I presume the two of you have a bit to discuss.”

*

Macie nibbled half-heartedly at her toast and marmalade. Given the news the young messenger had delivered, it was all she could do to take a few bites. Finn sat within arm’s reach, his appetite heartier than hers, though the furrows on his forehead betrayed his tense thoughts.

My, the morning had certainly taken a turn, hadn’t it? She’d awakened shortly after dawn, gloriously contented following a delicious interlude in Finn’s bed. Pity she had not been able to spend every moment of the night in his arms. In the all-too-brief moments they’d shared together, he’d caressed her so tenderly, she had marveled at the wonder of it all. She’d never dreamt a man’s touch could be so very gentle, yet so commanding and sensual. Finn had stirred her body and soul to heights of pleasure unlike any she’d ever experienced. And then, later, in her own chamber, she’d drifted to sleep, luxuriating in dreams of his warm, strong body. When she’d opened her eyes as the early rays of sunlight drifted through the windows, even though she was alone, she’d been utterly content. Even Mrs. Tuttle’s stern look when she spotted Macie roaming about at all hours of the night had not diminished her happiness.

Pity the bliss had been regrettably short-lived. The sound of the messenger at the door had stirred Macie to full alertness. Something was wrong. She knew that, even before the reluctant young man had conveyed the upsetting news.

“It’s quite sad that the old professor didn’t recover,” she said, taking a sip of tea. “But I see little reason to worry. Poison is a highly personal means to commit a murder, or so I’ve read. If he was indeed killed by a toxin, he had to have been targeted... most likely by someone he knew.”

Finn stirred a cube of sugar into his tea. “We know there is a common thread that links the two of ye.”

“My grandfather.”

He nodded. “The connection is too close to dismiss.”

Mrs. Tuttle bustled through the door to the dining room. “Miss Macie, you have another visitor. She says she’s here for teatime.”

“Teatime? Surely Mrs. Johnstone did not misunderstand—”

“No, Macie, I did not mistake yer meaning,” Mrs. Johnstone said as she strolled through the doorway. The Red Queen from the masquerade . In her beautifully tailored tweed walking suit, the tall, strikingly beautiful woman whose abundance of dark hair was threaded with silver cut an imperious figure even without her faux crown. In her right hand, she held a large yellow parasol, while a small black reticule dangled from her left wrist.

“I asked her to wait in the parlor,” Mrs. Tuttle said, displaying her exasperation as Mrs. Johnstone leaned her brolly against a side chair, appearing to make herself at home.

“I do apologize for the intrusion, but time is of the essence.” Mrs. Johnstone’s mouth thinned, taut with tension. “I understand ye’ve received the unpleasant news.”

Macie sent her housekeeper a speaking glance. “Might I trouble you to put on another pot of tea?”

“’Tis no trouble,” Mrs. Tuttle said, making a quick exit.

Macie met Mrs. Johnstone’s solemn gaze. “You are referring to the man who died last night?”

She offered a matter-of-fact nod, then turned to Finn. “Ye haven’t told her, have ye?”

Finn shook his head. “I’d intended to explain it all before ye arrived for tea.”

She nodded her understanding. “Sadly, certain aspects of this situation are quite troubling. Amelia did not think I should delay my arrival, not even until later in the day.”

A sudden tension filled Macie. “Would you be so kind as to tell me what is happening?”

“Shall we cut to the heart of the matter?” Mrs. Johnstone adjusted her skirts and seated herself in a wingchair. “My dear friend, Amelia MacLain, has requested a favor of me. She believes ye may be in need of my services.”

Macie’s brow furrowed. “Your services?”

“In view of recent developments, there’s reason to suspect ye may be in danger.”

“In danger?” Macie shot Finn a pointed glance. “Should I expect that everyone you’ve ever known will greet me with that warning?”

Finn rubbed the back of his neck as if it suddenly ached. “It’s tempting to believe the threat ended with old man’s passing, but we cannot take any chances.”

Mrs. Johnstone nodded her agreement. “The situation with the intruder at Bennington Manor is quite troubling.”

“The old man did not pose a threat. He seemed frightened. Perhaps even distraught.”

“He had good reason to be,” Mrs. Johnstone nodded. “I understand he spoke to ye.”

“He appeared to be out of his senses. His words were quite peculiar,” Macie said. “We understand that he might have been poisoned. That could explain his mental state.”

“That is possible. Or perhaps he was desperate because knew his time was short.” Mrs. Johnstone’s mouth went taut, and she seemed to hesitate. “Do ye have any idea what the man was searching for?”

Macie swallowed against a sudden tightness in her throat. Mrs. Johnstone’s tone bore a distinct urgency. Had something else happened? Something dreadful?

“I’ve no idea. He was rummaging through all sorts of books. There seemed to be no reason to it.”

“Until we determine what Professor Smythson was searching for, we won’t know the true nature of the threat,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “If there is something in the house that someone was willing to kill for, we cannot assume they will stop at the professor.”