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“C ounterfeits, eh?” Logan poured two fingers of whisky from his personal stock at the Rogue’s Lair into a glass and handed it to Finn.

“Her grandfather’s documents spell out his concerns. It’s all rather technical, over my head. We need to find out if his suspicions were justified.” Finn reached for Macie’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“There’s money to be made in the antiquities market. Every bloke with a shilling to spare wants some old vase or another in his home.” Logan gave Macie a glass of sherry, then settled into the leather wing chair behind his desk. “I noticed Amelia admiring a Roman amphora at an exhibit, so now I’m on the hunt.”

“An amphora?” Finn asked. “What in blazes is that?”

Logan looked as smug as any dandy. “A two-handled vase.”

“Bloody hell, ye’re a refined sophisticate now.” Finn chuckled under his breath. “That’s all Amelia’s doing, no doubt.”

“My bride has attempted to broaden my interests.” Logan looked pleased with himself and his all-too-recent appreciation for culture. Finn resisted the urge to frown at his cousin, though it would’ve been justified.

“What’s next? A blasted fresco on the wall?”

“Not bloody likely.”

“The amphora would be such a thoughtful gift,” Macie spoke up. “Amelia will be delighted.”

“Only if it doesn’t cost a blasted fortune,” Logan replied. “My bride is eminently practical. The vessel must also be small enough to fit on a high shelf to keep it out of the wee beast’s reach.”

Macie smiled. “The wee beast?”

“My wife’s pet.”

“So, how is good old Heathy doing these days?” Finn asked. “Chewed up any boots lately?”

Logan looked weary. “Not in the last month.”

“The hound is nothing but fur and teeth,” Finn said, picturing the high-strung terrier in his mind. “But I’d have to say he’s a fine judge of character. He warmed to me immediately.”

“I try not to hold that against him,” Logan said with a low laugh.

“I’ll have you know Cleo is also an excellent judge of character,” Macie added. “You know she likes you, Finn.”

“I’ve spent an entire night with yer cat breathing down my neck,” Finn said, chuckling at Logan’s puzzled expression.

“Ah, there’s a story there,” Logan said.

“Someday, I’ll tell ye over a pint,” Finn said as Macie flashed a knowing smile.

“Good enough. For now, tell me what I can do for ye tonight.”

Macie took a sip from her glass, as if to fortify herself. “My grandfather found reason to believe certain antiquities he had acquired were not, in fact, genuine.”

Logan leaned back, taking in her words. “Ye have evidence?”

“Not yet. But I’m convinced the proof is hidden somewhere in his library.” She laced her fingers together, as she tended to do when she was worried. “In time, I will find it.”

“We suspect someone else knew about the evidence,” Finn added.

Logan turned to Macie. “The old gent ye encountered?”

“The professor,” Macie replied. “And there was another man who wished to buy my grandfather’s books and papers—Hiram Neville. It appears he’d trailed us to the theater before his heart gave out.”

“Bloody peculiar.” Logan drummed his fingers on his desk. “These cheats are blasted clever. Counterfeit antiquities. Forged art. There’s no sense of honor among these thieves.” He sent Finn a speaking glance. “Ye must be especially vigilant with the lasses’ safety. As we learned from Amelia’s experience with art forgers, the curs are a ruthless lot.”

Seeing the way the color drained from Macie’s face, Finn reached for her, placing his hand on hers. “I will not let down my guard. Ye can rest assured of that.”

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Logan said with a look of solemn confidence.

Finn took a drink, his thoughts racing. “If these deaths are connected with fraudulent antiquities, the thieves must be on edge, wondering who will be next,” he said. “Someone may be nervous and running his mouth.”

Logan nodded. “I’ll make some inquiries. If there’s chatter, Murray and his assistants will pick up on it.”

“Thank you,” Macie said. “I greatly appreciate any assistance you might offer.”

“Anything for ye, Macie.” Logan’s dark eyes flashed with a smile. “I hear that the Dragon has taken a liking to ye.”

She blinked. “The Dragon?”

“My aunt, Elsie Johnstone,” Logan explained coolly. “Finn and I gave her that nickname when we were lads.”

“It’s not a secret,” Finn said.

“The woman is bloody proud of it.” Logan grinned. “She still thinks we’re incorrigible.”

“Because we are,” Finn said.

“Well, I think she’s a charming woman,” Macie said. “So clever with an abundance of interests.”

Logan cocked a brow. “Charming?”

“But clever is fair enough,” Finn said. “Ye’ll get no argument from me.”

Their conversation took a lighter turn while they enjoyed their drinks. As they prepared to take their leave, Macie paused to admire a silver-framed portrait on the sideboard. Amelia had smiled serenely for the photographer, while her wee beast bore what seemed a mischievous grin.

“So, this is Heathy,” she said with a genuine warmth in her voice. “I see the mischief in his eyes.”

“Amelia is devoted to that pup. She’d taken him in some time before we met. I do believe that chewing machine on four legs knows how good he’s got it since she found him.” Logan’s smile was genuine. “Ye won’t find a kinder heart in a woman.”

Finn nodded his agreement. “Ye’re a lucky man.”

“Indeed.” Logan turned to him, his expression speaking louder than his words. “The road was not always smooth, but it led me to her. Sometimes the wisest thing a man can do... and the hardest... is to open his eyes and see what’s been right in front of him the whole bloody time.”

*

The crescent moon was low in the sky as Finn escorted Macie from the tavern. Finn caught her hand in his, drawing her near. The soft light from a gas lamp gleamed over her face, accenting the shape of her mouth, the soft curves of her cheek. By God, she was a beauty.

Right in front of him the whole bloody time. Logan’s words played in his thoughts.

Finn smiled to himself. Was it so very obvious that he’d fallen for her?

Fallen for her.

Bloody hell, he had. Hadn’t he?

For so long, he hadn’t ever fathomed the possibility that he might feel this way, this intense longing simply to be near a woman. Any woman.

But Macie had changed all that.

He wanted to be near her. Every day. Every night.

Someday, with any luck, she would be his. In his arms. In his bed. At his side, until he took his last breath.

They would forge an unbreakable bond, just as Logan and Amelia had.

Someday, very soon.

He led her to his carriage, held the door for her to enter, and instructed Reggie to take the long route back to her townhouse. His driver smiled a sly smile and tipped his cap.

He joined Macie in the coach. Sitting by her side, he held her hand in his, taking in the gentle, wistful expression on her face.

“Logan is certainly a wonderful husband, isn’t he?” she said as his driver cracked the reins and the carriage started its steady rumble over the pavement.

“As devoted as they come,” Finn agreed. “When we were younger, far more foolish men, if ye’d told me Logan MacLain would settle into a contented life of hearth and home, I would’ve scoffed. But now, I see what a lucky man he is.”

“Amelia is fortunate to have entered into marriage with a man who supports her endeavors. That is such a rare quality.”

“He respects Amelia for the woman she is. Logan would not want to change her. Not in any way.”

“Again, a rare quality,” she said. “Amelia’s ladies’ lending library is a vibrant haven for learning and discussion. And her charitable pursuits are thriving. With all of it, Logan has offered his full-bodied support.”

“If need be, he’d move the moon and stars for her.” Finn considered his own words. He’d described his own feelings for Macie.

Why was it so hard to convey what was in his heart? Blast it, why hadn’t he told her?

The adventure of a lifetime. She’d deemed her description of the research trip to Athens as a bit of an exaggeration. But still, there’d been truth to her words. Seldom would she be offered such an opportunity to utilize her talents and display her artistry.

Bugger it, the very thought of her gallivanting off to Athens with the bloody arrogant professor dug into his gut. With him, or any other man under ninety. But he couldn’t stand in her way. He’d have to let her make up her mind. Only then could he tell her what was in his thoughts. And in his heart.

Leaning closer, Finn brushed a kiss against her lips. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he said, threading his fingers through her hair.

“Oh, you have, have you?” She flashed a teasing little grin. “Funny thing... I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

He turned. Gently, he framed her face in his hands.

“I never want ye to change, Macie.” He drew in a breath, inhaling the subtle aroma of lavender on her skin.

“That is a very good thing. I don’t think I’d even know how.”

“A very good thing, indeed.” He leaned in to kiss her again. “Ye’re bloody perfect... just the way ye are.”

*

In all his years, Finn had seldom suffered a sleepless night. To the contrary, he’d generally dozed off within moments of his head hitting the pillow. That was, until lovely Macie came into his life.

Between a too-short settee serving as a torturous, make-shift bed, a cat with fish breath breathing against his ear, and the assortment of peculiar snores, cries, and words that broke through the wall between his room and Mrs. Tuttle’s, he’d endured a variety of disturbances. But none of those annoyances compared with the insistent workings of his own mind and body.

He pounded the pillow with his fist and tossed about on the bed for good measure. As Mrs. Tuttle blurted out something about a gent named Arnie, he buried his head under the blankets.

Bloody hell, there was no rest for the weary.

His thoughts raced. Staring up at the ceiling in a pitch-dark room, he hungered for the touch of a woman who was—at least for now—off limits. His sweet fantasies of Macie had eased the need of his body, but he was by no means content. His wanting for her was intense, a deep-seated craving only she could entirely sate.

In the carriage, he’d loved her tenderly. The quiet, shy sounds of her pleasure were like a delicious elixir for his soul. But now, the mere memory of her muffled cry of bliss against his mouth had him hard again. If she were his, she’d be in his arms at the very moment, nestled against his chest as he drank in the satin feel of her skin.

If she were his . . .

He folded his arms behind his head and stared into the darkness. By thunder, he would not go another day without telling her what lay in his heart. He would not go another day without confessing the truth.

He loved her.

God above, he’d never loved anyone like he loved Macie. She was a beauty. Brilliant. Witty. Headstrong. She was bloody perfect. And by some bloody magnificent stroke of luck, she cared for him. That much was certain. Did she crave his nearness just as he craved her? Did she feel a longing for him, just as he longed for her?

He was right for her. In his heart, he knew that elemental truth. He’d love her until his last breath. And above all, he did not want to change her, not one whit.

But would she be content with a life with a man like him? Could she? He’d been born to a merchant’s family. He was neither a noble nor a tycoon. He would do whatever it took to offer her a good life filled with passion. Filled with love.

But would that be enough? For Macie? For her title-hungry father?

Damnation, why was he giving so much as a thought to what her father wanted? Macie was a woman—a gorgeous, headstrong woman. She’d make her own decisions. And she’d made it clear she had little regard for the noble nobs who chased after her.

Rolling over, he gave the pillow an extra thump. He’d told her she was beautiful. He’d told her he wanted her. But like a fool, he’d hesitated to tell her the one truth that truly mattered.

He was in love with her.

Would his love for Macie hold her back from her dreams? He hadn’t wanted to take that chance. But now, lying here, he knew he couldn’t go another day without telling her how much he loved her.

From there, they’d figure out the rest.

If she loved him.