Page 31

I n the week since Finn walked away from the garden and out of her life, Macie had tended her roses, photographed the interior of a grand old hotel reputed to host the ghost of a bride who’d met a tragic fate on her wedding night, and planned an exhibit of her Bennington Manor photography. Mrs. Johnstone had insisted that they continue her instruction in defensive maneuvers, and the two of them had catalogued the contents of her grandfather’s safe. Whenever she’d had the opportunity, Macie had plastered a smile on her face, lest anyone think she missed Finn playing the ever-devoted bodyguard. She’d gallivanted about the city without him looking over her shoulder, and she hadn’t even encountered another dead man. That, at least, was something to be pleased about. Wasn’t it?

Pity her smile was as genuine as the cheap plaster replica of the Venus de Milo her brother had given her as a gift when he was a lad.

The whirl of activity kept her busy and focused on something—anything—other than the sly grin of the man she so desperately missed. Only in the evenings after Nell and Mrs. Tuttle had headed off to bed, and she was alone with Cleo purring at her side, did she allow herself to admit that the dull ache in her chest was very real. And it wasn’t going away. Of course, it was too soon to think she’d be over him. If only the pain was not intensifying with each lonely night.

On the afternoon of the eighth day after she’d watched Finn walk away—how absurd that she could give an exact count of the days—Macie settled into a chair in the garden, allowing herself an hour or so away from the hustle-bustle to relax with the gothic novel she’d been itching to devour. With book in hand and a snoring cat at her feet, she began to read. Before long, she caught herself staring at the page without really taking in the words. In those tales, the heroine was always so vulnerable, so very much at the mercy of the men in her life, whether they were villains or heroes. Very much unlike herself. No one could say that Mary Catherine Mason was at the mercy of any man, now could they?

If only her own heart would agree.

Nell strolled through the French doors, a silver tray in hand. “I thought you might enjoy a cup of Earl Grey.”

“Thank you,” Macie said, setting her book aside. She’d lost interest in the story rather quickly, hadn’t she?

“I do wish you would have joined me at the ladies’ lending library this morning. Amelia served a delightful brunch, and Mrs. Johnstone and I enjoyed the most stimulating discussion. She is truly brilliant.”

“Indeed.” Macie accepted the cup from Nell’s hand and took a sip. “Did she tell you about our discoveries in Grandpapa’s vault?”

Nell shook her head. “Most of our discussion centered on books and Amelia’s plans to expand her library.”

“Pity I missed it. I shall definitely pay a visit before I leave on my journey.”

Nell seemed to hesitate. “Macie, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the trip.”

“It would be marvelous if you wished to accompany me. As you know, I’m meeting with Professor Aylesworth this afternoon. There’s still time for you to join us.”

“It’s not that.” Nell perched upon a wing chair, teacup in hand. “I’m not sure this is the best choice for you, Macie.”

“How could you possibly doubt it?” Macie said. “Professor Aylesworth is a brilliant voice in his field. And above all, my grandfather trusted him, which speaks well for his character.”

Nell’s brow furrowed. “But I do think there might be a good reason for you to stay.”

Macie blinked. “In London?”

Stirring her tea, Nell seemed to avoid Macie’s gaze. “For a while, yes.”

“And precisely what might that reason be?”

“I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just tell you outright.” Nell swished the slender spoon about in the cup. “Finn is leaving before the week is out.”

Macie let out a low breath. “Phineas Caldwell’s actions do not factor into my decisions.”

“I think you’re making a mistake.”

Macie blinked again. “I am making a mistake?”

“Finn is not the cad you think he is. Good heavens, I saw how he looked at you.” Once again, she nervously stirred her tea. “Amelia wanted to pay you a visit, but her physician has advised her to rest. So, she asked me to tell you what she thought you should know.”

Macie took a sip of tea, mentally bracing herself to speak the truth. “I don’t believe Finn is a cad. If he were, he might have found himself with an heiress for a bride. Such an undertaking might have proven even more lucrative than his precious contracts.”

“I do understand,” Nell said. “But it doesn’t change the truth.”

“The truth?” Macie sighed. “And what might that be.”

“The man is in love with you.”

Macie’s heart raced. A cascade of emotions stormed her defenses. “He... he said this?”

“Not in so many words.” Nell set her cup aside and walked over to the potted lavender. “He’s a stubborn man. Perhaps even more stubborn than you.”

“Then why does Amelia believe he loves me?”

“Oh, dear, where do I begin?” Nell seemed to brighten up. “Since the two of you have been apart, he’s been an utter wreck. After a time, the barkeep had to cut him off, and since then, he hasn’t touched a drop. But he’s thrown himself into work. He keeps to himself when he’s not at the solicitors’ office dealing with blasted contract negotiations , as Logan puts it. When he comes into the café, he orders supper, but leaves much of it on the plate.”

“None of that means he loves me.”

Nell met her gaze. “Logan and Amelia are convinced Finn is in love with you. But, in Logan’s words—the bloody fool hasn’t faced that fact yet.”

“Oh, I don’t know what to believe.” Macie gulped against the sudden burning lump in the back of her throat. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I suppose what comes next depends on you.” Nell’s tone was gentle. “The two of you deserve to give this a chance. And that, my dear friend, might well take some time.”

“Oh, Nell, I simply don’t know.” Macie’s voice sounded raw to her own ears.

“As I see it, it’s not complicated. Not truly. It all comes down to one very important question.” A faint smile played on her friend’s mouth. “Do you love him?”

*

Macie stared at the empty trunk sitting in a corner of her bedchamber. She’d had her brother bring it down from the attic in preparation for her journey, but she had not been inclined to pack so much as a crinoline. Tears welled in her throat, but she choked them back. Blast it, she would not give in. She would not weep over Finn Caldwell. He’d gotten what he wanted. The contracts with Mason Enterprises had been what he’d needed all along.

Stretching out on the bed, she closed her eyes and pictured his face. In the moments before she’d asked him to leave her, she’d seen no sense of triumph in his eyes. To the contrary, a deep sadness had blended with indignation. My, she’d accused him of being a true cad, hadn’t she? She’ll called his motives into question. He’d been wounded by her words, but he had not lashed out. He had not retaliated. Rather, he’d given her what she asked for. He’d left her standing there, watching as each step took him farther from her.

Do you love him? Nell’s question tormented her. In her heart, she knew the answer. Just as she had when he’d walked away.

She loved him.

She loved Phineas Caldwell.

This was not a passing fancy. Not an infatuation. No, this was far deeper. Far more profound. The man exasperated her. Drove her to distraction. Challenged her to break down the barriers she’d erected around herself.

And God, how she loved him.

Opening her eyes, she stared up at the ceiling. Could they make a go of it? Heaven knew it wouldn’t always be easy. But somehow, he’d always seen through the ice she used as a shield.

Her heart was more tender than she wanted to admit, even to herself. More vulnerable. For so very long, she hadn’t wanted to take the chance it might shatter.

Only Finn had made her feel she could take that risk.

Sitting up, her attention fixed on her trunk. When her heart was aching for Finn, a journey far from London had seemed to be the cure she needed.

Now, she knew she’d been mistaken. What she needed most was time. Time to consider that perhaps, just perhaps, Nell was right. Time to fully realize the yearnings of her own heart. Time to hear the truth from Finn’s own lips.

In that moment, she knew precisely what to do.

*

With each bump of the hansom cab against the cobbles, Macie clutched the edge of the seat with one hand while holding tight to the braided handle of her satchel with the other. With any luck, her teeth would not rattle out of her head before her meeting with Professor Aylesworth. Thankfully, the route to the café where they were to meet was mercifully brief and the extraordinary find she’d stashed in the handbag was not fragile.

She arrived with time to spare. A rare feat, she smiled to herself. Well, she certainly did not want to keep Professor Aylesworth waiting.

“Miss Mason, I’m pleased you could come.” The professor stood to greet her as she walked through the door. With his dark hair combed neatly back, the fashionable tweed jacket that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and the silver tie at his neck accenting the hues of his gray-blue eyes, he cut quite a handsome figure.

Waving off the ma?tre d’, he escorted her to a table in the shadows of a back corner. They made pleasant, meaningless conversation as the waiter brought a pot of oolong tea and cold finger sandwiches. After the server took his leave, Aylesworth’s expression turned more serious.

“You’ve made your decision, Miss Mason?”

“I have,” she said. “I must remain in London. For the time being, at least.”

“You’re quite certain?”

She nodded. “Perhaps at another time.”

“I’d be lying if I said I was surprised,” he said. “You have distinct ties to this city. I understand you have plans to renovate Bennington Manor.”

“The planning is underway.” She met his intent gaze. “With the success of his recent ventures, my father is more amenable to funding the project.”

“Excellent.” He tapped a finger against the rim of his cup. “As you know, I worked with your grandfather for nearly five years. His library deserves to be preserved.”

“I quite agree,” she said.

“If it were not for this expedition to Greece, I would be willing to assist you in assessing the collection. No doubt some of the texts are antiquated, but much of it should not be cast aside.”

“I see no reason why we cannot keep the collection intact until you return. Your expertise would be quite valuable.”

“Very good. I will rest easier now.”

Macie reached for her cup and took a sip. “He spoke well of you, Professor.”

“It’s good to know. Even though we did not always see eye to eye, I held Andrew Bennington in the highest regard.”

“The most brilliant minds will often see things through a different perspective.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. “I attempted to convince him of that very fact. But he could be quite a stubborn man.”

“Oh, Grandpapa had his moments,” Macie agreed with a smile. “Professor, before you leave, I do have a favor to ask of you.”

His brows lifted. “How might I be of service?”

She pulled in a breath, steadying her nerves. A sudden doubt crept into her mind. Perhaps she should not impose upon Professor Aylesworth, especially with such a troubling matter.

“Is something wrong, Miss Mason?”

“I’m tempted to deny it, but I have reason to fear something had happened before my grandfather died... something that was most definitely wrong .” She took another sip. “I found something in my grandfather’s library. I don’t quite know what to make of it.” Opening her bag, she removed neatly folded journal pages. “Perhaps you might analyze these notes. Hopefully, you will allay my fears. Or at the worst, confirm them.”

He removed his spectacles from his jacket pocket, then carefully took the paper from her hand. His brow furrowed as he examined the handwritten notes.

“Good God,” he said, more to himself than to Macie.

“What do you make of it?” she asked.

“I suspect my conclusion is the same as yours,” he said, keeping his voice low and measured. “These notations refer to museum pieces he’d acquired.”

“He feared they were forgeries.”

“Where did you find this?”

She let out a slow breath, as if she could calm her accelerated pulse. “My grandfather had hidden them in his study.”

“The letter he refers to might be authentic. Of course, I would require a more detailed examination before making the determination.” He looked over each document again, then handed them back to her. “This page from your grandfather’s journal lays out his suspicions.”

“I should take these to the police.” Macie stared down at the intricate pattern in the lace tablecloth, focusing her thoughts. “I had not wanted to tarnish my grandfather’s repute as a scholar, but it seems I have no choice.”

“Miss Mason, I see his concerns. But no compelling evidence.”

Tension coursed through her body. “There is evidence.”

“What have you found?”

“There is proof.”

“You’re quite certain?”

“At least, I think it is evidence. I don’t know entirely what to make of it.” She tucked the documents inside her bag. “I shall notify the authorities in the morning.”

“Before you do, I should take a look at what you’ve uncovered. There may be no need to involve the police.”

Macie’s stomach tightened. Professor Aylesworth would know far better than she how to interpret the letter Nell had discovered. With any luck, she could avoid sullying her grandfather’s legacy.

“I do hope you’re right.”

“Where is it?” He met her gaze. “Where is this proof?”

“Locked safely away in Bennington Manor. I didn’t dare bring it tonight.” She reached for her cup, taking a sip of tea to soothe her raw voice “Perhaps you might meet me there in the morning?”

As he shook his head, she read the concern in his eyes. “Miss Mason, this matter cannot wait.”

Oh, dear. “You think there may be a connection with Professor Smythson’s death?”

“There may be a common thread. If there is, you may be in danger.” He held her gaze. “Once I’ve examined the document you’ve discovered, we can determine if it is, indeed, proof. At that point, we will involve the authorities.” He reached out. With a gentle touch, he brushed an errant tendril of hair behind her ear. “I need you to take me to it.”

*

Sitting alone at a table by the fireplace at the Rogue’s Lair, Finn downed an ale as he waited for Logan to join him. His cousin was behind closed doors in his office, attending to some business or other regarding the tavern accounts. Better him than me . Logan had far more of a head for business than he did. Not to mention the fact that at that moment, he couldn’t even pretend to care about profits and losses and blasted expenses.

Staring down at his drink, he drummed his fingers against the tabletop, as if that might occupy his nervous energy and his thoughts. Despite his best efforts, an image of Macie flashed through his thoughts. Her emerald eyes flashed, seeming to tease him with a promise he knew was most likely lost to him forever.

A foul epithet bellowed by a towering bloke in a dandy’s clothes tore him from his thoughts. The sot hurled darts at a bullseye he had no hope of hitting, becoming louder with each errant throw. More belligerent. Until finally, the man gave up and wound his way to the bar. The Lair’s newest employee, a good-natured barmaid Finn knew only as Carrie, attempted to serve the sot, only to become the target of his angry outburst.

Damn and blast . Finn had had enough. It was bad enough listening to the drunk when he was merely being obnoxious. But now, he was threatening an employee. A lass, no less.

Finn marched up to the sot. “Ye’ve said quite enough. Ye’re not to speak to a lady in such a manner in this pub.” Or any place, for that matter.

The man met his gaze. “And who says?”

“Ye just heard me say it, mate. It’s not a valid question now, is it?”

“Bugger off.” The sot turned back to Carrie. “Now, are you going to do what I told you, you little witch?”

“It’s always the big ones, isn’t it?” Finn muttered under his breath, though loud enough for the man to hear—a final warning of sorts.

“I need another drink, you little shrew.”

“Ah, that’s it,” Finn said, more to himself than to the sot. He clamped his hands down hard on the man’s forearm. And twisted. Hard. “Now I have yer attention—apologize to the lady.”

“Bugger—” the big man ground out, even as he grimaced in pain.

“Wrong answer.” Finn drove his fist into the sot’s solar plexus.

Ooof. The big man doubled over in pain just as Logan came out of his office and descended the stairs to the bar.

“He gave ye some trouble, did he?” Logan motioned between Carrie and the drunk.

“Mr. Caldwell showed him what’s what,” Carrie said with a faint smile.

“He should think twice next time,” Finn said. “If I see the angry bloke again, I will not be so patient.”

Logan called upon his barkeepers to show the sot to the door. He then grabbed a drink for himself and joined Finn at the table.

“It’s good to see ye looking fit again, my friend,” Logan said, surveying Finn’s appearance over his stein.

“’Tis amazing the difference a razor and a bar of soap can make, eh?” Finn smiled despite the gnawing feeling Logan had not invited him here merely to sample his latest brew.

“Ye’ll get no argument from me.”

“Logan, cut to the chase. Why did ye ask me to meet ye here?”

“Cut to the chase, eh? Ye sure ye’re ready for that?” Logan studied him for a long moment. “Finn, have ye spoken to Macie?”

“Not since she asked me to leave.”

“Fair enough,” Logan said. “The lass was angry. Can ye blame her?”

Finn shrugged. “She should’ve trusted me.”

“We both know how Jon speaks of her, as though she is a problem to be solved. You saw her expression when Macie overheard what he was saying, but ye said little to counter his view.”

Finn rubbed his neck, fighting a sudden tension. “She knows I do not share his opinion.”

“Worse yet was his blasted talk of some bloody rogues’ code. Amelia is not one to use profanity, but later, when we were alone, she expressed her opinion of this so-called code in terms that surprised even me.”

“I was a dolt to play along,” Finn admitted. “But Macie should’ve known how I feel about her.”

Logan cocked a brow. “She should’ve, eh?”

It isn’t as if you’ve said you love me. Macie’s words taunted him. God above, he’d been a blasted fool.

“It’s too bloody late now. She has her mind set on traveling to Greece.” Finn kneaded the tense muscles in his neck. “It’s what’s best for her.”

“Best for her?” Logan challenged him. “That fop of a professor might well have an ulterior motive. Ye know that as well as I do. Yet ye’re returning to Scotland while she embarks on a journey with that bag of wind?”

Finn stared down at his empty glass. “It’s what she wants.”

“Ye’re quite sure of that, are ye?” Logan prodded. “I recall a man—matter of fact, I’m looking at him—who called me a dunderheaded mule when I nearly let Amelia leave me behind.”

Finn resisted the urge to chuckle. “I had a flair for language in those days.”

“Ye still do. And ye’re still full of hot air.”

“Bloody hell, Logan, this is hard enough.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “I won’t stand in her blasted way.”

“When Amelia was planning to leave for America, ye didn’t think I was being noble. Ye thought I was a fool. I might say the same of ye.”

“I have to face facts.” Finn drummed his fingers in an even rhythm. “This is what she wants.”

“Tell me this, and then I’ll leave ye be,” Logan said. “Do ye love her, Finn?”

Love.

The word seemed so simple. One blasted syllable. Yet it was the most complex, complicated, difficult word in the world to utter.

“Yes,” he said, facing the truth. “Yes, I do.”

“Then ye know what the answer is, my friend,” Logan said. “Ye bloody well know what to do.”

Suddenly, a familiar female voice drifted over the casual sounds of the pub. Finn turned to the sound. Mrs. Johnstone strode toward them with Nell at her side. Why in blazes were they here?

“Amelia thought ye might be here,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “Have you seen Macie this afternoon?”

“Here?” Finn didn’t try to hide his confusion. “Ye know the lass would rather spend a night in the Tower.”

“Oh, dear,” Nell said. “She had planned to meet Professor Aylesworth for tea, but when Mrs. Johnstone and I went to the café, she had already left.”

Logan nodded his understanding. “With Aylesworth?”

“That would appear to be the case,” Mrs. Johnstone said.

Tension gripped Finn’s chest, but he affected a cool demeanor. “Macie is an independent woman. She comes and goes as she pleases.”

“It is not her independence that concerns me.” Mrs. Johnstone shook her head. “It would appear Professor Aylesworth is not the man she thinks he is.”

Finn read the concern on her features. “What are ye saying?”

“I’ve been making inquiries about the man,” she explained. “I presume you are aware he served as Macie’s grandfather’s research assistant for some time.”

“It’s no secret,” Finn replied. “Macie first met the man when she was a young lass.”

“This is where it gets interesting. And rather troubling,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “Aylesworth has ties to both of the men Macie encountered.”

“Both of the men who died,” Nell added grimly.

“Some years ago, Aylesworth studied under Professor Smythson,” Mrs. Johnstone went on.

“And Neville?” Logan asked.

“Hiram Neville was kin to Aylesworth—his uncle, to be precise.” Mrs. Johnstone appeared to choose her words carefully. “Yesterday, I was taking tea with friends who are devotees of a ripping good mystery, when one brought up the unfortunate experience at the theater. Between bites of watercress sandwich and sips of tea, Lady Vivian casually revealed her husband and Neville had belonged to the same club. Evidently, Neville had not been himself in recent weeks. He’d begun to imbibe quite heavily, and one night, the man revealed an ugly secret. He was deeply concerned for someone he did not name—someone who had been like a son to him. Mr. Neville feared the man had committed a crime and was growing desperate to avoid imprisonment. Or worse.”

Finn saw the concern on her face she could not hide. Bloody hell. “He was referring to Aylesworth.”

“At this point, we cannot be certain. I did not make the connection until I learned the family ties between the two men.” Mrs. Johnstone’s tone was taut with tension. “But if I’m right, if Neville was distraught over his nephew’s desperate path, he might have been killed to silence him. And Macie—”

“Good God.” Finn’s blood ran cold. “I’ve got to find her.”