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S carcely forty-eight hours after he’d struck his deal with the devil in skirts, Finn lingered at the edge of some high-and-mighty aristocrat’s marble ballroom, battling the urge to tug at his blasted-too-tight collar. Decked out in a jacket and trousers that had been expertly tailored to fit his frame but did not suit his soul in the least, he bided his time. Damned if he didn’t feel like a fish flopping about on the bank of a river. Why in blazes had he allowed himself to become tangled in Jon’s—and Macie’s—schemes?

Soon after her return to London, Macie had received a coveted invitation to Lady Evansdale’s moonlight gala. The former dollar princess’s parties were the talk of London, and for once, Macie was eager to attend. With Finn in tow, no less. Macie saw the gathering as a crucial first test. What better opportunity to make their debut as heiress and bodyguard?

Macie’s scheme was simple enough. While they were out and about at Lady Shoes-Too-Pinched’s and Lady Nose-in-the-Air’s parties, Finn would keep would-be suitors at arm’s length. He’d offer the gossipy elites of London reason to speculate that her unofficial bodyguard was actually something more. Were they—or weren’t they—enamored with one another? She wanted to keep the society types guessing. Macie would emerge both free of matrimony and with her good name intact if she could convince London’s ballroom Lotharios that capturing her heart—and her fortune—was a lost cause.

Deuced shame Finn possessed no dramatic talent. The best he could do was follow her about and glare at the men who tried to impress her. If that wasn’t good enough, then he’d happily escort her to the theater district to find an actual actor to fill the role of decoy.

At the moment, he was enjoying a reprieve from the act, of sorts. Macie had joined a few of the women in the ballroom for a spirited discussion. Looking on from a casual distance, he found himself reluctant to tear his attention from her. Blasted shame she had not worn another atrocity like the shroud she’d worn to Lady Drayton’s affair. Tonight, she’d draped herself in pale, unadorned green silk, a flowing gown that displayed her gorgeous curves to perfection. Her natural beauty captured his gaze with a magnetic pull. Bloody hell, he didn’t want to look away. At this rate, he’d convince the guests he was a lovestruck fool without even trying.

Discouraging the fortune hunters would be the easy part. He wouldn’t even need to hide his contempt for the fops sniffing after Macie’s money. But keeping Macie safe from her own escapades was another story.

She was a free spirit. Her keen wit made for energizing conversation while her sparkling eyes could draw a man in, seemingly without conscious effort on her part. Macie was beautiful, but she didn’t seem to care. If anything, in her eyes, her loveliness was a liability. Her pretty face made her even more attractive to the Lord Nobs who lusted after her fortune, so she’d grown adept at dulling her natural radiance.

But tonight was different. On this night, she had not chosen a disguise. To the contrary, she had shined a beacon on herself. Half of the men in the place watched her like hungry wolves. The other half wished they could escape the knowing view of their wives and sweethearts, if only long enough to drink her in.

And he was no different. His jaw clenched at the thought.

By hellfire, he needed a distraction. Spotting one of Jon’s business partners, he engaged him in an increasingly half-hearted conversation. Edmund Barlow might have possessed a genius for making money, but as the man droned on, Finn started looking for another diversion. How in blazes could Jon and his associate endure the trivial logistics of their latest venture? To Finn, it was a bloody mystery. He’d never given a damn about squeezing every penny of profit from an enterprise. Putting Scrooge to shame haggling over the cost of linens was not in his nature. Designing a new structure or planning the restoration of a past-its-prime building engaged both his intellect and his instincts.

He tugged at the tie encircling his throat. Bloody hell, the length of silk felt like a noose. He seldom bothered with such formalities, but tonight, he’d put in an effort to at least look the part of Macie’s devoted escort. God knew he didn’t belong here, surrounded by elites who turned up their noses at the likes of him.

He had money. More money than most of these highborn milksops. But in their world, that wasn’t enough. Like Macie’s father with his new money fortune, Finn’s family had earned their wealth. In the eyes of pasty nobles and elite sots, the notion of actually working for a shilling was beneath them. But marrying into a fortune—that was different.

How bloody ironic.

Finn’s father had toiled day and night to parlay their family distillery into a thriving enterprise that supplied whisky to the finest establishments in Scotland. For decades, his father had endeavored to secure the company’s future. Now it was Finn’s turn.

God only knew his father seldom looked upon him with pride. Not that he could blame his father. In the years after he’d graduated from university, he had not distinguished himself in the man’s eyes. Unlike his older brother, the heir apparent and responsible model of business and propriety. This deal with the Mason empire was his chance to prove himself. To his father.

And to himself.

Considering the stakes of the fortnight to come, he pulled in a breath. The funds generated by the contracts with Mason Enterprises would ensure the company’s financial stability for years to come. He had to close this deal.

It wasn’t supposed to be complicated. Jon Mason was an old friend, a man he’d have trusted with his life. At one time, that is. Since they’d been rough-and-tumble lads, they had raised hell together. Jon had been there to celebrate triumphs and to offer a shoulder and a stiff drink in that horrible time when grief and guilt threatened to tear Finn’s heart to pieces. But now, everything had changed. Who in blazes could ever have predicted that Jon would use the contracts Finn needed as leverage?

Bloody hell.

Truth be told, he understood Jon’s motives. He needed to protect his sister, and he knew Finn would go along with his devil’s bargain. If only for Macie’s sake. Despite her rebellious streak, the lass had been sheltered. Macie had never seen the true ugliness of the world. Predators did not confine their deeds to deserted alleys. A carefully honed smile and expensive suit could provide a dangerous man an effective disguise.

Years ago, he had learned that hard, ugly lesson. He hadn’t been able to protect his vivacious cousin from the brutal act of a so-called gentleman. An invisible fist dug into Finn’s gut. After enduring the painful aftermath of Colleen’s vile murder, he would not wish that misery on anyone. Not even an old friend who’d resorted to civilized blackmail.

He would protect Macie. Whether or not she liked it.

While other guests chatted amiably and aimlessly, Finn’s attention drifted back to Macie. She stood by an elegantly appointed table laden with ridiculously small bits of cake, engaged in conversation with their hostess. By thunder, Macie’s hands moved as animatedly as her mouth. Lady Evansdale, now the widow of an earl, had taken to the suffragette cause since her husband’s untimely demise—a cause Macie appeared eager to join.

Intrigued by this woman he’d known since she was a girl, he followed Macie’s every gesture. Took in every smile. Drank in the way her almond-shaped green eyes gleamed with unabashed delight. She was a beauty. With her deep brown hair swept into an appealing style and her elegant gown, she could’ve had her pick of every unattached man in the place. But Macie had no interest in flirting or seduction. Rather, she relished the opportunity to engage in a clever, energetic discussion. Watching her, he realized that he truly didn’t want to look away. How blasted strange .

Forcing himself to focus on something—anything—but Macie, he glanced around at the lavish decor. Ladies in silk conversed as light from the chandeliers reflected off their gems. Men clad in suits of the finest wool tugged at their tight collars when they thought their wives were not looking. A dark-haired jewel of the London stage strolled past, her hand resting on the arm of an obscenely wealthy industrialist. She flashed a coquettish smile, then turned a narrow-eyed gaze on the prune of a man who’d financed her West End play.

The beautiful soprano cast a lingering glance over her shoulder, but Finn’s attention wandered. Not long before that night, he might have felt emboldened by the invitation in her gaze. He might have endeavored to charm his way into her bed. But now, the thought left him cold.

Tonight, he could scarcely take his eyes off Macie.

How bloody unexpected .

With considerable effort, he forced his attention to study the intricate mural on the ceiling. The artist had not rivaled Michelangelo. But the painter had achieved quite a feat with the complexity of the work.

Yet again, his gaze drifted to Macie, a magnet pulling to true north.

It was a bloody losing battle.

While conversing with Macie and their hostess, Nell slanted him a glance. A slight smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. Had she noticed the way his attention had riveted to Macie? She took a small sip from her glass, as if to disguise her amusement. Suddenly, Nell appeared to choke on her drink.

A man whose suit hung too loosely on his long-limbed frame approached the women. Lord Drayton. But Nell looked past him, appearing to search for someone.

Bollocks. Was the man’s harpy of a mother close behind?

Finn moved closer, observing their hostess’s cordial greeting to Lady Drayton’s spawn and the conversation that followed. Though he couldn’t make out their words, the women appeared quite engaged by the astronomer’s remarks.

Continuing to stay at a distance, Finn watched as Macie snapped open her lace fan with a flick of her wrist, lightly fanning herself while a smile played on her mouth. Was it his imagination, or had she actually blushed? He had not believed it possible, but this gangly, falling-over-his-own-feet man appeared to be melting Macie’s ice right before their eyes.

Bloody hell, had she cast aside her plan to dissuade the fortune hunters so soon? His job might be easier than he’d thought. Of all the titled snobs in London, Drayton might well be the least opportunistic. The man spent his nights staring out of a telescope and his days composing academic studies of his findings. He seemed good-natured. Harmless. Certainly not a rake who would motivate Finn to roll up his sleeves and teach him a lesson about the dangers of attempting to compromise a lady.

So why did the thought of tossing the overly solicitous lord straight through the door—and down the marble steps for good measure—appeal to him?

It was high time he saw what the man was up to. Finn edged toward the women as they continued their discussion with Drayton. He thought he might send the bloke a well-timed glare, but Nell stepped into Drayton’s line of sight.

“I understand you’re a fellow of the Royal Astronomical Society,” she said. “I’ve heard you are tracking a comet.”

He offered a nod. “You know of my work?”

Nell’s smile lit her blue eyes as she and the astronomer animatedly discussed some giant ball of cosmic gas the man sought to discover.

“With any luck, I will have the good fortune to study under Sir George Darwin,” Drayton went on, his tone surprisingly humble.

A rosy hue tinted Nell’s cheeks. “How fascinating.”

“A marvelous opportunity, indeed,” Macie said blandly. Was she growing bored with the aristocrat so soon?

“But enough about me.” Drayton regarded Macie with unfiltered interest. “I must confess, I am curious about your name. Macie is rather unique. Is there a story behind it?”

“As with most things regarding my dear friend, there is a story,” Nell said with a chuckle.

“Indeed.” Macie smiled. “When I was a little girl, my oh-so-proper name, Mary Catherine, seemed a bit much to pronounce. Mum began to call me Macie.”

“I suspect she enjoyed the irony of naming you after your father’s American rival,” Finn said, making his presence known.

She flashed a fetching grin. “He has learned to live with it.”

“Your name conveys a vibrant spirit. It suits you.” Drayton drew yet another smile from Macie.

The man is certainly laying it on thick. Much more of this, and Macie would find herself betrothed before her brother returned. A stroke of luck, if ever Finn had heard of one.

Blasted shame Finn wasn’t in a mood to appreciate his good fortune.

*

In the moments after Lady Evansdale had excused herself to continue her duties as hostess, Macie struggled to hide her disappointment. She had thoroughly enjoyed their conversation, hanging on the widow’s every word as she’d recounted attending one of the American suffragist Susan B. Anthony’s invigorating speeches. But now, as Lord Drayton blathered on—and on—Macie glanced at the ornate grandfather clock. Surely enough time had passed that she could gently make her exit.

Finn had already made his escape. Or so it seemed. He’d offered to fetch her another drink, but it appeared he had somehow become lost on his return. At the moment, Macie possessed neither a beverage nor patience. Perhaps she’d plead a sudden need for fresh air and venture to the garden. Alone, if need be.

And then, she spotted him. Bearing two crystal glasses, Finn deftly navigated the crush. She didn’t want to admit it, but her so-called protector looked particularly dashing. His golden-brown hair brushed his collar, beckoning her touch. Never a dandy, he wore a dark coat and trousers that had been precisely tailored to his lean, muscular frame. His linen shirt was pristine, while the ivory tie at his throat stirred all manner of thoughts. First, she’d free the knot and glide the length of silk from his body. The pearly white buttons on his shirt would come next.

Oh dear. Macie hoped she had not flushed. Why, if anyone could read her mind, they would be utterly scandalized. She bit back a grin. Was it any wonder she was losing patience with the astronomer’s detailed expositions regarding his newest acquisition, a state-of-the-art telescope for his personal observatory?

Offering a tight smile with the flute of champagne, Finn came to stand close—perhaps too close—by her side. “For ye, my dear Macie.”

He regarded her with a look she supposed was meant to appear adoring. Unfortunately, his features looked pinched, and his overly solicitous tone didn’t fit him at all. Was it so very difficult to pretend an interest in her?

“Thank you,” she said, and he edged even nearer. Much more, and he might well tread on her skirt. She shot him a glare as she took a step to the side, just in time to avoid his shoe treading upon her hem. What in blazes was he up to? She’d observed his casual ease with women long enough to know him to be far from a clumsy oaf. Did he think this would discourage her from her plan?

Nell’s brow furrowed, but she happily accepted the glass he offered. “You simply must tell Lord Drayton about our latest adventure,” she said. “The ghost in the chapel. In Cardiff.”

“Oh, that .” Macie reflected on the memory. “It may have been a trick of the light.”

“You must admit, the image you captured looks very much like a spirit,” Nell replied. “A rather nasty-looking phantom who might’ve given Mr. Dickens a nightmare or two, at that.”

“Whatever it was, I did not find it frightening. Not in the least.”

“She is quite brave,” Nell went on. “I fear I would have fainted dead away.”

“It’s a good thing I did not. Just lying there, I fear I would have resembled a sack of grain.”

“The key is to swoon gracefully.” Nell’s carefully timed glance slid to Lord Drayton. “But only when a gentleman is there to catch you.”

“I cannot say that I possess any experience with swooning.” Macie smiled to herself. “Would taking a spill in a puddle of wine count?”’

Drayton appeared to resist the urge to chuckle. “Ah, the unfortunate ballroom incident.”

“Oh, Macie, that was not a swoon,” Nell declared. “A true swoon would be slower. More gentle. Rather graceful, I’d imagine.”

“Rest assured, if I were lying unconscious on cold marble, I’d not give a fig about the art of the swoon. Graceful or otherwise,” Macie countered.

“According to an article in an esteemed ladies’ magazine, swooning is most effective when one is not truly unconscious,” Nell went on, undeterred. “Of course, a lady should be within arm’s reach of a gentleman.” She slid Finn a pointed glance. “Or perhaps, a rogue.”

Finn met the good-natured teasing with a touch of a smile. “Ye wound me, Miss Blake.”

“There is a saying.” Nell cocked a brow. “If the shoe fits.”

He scrubbed a palm against his cheek. “I cannot say I’ve ever drawn a reference to Cinderella before.”

Drayton cleared his throat. “Mother was relieved you were not injured,” he said. “She prides herself on being the consummate hostess.” Was that a touch of sarcasm in his tone?

“Please, do reassure your mother her reputation for graciousness remains untarnished,” Macie replied. “She certainly could not have anticipated a puddle of wine beneath my slipper.”

“Tell me, Miss Mason, what have you chosen as the subject of your latest work?” Drayton said, deftly changing the subject.

“Before we undertake the restoration of my grandfather’s mansion, I plan to capture the nuances of its past, the beauty the years have not dimmed.”

“Tell him the truth, Macie,” Nell spoke up. “Your grandfather thought the house was haunted. You’re hoping to find a ghost to capture with your lens. Just as we did in that old chapel.”

Finn’s brows hiked. “Ye believe ye encountered a phantom?”

“Indeed,” Nell said with a nod. “The spirit in that gloomy place was not a trick of the light. I found it rather alarming. But Macie did not so much as flinch.”

“It would take more than a ghost to send me into a dither,” Macie said truthfully.

“Ye’d be wise to exercise caution in decrepit old buildings,” Finn said. “If the staircase is unstable, a specter might be the least of yer worries.”

“Words of caution from London’s most daring rogue.” Macie pinned him with her gaze. “Isn’t it true you attempted to scale the Stirling Old Bridge while you were on holiday from university?”

“An exaggeration, though I won’t deny my reckless youth,” he replied. “But that does not change the fact that ye take too many chances.”

“Surely you are not afraid I will get in over my head.”

Challenge flashed in his eyes. “It would not be the first time.”

“And likely not the last. I may now be London’s answer to Calamity Jane following my unladylike tumble.”

“We both know I was not referring to dangers to yer dignity,” Finn said. “I’m more concerned with that pretty neck of yers.”

She shot him a deliberately cheeky grin. “So, Mr. Caldwell, given your concern for my well-being, the question is—the next time I fall, will you be there to catch me?”

“Do ye have any doubt?” A look of mischief brewed in Finn’s eyes. “Shall we test out Miss Blake’s theory?”

Oh, dear.

“Theory?” Macie choked out the word.

“Of swooning,” he said matter-of-factly.

Macie squared her shoulders, shoring her resolve. “As tempting as the idea may be, I have no desire to swoon tonight. Or any other night, for that matter.”

An emotion she couldn’t quite read filled his eyes. The teasing look had faded away, and a rather serious expression had taken its place. It was all part of the act. Wasn’t it?

“Very well, Macie. But remember this: if you fall, I will be there to catch ye.”