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A nother night. Another ball . Another noble Nob to outwit.

Macie sighed. Her life had fallen into an irksomely predictable pattern.

She’d imagined her romantic charade with Finn might prove amusing. But she hadn’t anticipated that Finn was perhaps the worst actor in all of England. Other than the heartwarming pledge he’d uttered at Lady Evansdale’s ball, he had been anything but convincing. Was it truly a Herculean task to appear smitten?

Memories of the night before taunted her. Will you be there to catch me? Her teasing query echoed in her thoughts. Again. And again.

Had she actually flirted with Finn? Most likely, he’d believed her words had been part of their act, intended to create the illusion she desired.

Or had he seen through her carefully crafted smile to the truth?

Typically quick with a witty retort, he’d paused for a breath or two as he appeared to search for a glib reply. But his response, when it came, had turned the tables.

“Do ye have any doubt?” His words had been spoken with a banter-like quality. Yet, she’d seen the intensity in Finn’s gaze, a heat flickering there that even the sly grin playing on his mouth had not cooled.

Tempting, indeed. Far, far too tempting .

And now, she sat by a fountain at yet another party, her thoughts dulling the pleasant noises of an orchestra and oh-so-genteel guests.

Years before, at some posh gala whose hostess she could not name, Macie had been barely seventeen. The dances and balls and soirees were still rather exciting then, even though she preferred to remain on the periphery and watch the goings-on. She could still remember the sight of Finn as he’d entered the ballroom that evening. He’d been all of twenty. His features had been less chiseled than now, his chest and shoulders not quite as well-muscled. But he was undeniably handsome, and her breath caught as he met her gaze. But there was more—a bit of contradiction about her brother’s roguish friend she’d found quite intriguing.

She hadn’t been able to puzzle him out, as she could quite readily with most of Jon’s associates. She’d seen how effortlessly Finn drew the female gaze with the slightest amused crook of his mouth. The ladies who preened with their prettiest smiles and corset-enhanced bosoms never looked past his witty charm. Yet, there had been a seriousness about him he could not entirely conceal, a sense of sadness only revealed when he let down his guard.

Even then, somehow, she’d known Finn was different from the heiress hunters who desired a taste of her father’s fortune far more than they hungered for her kiss. Then—as now—he’d possessed the ability to leave her feeling thoroughly vexed. Yet, her every instinct had insisted she could trust him, though she couldn’t put her reasons into words. Now, nearly a decade after she’d caught sight of him across some dignified lady’s ballroom, she still put her faith in him.

And she was still drawn to him. To the humor in his eyes. To his brash confidence. And more than anything, to the thoughtful seriousness he’d shown to her, even when he’d hidden it from the world.

Now, Finn stood by a massive stone hearth in Lady Brookshire’s palatial home, carrying on a spirited reminiscence with an old acquaintance with whom he’d presumably raised the devil during their days at university. On the other side of the room, Nell animatedly conversed with Lord Drayton. The astronomer now seemed to turn up at every function Nell attended.

Seeking to escape her own thoughts, Macie searched for a diversion. Scanning the crush, she spied a familiar face. Goodness, were her eyes deceiving her? She navigated through the crowd, hoping for a better look at the tall man with unruly sable brown hair who stood near the door to the main hall. His neatly tailored suit was the same shade as his dark hair, while his white necktie appeared slightly off-kilter, as though it had been looped around his throat in quite a hurry.

Surely that wasn’t the newly minted university professor who’d assisted her grandfather in cataloging his collection. Was it? She hadn’t laid eyes on Peter Aylesworth in at least two years. He’d been in Greece—exploring an ancient temple or something of that nature—at the time of her grandfather’s funeral and had sent his regrets. In the past, he’d made it clear he disliked currying the favor and funds of the moneyed elites of London society. But as she made her way through the crush, she felt certain the man—who looked as ready to make his escape as she was—was indeed Mr. Aylesworth.

As they made eye contact, a spark of recognition brightened his expression. Suddenly, he no longer appeared bored. To the contrary, a smile pulled at his mouth.

He closed the distance between them. “Miss Mason, it is you, isn’t it?”

“The one and only,” she said, flashing a small smile. “I must say, this is a pleasant surprise.”

“Indeed.” His brown-eyed gaze swept over her. “It has been quite some time, hasn’t it?”

“Too long,” Macie said. “I understand you’ve been exploring ruins near the Mediterranean.”

He nodded. “The site has yielded a trove of pottery, among other relics.”

“It all sounds quite fascinating.” Macie pictured the small figure of Athena on the bookshelf behind Grandpapa’s desk. “My grandfather was intrigued by the art of that era.”

“Indeed, he was.”

Macie met his smile. My, she’d forgotten how young Aylesworth had been when he first began assisting and advising her grandfather. Only the crinkles around his eyes and the few sprinkles of silver at his temples betrayed the passing of the years. He was a bit older than her brother, perhaps in the midst of his thirties. He was handsome, especially when he wore those gold-rimmed spectacles. But somehow, she’d never taken the time to notice. Perhaps it was the way the youthful professor had been so very serious about his work. Or perhaps it was the faint air of intellectual superiority that he had not yet learned to suppress.

“Your knowledge was invaluable to him. My grandfather’s intellectual curiosity never abated. Up to his last days, he learned as much as he could about the beautiful items he collected and donated.”

“Mr. Bennington—your grandfather—was a brilliant man. I was deeply saddened to learn I would never again have the opportunity to discuss my latest explorations with him.”

“He relished those conversations. At times, he could become a bit fixed in his opinions, but he so enjoyed an invigorating debate.”

“My colleagues at the university could not have kept pace with him.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. Not one whit,” Macie said. “How long will you be in London before adventure calls?”

“I expect to remain in the city for at least six months. I am working on a new field of study and will be involved in research before I return to Greece.”

“Someday, I shall travel to Athens,” she said. “I’d love to prepare an exhibit there.”

“Don’t put it off.” His expression grew serious. “I’ve seen the mood you can invoke with your camera.”

His words caught her by surprise. “You’ve attended one of my exhibits?”

“I cannot say as I have. But I shall seize the first opportunity.” He smiled. “Your grandfather was very proud of your talent. He showed me some of your photographs. Very impressive, Miss Mason.”

The thought of her grandfather proudly sharing her art warmed her heart. “Thank you.”

Aylesworth’s gaze trailed over her shoulder. His expression shifted. “It would appear we have company.”

Finn strolled toward them, his strides long and relaxed. “Aylesworth, it’s been a long time.”

A cryptic smile tugged at the professor’s mouth. “I’d heard you were squiring Miss Mason about town in Jon’s absence.”

Finn’s gaze hardened. He moved closer to Macie. Possessively so. Her pulse raced, and she pulled in a low breath.

“That’s not the only reason I’m here with her tonight.” His voice was low, with a flinty edge.

Aylesworth shrugged. “I’m not surprised Jon enlisted you to watch over his sister. You do know how to make a man rue the moment he decided to raise his fists against you.” His gaze hardened. “But then again, so do I.”

“Raised fists?” Macie spoke up. “I don’t much like the direction this conversation has taken.”

“My apologies, Miss Mason.” To her surprise, a brief grin played on Aylesworth’s lips. “Caldwell and I are old acquaintances. We shared a mutual interest in pugilism.”

“Good God, man. Ye make it sound so blasted civilized.” The tension on Finn’s face eased into a look of familiarity. “Neither of us played by gentlemen’s rules.”

Aylesworth pointed to the slight crook in the bridge of his nose. “At times, I can still feel the crack of your knuckles. You left your mark, my friend.”

“Ye got yer payback. Cracked my rib, as I recall.” Finn uttered the rather unpleasant reminiscence in a casual tone.

Macie marveled at the scene. Two intelligent, educated men, looking rather pleased over memories of pummeling one another. Would she ever understand the male of the species?

“Two of them, if memory serves,” Aylesworth corrected.

“That’s right.” Finn’s hand went to his side, indicating the site of the injuries. “But enough reminiscing. I would not want Macie to think me a brute.” He gently placed his hand on her forearm, the gesture proper. Yet somehow, rather intimate.

Aylesworth quirked a brow. “Not a brute. But definitely a fighter.”

“Which ye’d do well to remember,” Finn said, his tone cocky.

Macie’s breath caught. Throughout the evening, Finn had showed little interest in their charade. But now, he was playing his part a bit too well.

“Ah, there you are!” Nell’s voice cut through the quiet tension. Thankful for the distraction, Macie turned on her heel to see that she was not alone. Gads. Lord Drayton walked by her side, looking as if his toes were rather pinched.

“Mr. Aylesworth, I had not expected to see you here,” Nell sounded a bit too pleased at the unplanned reunion. Years earlier, she’d harbored a girlish crush on the professor. Judging from the excitement in her eyes, it would not take much to rekindle that flame.

Following an exchange of pleasantries, the professor took a rather deliberate look at his watch. “I’m afraid I must part company. I am scheduled to meet with one of the museum patrons. Our little chat is the primary reason I came tonight. I do hope you all understand.”

“Of course we do,” Nell said brightly. “Now that you’ve returned to London, I do hope we will have the pleasure of an invigorating conversation.”

“Indeed,” Aylesworth’s gaze shifted from Nell to Macie. “You may count on it.”

*

The morning after Lady Brookshire’s party, as Macie set up her camera on the pavement steps beyond the red brick exterior of Bennington Manor, her tripod was frustratingly unstable. She attempted to properly position a support that was not quite level, but the device stubbornly resisted her efforts to right it. As she fiddled with the cantankerous metal legs, her thoughts were as off kilter as the camera stand.

Encountering Professor Aylesworth at the gathering had been a delightful surprise. Reminiscing about her grandfather with a man who’d actually seen his brilliant mind at work had been quite enjoyable. Until Finn strode up and the conversation shifted to long-ago bouts of fisticuffs and such. At one point, Finn had actually seemed possessive of her, perhaps even a bit jealous. Had he been merely playing his part in their scheme? Or had the steely tension in his eyes been real?

“Might I assist with your equipment?” Nell’s question pulled Macie back to the moment and, thankfully, back to the task at hand. There was little time to waste. The low haze in the sky created an atmosphere that was perfect for the concept Macie wanted to create. Best to capture the image before the clouds shifted and the sky became too foreboding and gray.

“Thank you, but not yet.” Macie tugged on one leg of the tripod, adjusting it with the other supports. The cobbles in the pavement were not ideal for leveling her camera, but she wasn’t about to let a bit of inconvenience stymie her. She would portray the beauty of the magnificent old home for others to appreciate. Just as she did.

Her grandfather’s house—somehow, it still felt like his home—wore the passage of time like an embellishment. Some might call the subtle marks in the brick facade blemishes. To Macie, they were signs of character, remnants of its storied history, of the decades long past when her ancestors had lived and died within those walls.

“Nell, I believe I left my lens case in the parlor,” she said, fiddling with the uncooperative tripod. “Would you get it, please?”

“Of course.” Nell hurried up the front steps and into the house.

Macie made another adjustment, setting the camera level atop the tripod. “Finally.” She studied the building, contemplating the image she wished to capture.

A sudden coolness washed over her. A sensation like icy fingers trailed over her nape. How very odd. There was no hint of breeze. Not so much as a wisp of wind that might have chilled her. An innate warning murmured in her thoughts.

Was someone watching her?

Turning toward the street, she faced the house across the road. A tall, lean man stood an arm’s length from the townhouse’s massive front porch. His bushy gray brows lifted slightly as his pale eyes met her gaze. His focus seemed to intensify, as if he was studying her.

The chill along her hairline trailed down her spine, and she broke eye contact. Don’t be a goose. The gent was old enough to be her father, after all. Quite possibly his vision was not precise and he’d confused her for someone else. There was no cause for alarm.

Pity her body’s instincts did not agree.

She glanced back at him. Was he in need of assistance? Perhaps she should cross over and speak to him, if only to be sure.

Slowly, the elderly man shook his head. How very peculiar . Had he anticipated her intention to come to him? He turned away then, ambling at a steady pace down the street. Away from the house. Away from Bennington Manor.

“Macie, is something wrong?” Nell hurried down the front stairs, case in hand.

“Not at the moment.”

Macie pulled in a long breath, attempting to calm her slightly accelerated pulse. Try as she might, she could not entirely cast off her reaction to the man who’d seemed to be watching her.

Nell’s gaze swept over her features. “You’re quite sure?”

“Of course.” Macie wished she believed her own words.

Nell turned to catch sight of the elderly gent making his way along the cobblestones. “I saw the way that man was staring at you. Do you know who he is?”

“I don’t recall ever laying eyes on him before today.”

“Perhaps he knew your grandfather.”

“That could well be the case,” Macie agreed. Nell’s suggestion was reasonable. Utterly rational. But deep within, she sensed the explanation was not quite so simple.

She reached for her lenses. “Let’s get to work, shall we? The light is perfect.”

Nell threw another glance behind her. “Macie, there is one thing that seemed a bit odd to me.”

Macie quirked a brow. “Just one thing?”

“This was not the first time I’ve seen that gentleman.”

A slight jolt of alarm coursed through Macie. “Here?”

Nell nodded. “I noticed him one day last week. If memory serves, you were inside, fiddling with your camera. I’d come out onto the porch for a breath of cool air when I saw a posh carriage roll up.” She toyed with the lacy scarf at her throat. “The man descended from the coach, took a brief look about the area, then looked away as soon as he saw me. Moments later, he entered the carriage, and it rattled off as suddenly as it had arrived.”

“You’re certain it was the same man?”

“I am not absolutely sure.” Nell’s brows knit together in a frown. “But I do believe the man we saw today was in that carriage. I cannot help but wonder why someone—even if he was indeed an acquaintance of your grandfather—would come here on two separate occasions, only to turn and leave without ever saying a word.”