Page 102 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
“Yes.”
Murray nodded, confirming he’d already known. “And the lass... she loves ye?”
“I believe she did. Until I walked away.”
The barkeep leaned his elbows on the counter and pinned Logan with his gaze. “Then I’ll ask ye, MacLain—what in hell are ye doing here?”
*
Logan had alwaysbelieved himself a determined man. When he set his mind to something, he’d see it through, come hell or high water. But now, as he walked through the doors of histownhouse, the quiet of the home assailed him. His housekeeper and his aunt had both gone to see Amelia off on her journey. How oddly silent the house seemed without the pleasant sound of their banter. Each room felt strangely barren. Strangely empty.
Just like his heart.
Without Amelia.
He headed directly to his study and retrieved the velvet-covered box he had stored in his desk. Stashing it in the pocket of his jacket, he turned on his heel and left the house.
By hellfire, he’d been an arse.
But he would set it to rights. He would fix the mess he’d made of things. Her home was not in America. She belonged with a man who loved her more than life itself. Amelia belonged here.
Withhim.
And now, he’d convince her to stay.
Chapter Thirty-One
Navigating his phaetonthrough the congested street, Logan tensed his fingers around the leather reins. As he approached Amelia’s library, he was struck by one indisputable fact.
Caldwell’s carriage was nowhere in sight.
Amelia was gone.
Damn the luck.An invisible fist plowed into his gut.
He needed to get to her. He had to tell her the truth—the truth he should’ve spoken days earlier.
He loved her.
Bollocks, he’d been a pig-headed dolt. Like a fool, he had hurt her deeply and allowed the wound in her heart to ache. Could she forgive him?
Or would she board a steamship for New York and sail out of his life?
Forever.
The fist twisted in his gut.
Suddenly, his attention was drawn to the glint of sunlight against metal. What in blazes was lying on the steps, nearly at the landing?
He slowed the carriage to a stop and bolted up the stairs. Light gleamed against a thin length of silver.
Heathy’s collar.
He lifted it up to examine it. He’d never questioned why steadfastly practical Amelia had chosen a decidedly impractical silver collar for her little mop of a mutt. Now, seeing theengraving on the band, he understood. The outer surface bore the dog’s name in ornate script. But the inside of the band was marked with an endearment that brought Paul’s hearty chuckle to mind.
A bell... for my dear Pixie’s beloved little beast.
Again, the fist twisted into Logan’s belly, deeper and more unforgiving. Tucking the collar inside his pocket, he headed to the carriage. If he managed to find Amelia at the dock, she would be delighted to see he’d found the collar. At least he could count on that. Her response to seeinghimwas very much more in doubt.
