Page 13 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
“He hurt ye.” MacLain’s jaw set in a hardened line. “I should have killed him.”
A look of pure protectiveness flashed over his features. Suddenly, the weapon in her hand felt heavy. Unneeded.
“I had a fright. Nothing more serious than that.”
Boldly, he brushed the pad of his thumb against the curve of her face, his touch infinitely more gentle than the intruder’s rough hold. “He’ll pay for what he did to ye. I will see to that.”
“The authorities will see justice done,” she said, asserting a confidence she didn’t entirely feel.
Lamplight danced over the chiseled planes of his face, highlighting the dark growth of new beard shadowing his cheeks. Slowly, he shook his head. “I would not count on that.”
“Nothing about this makes sense.” She took a step back, then another, putting a bit of much-needed distance between her and this man who was still in truth a stranger to her. “From the moment you first spoke to me, the world feels as if it’s somehow shifted.”
“I sense it, too.” His eyes seemed to drink her in. “Yer brother knew this day would come. That’s why he sent for me. Now, I need yer trust.”
*
Seated on anintensely uncomfortable spindle chair in the spartan office of a weary-eyed police detective, Amelia glanced at the clock. She allowed herself a small sigh. In the hours that had passed since Mr. MacLain had subdued the violent intruder, she had explained what transpired in the library that evening to a series of constables. Now, after arriving at the station in a hansom cab Logan MacLain had summoned, she watched as a detective scribbled a few words of her statement onto paper.
Looking up, Inspector Herrin brushed a few strands of salt-and-pepper hair off his brow. “You believe the man in custody intended to rob you?”
“I’d say so. His actions and threats certainly showed as much.”
The detective tapped the nib of his fountain pen against the pad. “The establishment is a free lending library. Do you keep substantial sums on hand?”
She shook her head. “I do not require payment for the use of the collection, but many of my patrons offer a small donation from time to time. Those funds are promptly deposited into the proper account.”
“So, you have books. But little money. Is anything of value stored in the place?” The questions in his eyes spoke louder than his words.
“Nothing I’d think would have much worth to a thief. There is one thing you should know.” She swallowed against a nervous lump in her throat. “The man insisted I had something he wanted. A jewel, of all things.”
Inspector Herrin’s attention lit on the garnet pin at her collar. “He attempted to steal your brooch?”
“I don’t believe so.” She touched a fingertip to the elegant piece that had once belonged to her grandmother. “He made no attempt to take it. He was after a far more valuable gem... a diamond.”
The creases in the detective’s forehead deepened. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “You are quite sure his intent was not... an assault on your person?”
She rubbed her temples with her fingers, as if the gentle touch might soothe the dull throbs in her head. “I cannot be sure of his intentions. But I know what he said. He demanded that I tell him where a diamond had been hidden, a jewel I most certainly do not possess.”
Inspector Herrin looked down at his notes. “At this point, he has refused to answer any questions. Not so much as his name. Mrs. Stewart, do you have any idea—”
From the corridor beyond the detective’s office, a man’s horrified shouts penetrated the closed door. “Good God!”
Heavy footsteps and epithets followed. Inspector Herrin leapt to his feet. “Mrs. Stewart—stay here.”
Rushing from the room, he slammed the door shut behind him.
Her pulse raced.
What was happening?
Had her attacker escaped?
Amelia ran to the door and cracked it open. Cautiously stepping into the corridor, she spotted uniformed patrolmen crowded around an open cell.
Inspector Herrin barked an order. “I need a physician! Now!” He looked pale. Drawn. Was that blood on his hands?
An older man, more world-weary in his expression, trailed the detective out of the cell. “It’s too late for that.”
