Page 16 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
The detective frowned. “Mrs. Stewart, I would not be doing my duty if I did not entrust the task of seeing you home to one of our men. They are of the highest character.”
“That will not be necessary,” Amelia said. “I do appreciate your concern, but I have confidence in Mr. MacLain’s ability to see me safely to my doorstep.” Was it his imagination, or had her tone been rather cheeky, as if she felt both men were worrying far too much over a threat she felt had been extinguished?
“Very well.” Inspector Herrin pinched the bridge of his nose. “In that case, I will send a patrolman to escort you to the station house in the event that I have further questions.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Inspector, do you believe the man who attempted to rob me acted of his own accord?”
“At this point, there is no evidence that anyone else was involved. If he had an accomplice, you can be confident we willapprehend the lout.” Weariness fell over the detective’s features as he returned to his desk.
“Thank you, Inspector,” she said, offering a warm smile, as if she’d found an ally.
She flashed Logan a sneaking glance. So, she thought she’d won this battle, did she?
“There’s something else.” The detective sank into his chair. He reached for the decanter on his desk. “Something you need to know.”
Amelia’s smile faded. “And what might that be, Inspector?”
“It has been a very long night,” he said, pouring a hearty draught of brandy into a glass. “You’re entirely certain you’ve had no prior acquaintance with the man who attacked you?”
“As I’ve told you, I had never laid eyes on him before this evening.”
The detective nodded his understanding. “There is one thing that I find rather peculiar.”
“What are ye getting at?” Logan pressed for an answer.
Herrin studied Amelia for a long moment. “Paul Anderson was your brother, was he not?”
A tiny vee formed between her brows. “You know very well he was. But what could he have had to do with any of this?”
The detective pinned her with his gaze. “That’s what I was hoping you could tell us, Mrs. Stewart. You see, the man who died tonight carried your brother’s calling card.”
*
Amelia stayed byLogan MacLain’s side as they left the station house. She’d seen no need for an escort by a member of the police, yet another stranger whose presence she would have to endure on this horrid night. But she harbored no illusion thatthe streets of London were safe for an unarmed woman, much less after dark. Though the man who’d come after her was no longer a threat, she knew full well that more ordinary dangers lurked about at this hour of the night.
Casting MacLain a sidelong glance, she felt herself relax, if only a bit. Something about his very presence offered a sense of security, something she had not expected to feel. It may have been the confidence in his manner and the ever-so-serious set of his features, the sense that he was a man with a purpose he intended to fulfil. It might have been the image she carried in her mind of the capable way in which he’d dealt with the man who might well have killed both her and Heathy. Or, perhaps—just perhaps—deep within her, she wanted to believe his claim that Paul had trusted MacLain to be there for her when she needed him the most.
Amelia drew in a calming breath, then another. Regardless of whatever it was that made his nearness reassuring, she knew better than to give in to his urging to spend the night under his roof. Even if his motives were pure and chivalrous, unlikely as that might be, she certainly could not leave Heathy to his own devices all night long.
Weary to the bone, she longed for the comfort of her own bed. She’d be safe in her own flat. After all, the intruder could no longer hurt her. Even so, her thoughts raced. Inspector Herrin’s revelation had shaken her to the core. Why in heaven had the brute possessed a card engraved with her brother’s name? Surely Paul would not have associated with the ruffian who’d invaded her library.
Hazy gaslight cut through the darkness of the alley, bringing into focus an ebony-enameled coach. MacLain had sent a messenger to summon a carriage to transport her home. The rather stodgy conveyance was not at all what she’d expected. A pair of horses that looked to be well past their prime waitedpatiently to pull the coach. She glanced up at the driver’s bench. A lean man with a thick mop of wheat-brown hair tipped his flat-brimmed cap while the silver-haired woman at his side smiled down at them. The woman held the reins in slender, gloved hands.
“I was starting to wonder if ye were ever going to show yer face, MacLain,” the woman called from her perch. “Tim and I have been chilled to the bone.”
“These things take time,” MacLain replied. “I’d think ye’d remember that, given how many times ye fished yer husband out of jail.”
“Those were the days. Ah, how I miss that man.” The woman’s voice bore a touch of sadness.
“I know ye do, Mrs. Langford. As do I.”
Turning to Amelia, MacLain introduced her to the woman at the reins and the young man who’d accompanied her, the barkeep’s assistant, Tim. Following the exchange of pleasantries, he opened the door and assisted Amelia into the carriage. He then turned his attention back to Mrs. Langford. “Now I’ll ask ye to join Mrs. Stewart in the coach.”
“’Tis a beautiful night. A grand time for a drive,” she replied. “There’s no need for me to be cooped up inside.”
“I must insist,” he said, his tone firm.
She shot him a scowl belied by the twinkle in her eyes. “I seldom find an opportunity to take the coach out at night. You’re too blasted protective of me.”
