Page 18 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
“Would you now?” MacLain said as he appeared at the door. Extending a hand, he escorted Amelia from the carriage.
As she fished her key from her reticule, Mrs. Langford called out to her. “Good night, Mrs. Stewart. I’ve enjoyed our conversation, brief as it was.”
“As have I,” Amelia replied. Mrs. Langford waved from the window as Tim cracked the reins and the coach wheels rumbled over the pavement.
How very odd.
“Ye look puzzled,” MacLain observed with a deliberately bland air.
She stared after the carriage as it clattered off into the fog. “I cannot help but wonder why the carriage is departing.”
A hint of humor danced over his features. Drat the man. He had no right to look so devilishly appealing when he’d left her utterly confounded.
“How else did ye expect Mrs. Langford to return to the pub?” If only he didn’t sound so very logical.
She turned to him. “I assumed you would see to that.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I’ve entrusted that task to Tim.”
“Why?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
A half-smile played on his full mouth as the coach turned a corner some distance down the road, evidently heading toward MacLain’s tavern.
Now she was alone with him.
What in blazes was Mr. MacLain up to?
She swallowed against a lump of apprehension. “Dare I ask why you are still here?”
“As ye’re not willing to spend this night at my residence, ye’ve left me no choice.” His half-smile transformed into a sly grin. “Tonight, I will beyerguest.”
Chapter Six
Logan folded hisarms with a casualness he did not feel, rocked back on his heels, and watched the set of Amelia’s features shift like quicksilver. A brewing storm flickered in her gaze. Blast it, the lass’s face expressed her feelings louder than words. She’d likely be damned poor at poker, telegraphing her thoughts with every flash of emotion in those gorgeous blue eyes of hers. As she took in his words, her teeth grazed her lower lip, the sight as tempting as any he’d seen in a very long time.
Too damned long a time, in fact.
He wanted to kiss her. No, notwant. The word was far too tame, not even close to describing the sudden hunger to taste her sweetness.
In his youth, he had spent months that seemed an eternity as one of the crew on a ship that sailed across the Atlantic. He’d found beauty in the white-capped waves of summer storms, even as the wind would howl around them, fierce as a banshee’s cry.
Like those turbulent ocean waters, Amelia was beautiful.
Fascinating.
From the slight tilt of her chin to the way her half-parted lips countered the cool ire in her eyes, Amelia could draw him in with the crook of a finger. Something about her he couldn’t attempt to define—something so genuine, it seemed to render her incapable of guile—rekindled a yearning he had thought long extinguished.
If a man was not careful, he’d be swept into the deep. Over his head in dangerous waters.
He would not let a fool’s desire get the better of him. He’d come to make good on his pledge. There could be nothing more to it than that. Seducing Amelia was out of the question. A woman like her deserved a man who’d come home to a fire in a hearth every of night of his life.
No, she was not meant for a man like him.
He wanted no part of love, no part of the charades that inevitably went along with it. Once, when he was younger and far more foolish, he had thought to make a life with a woman he’d adored, offering that lass his heart and his passion and his name.
But that was not enough. Not for his beautiful bride-to-be. Not for her family and their blasted highbrow aspirations. Maeve had revealed that brutal truth not long before they were to speak their vows. Another man had offered for her hand in marriage, a man who could give her both the riches and the title she craved.
Now, when he hungered for a woman, he sought pleasure. For himself. For the woman in his bed.
