Page 25 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
“Ye’re a clever lass.” He drew the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand. In response, her eyes widened, ever so slightly. “Sooner or later, ye’ll figure out the truth.”
“Perhaps,” she said, gently easing from his hold.
“I will stay down here in the library for the night,” he said, setting his mind on an overstuffed chair near the front window. Not the most welcoming of accommodations, but it would do.
“There is a settee in the back of the library.” Her gaze skimmed over him from head to toe. “It’s not quite long enough. But it should offer some degree of comfort.”
He shrugged. “Believe me, I have bedded down on worse.”
“Very well.” After retrieving her pistol, she crossed the room and mounted the staircase. “Goodnight, Mr. MacLain.” Halfway up the steps, she turned back to him. “Heathy will stay down here. In the event of an intruder, you can count on him to sound the alarm.”
Was that amusement in her tone?
“I’ve no need to use that wee beast as a sentry.”
She smiled impishly. “Goodnight, Mr. MacLain.”
And with that, she continued her ascent.
Casting aside the good sense he’d been blessed with at birth, Logan allowed his gaze to trail Amelia’s movements until she closed the door at the top behind her. The metallic squawk of protest distracted him, if only for an instant. Good God, did every hinge in this place require oil? He would see to it in the morning.
He spotted the small sofa Amelia had suggested. One glance, and he ruled it out. Too blasted short. Settling instead on a heavily cushioned wing chair, he stretched out his legs and rested his boot-clad feet on a well-used ottoman.
Keeping his revolver at the ready on the table beside him, he closed his eyes. Before long, he began to fall into slumber.
Suddenly, something touched his hand.
Something wet.
And warm.
He jerked awake.
Bollocks.Staring down at the culprit, he laughed. Amelia’s pet wagged his tail, oblivious to the fact that it was high time for man and beast alike to be asleep. The ball of fur on legs was no more a guard dog than he was a bloody duke.
He forced a scowl. In response, the pup wagged his tail even more vigorously.
Pulling himself to his feet, Logan spotted the dog’s bone. Somehow, the pup had managed to wedge it partly between a shelf and the floor.
Scooping up the bone, he set it before the animal. “Heathy, ye little mutt, it would seem ye’ve won this skirmish.”
Sprawling back upon the chair, Logan stretched out his legs. Wearily, he stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to return. Thank God he was exhausted. If not, thoughts of the woman lying in the bed upstairs might well have kept him awake through the night.
Chapter Eight
And now, therogue has opened that den of sin.
As Amelia strode through the massive oak doors of the Rogue’s Lair, her friend’s scorn-filled assessment of McLain’s tavern played in her thoughts. Somehow, thisden of sinwas not at all what Bea had described.
Amelia had expected... well, she wasn’t quite sure what she’d expected. But she certainly had not anticipated the sight of gleaming hardwood floors, the crackle of cozy flames dancing in a massive stone fireplace, and the welcoming smile that lit the eyes of a plump, silver-haired woman who busily polished the high wooden tables. The pub was rather quaint. Perhaps even charming.
Morning light streamed through large windows with intricate designs in stained glass. Of course, the atmosphere in the Rogue’s Lair would likely prove quite different after dark as the usual patrons poured into the place, seeking a cold draught and a friendly ear to which they might confide their troubles.
The barkeep, a gray-haired man MacLain addressed as Murray, acknowledged their presence with a nod and went about his preparations for the day’s customers. As MacLain offered Amelia a quick introduction to the barmaid cleaning the tables, an elegantly dressed woman garbed in peacock blue from head to toe strolled through the door.
Flashing a scowl, she headed straight for MacLain. Her thick dark hair had been swept back from her lovely face withlavish silver and mother-of-pearl combs. The scattering of silver threaded through her hair hinted that she was a bit older than the man she regarded with a sullen pout.
“So it’s true, then.” She sauntered up to the counter. “I heard you played the hero last night. How very surprising.”
