Page 31 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
No.She corrected herself.Appealingdidn’t even come close to the full truth.
A sudden clatter of wheels against the pavement beyond the tavern drew her attention back to the window. Peeling the curtain back again, she spotted his carriage rattling down the street with Mrs. Langford at the reins.
“Where in blazes is she off to now?” he muttered over her shoulder, amusement flavoring his tone. “Murray must have wanted some peace and sent her on an errand.”
Hearing the smile in his voice, she turned to him. “How did Mrs. Langford come to be your driver?”
“Now that is a question I’ve asked myself more than once. Most nights, I’d prefer to be at the reins of my phaeton. Truth be told, Mrs. Langford is the only reason I keep that blasted box of a coach.”
“So, am I to understand that you maintain a carriage you do not need, so that a woman—a woman old enough to be your mother, no less—may drive it through the town as she pleases?”
“Aye, that about sums it up.”
“Is she kin to you?”
His expression shifted, as though a fond memory had drifted into his thoughts. “She is now.”
“I sense a tale behind your words.”
The curve of his mouth eased, not quite a smile. “While I was a lad, Mrs. Langford’s husband drove for my father. He was aconventional man, as was my da. Neither allowed a woman to take the reins.”
“But you are not nearly so conventional.”
“Ye do see things clearly, don’t ye?” His mouth tipped up at the corners. “Now, Mrs. Langford has her chance.”
Very unexpected, Mr. MacLain.
The hint of sentimentality in his words intrigued her, even as the crisp notes of his shaving soap—bergamot, perhaps—awakened her senses. Her pulse picked up its cadence, and she battled an utterly improper desire to graze her fingertips along the hard edge of his jaw, to explore the texture of his skin with her touch.
Her gaze danced lower, trailing over his long, lean body. He was temptation come to life in a slightly rumpled linen shirt and ebony trousers that hugged long, muscular legs. And with a pinch of sin and a dash of wickedness thrown in for good measure.
She had faith in his ability to protect her from the scoundrel who’d made her a target. He would protect her fromthatmenace.
Pity she was not nearly as confident of her own capacity to resist the rogue’s charm in Logan MacLain’s smile.
And now, she would be sleeping under his roof.
Perhaps I have gone a wee bit mad after all.
She’d do well to remember that he had likely tempted many a willing woman with that gravel-edged brogue of his and the flash of desire in his midnight-dark eyes.
Women like Elspeth. The wealthy widow had eyed MacLain with a hunger that exceeded her scorn for Amelia. Well, Mrs. Gilroy had nothing to worry about on her account. MacLain was a rake of the first order.
Amelia knew better than to fall into the bed of a man like him.
Didn’t she?
Giving her head a little shake as if that might clear it, she fixed her attention on the gem-colored panes in the transom over the door. She had to focus on something—anything, really—other than the man who stood temptingly near.
With effort, she regained some control over her renegade thoughts. “Your office... the establishment, actually... is rather different than I’d imagined,”
“Not what you expected, eh?”
“Not at all.” Her gaze lit upon the intricately carved sideboard behind his desk. A silver platter, crystal glasses, and what appeared to be a decanter of fine whisky added an elegant touch. “I had expected a den of inequity to appear more... sinful.”
“Ye make a valid point, lass.” Humor flavored his words. “Are ye’re thinking I should commission some nudes? Portraits of beautiful women just as the good Lord made them might draw even more patrons. The gents would flock to this place.”
The glimmer in his eyes told her he wasn’t serious.
