Page 41 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
“Something came up.” Her tone made it clear the scowl he’d perfected while an officer on a rowdy ship’s crew had not fazed her in the least.
“Something?”
“Something related to our plan... a matter of great urgency.”
“So ye persuaded Mrs. Langford to disregard my instructions?”
Amelia’s mouth thinned. “She understood the need to reach you. I do hope you will not be upset with her. She was only trying to be of help.”
He scrubbed a hand against his jaw. Amelia’s concern for his driver touched something deep within him. It seemed a lifetime since he’d encountered someone outside the small circle of souls he trusted who gave a damn about anyone other than themselves.
“Ye’ve nothing to worry about where Mrs. Langford is concerned.” He rubbed the back of his neck, easing out a knot of tension. “But what was in yer head, lass, risking both yer necks?”
Challenge glimmered in her eyes. “Do you want me to tell you why I’m here? Or would you prefer to glare at me a bit longer?”
I’d bloody prefer to kiss that teasing little smile off yer perfect mouth.
By hellfire, the woman was maddening. Somehow, that made her all the more enticing. He wanted to hold her. Wanted to touch her until she was too weak in the knees to think of anything but the taste of his mouth and the feel of his fingertips upon her skin.
Blast it, his own body threatened to betray him. Dragging his attention to a generations-old dagger mounted on the wall, a solemn symbol of pride in the Clan MacLain, he shifted his stance and tamped down the sudden hunger, if only enough for rational thought to prevail.
Logan glanced down at the floor, spotting Amelia’s dog as he set his sights on a pair of boots stowed under his desk. If Heathy—poor mutt with that atrocious name—had his way, the leather would soon lay in shreds.
Silently thanking the dog for the much-needed distraction, Logan snatched up his boots. Was he going daft, or had the pup actually looked disappointed as he set them out of his reach?
A bland smile touched Amelia’s lips. “Heathy has no fondness for shoes.”
“I’ve no inclination to test yer theory.”
“If you don’t mind...” She strolled over to the sideboard and looped the dog’s leash around a stout wooden leg. “This will ensure that Heathy stays out of mischief.”
The dog sank upon his haunches, his expression fairly shouting that he would not be so easily deterred. He turned his head, seemingly intrigued by the play of light against the cut crystal bottle. Finally, the wee beast had something else to take his interest. With any luck, he’d be quiet and still while Logan got to the bottom of Amelia’s unexpected arrival.
Folding his arms, Logan leaned against his desk. “Tell me, Amelia Stewart, what compelled ye to put yerself in danger—at this hour of night, no less?”
Her expression was placid, though her eyes sparkled with the look of a truth she was eager to reveal. “Mr. Caldwell no longer needs to search for Helen.”
“What in blazes are ye saying?”
“I know where she is.” Amelia paused, glancing toward the clock on the wall. “To be precise, I know where she will be at midnight.”
Her words plowed into him. This had the markings of a trap. Damned if he’d let her rush headlong into it.
“How do ye know this?”
“Helen sent a message by courier tonight. This time, it was addressed to me.” Amelia retrieved an envelope from the reticule dangling from her wrist. “She has information... about Paul.”
“Bloody hell.”
“I quite agree.” Amelia handed him the note. “I suspect the messenger might’ve been the same lad who delivered the letters from Paul.”
God above, that was it. Helen Tanner had sent the parcels. She’d ensured the letters from Paul had made it into Logan’s hands.
And now the fortune teller was aware that Amelia was staying at his residence.
How the hell had she come upon that knowledge?
Quickly, he scanned the message. “If that woman thinks we will agree to her terms, she’s mad.”
