Page 5 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
Her eyes darkened. Hardened. “I’d dismissed the fanciful rumors that you were an outlaw. It would appear I was correct. You are merely a thief. But you are wasting your time. I will not offer payment for what is rightfully mine.”
“I am no thief.”
“Then tell me where in blazes you got your hands on my brother’s watch?”
The fire in her voice appealed to him, even as she eyed him with cold daggers in her gaze. This woman had courage. Evenwhen face to face with a stranger, a man she didn’t think she could trust. Her brother had spoken of her intelligence. Of her gentleness. But never of her spirit.
“A courier brought it to the tavern this morning. The letter from Paul arrived last night.”
“Ah, so that’s it. The message from my brother’s ghost, conveyed alongside stolen gold and Swiss-made gears.”
“I assure ye he’d written the letter while he still walked this earth.”
“Is that so?” A small sigh escaped her lips. “I must confess, I am surprised you would admit Paul did not communicate with you from another realm.”
“I have no reason to mislead ye, lass. The messages I received appear genuine to my eyes, but ye can see for yerself.” He reached into his jacket to retrieve the letter, but she stopped him with a curt wave of her hand.
“That will not be necessary. I have no desire to see another not-so-clever forgery.” She folded her arms at the waist, as if to insulate herself from the fresh pain he had stirred. “The lastseerto pass through this door also bore dubious proof of his communication with my brother. The conniver offered to lead me to a mysterious inheritance. For a generous fee, of course.”
Meeting her eyes, he saw the distress she could not hide. Anger set his teeth on edge. Bloody bastards, harassing a woman in her grief. If he were to encounter one of their ilk, he’d set the villain on his arse.
“I am not here to seek monetary gain. Paul’s letter will be yers to view when ye’re ready. But in the meantime, I’m asking ye to trust that yer brother sent me to protect ye.”
“Sent you? A man he had not spoken to in years?” Her lower lip trembled. “Yes, I know of you. Paul spoke of you when he was at university. Later, he said the two of you had parted ways. He wanted nothing to do with you.”
Her words cut deeper than she might have imagined, but as he’d learned to do all those years ago, he paid the twinge of emotion no heed. If Amelia had known the truth, she’d have realized he was not the reason his friendship with Paul had splintered into a thousand sharp bits. But none of that mattered. Not now.
“The letter I received last night was penned a short time before your brother died. He knew he’d made enemies. And he feared they would come after ye.” He met her questioning gaze. “He asked me to protect ye when ye became their target.”
“Enemies he’d made? Target?” She twisted her hands together, as if that might ease her pain. “How dare you! I have experienced cruel attempts at deception, but I believe this may be the most vile.”
“I have no desire to mislead ye.” Dangling the timepiece from its chain, he extended his hand. “Take the watch. Yer brother wanted ye to have it.”
Curling her slender fingers around the watch, she snatched it out of his reach. Did she fear he would have a change of heart? She raised it to the light, the faintest of smiles lifting the corners of her mouth.
“Paul treasured this watch so very much. Our father gave it to him on his twentieth birthday.” Her eyes brightened as she examined the engraved initials. “I’d believed it had been lost forever.”
He allowed her to enjoy this moment of happiness before drawing her attention back to him with a purposeful clearing of his throat.
“Paul believed you were in danger. He wanted me to look after ye.”
“Look after me?” she scoffed. “I do not need a protector, Mr. MacLain. Much less the likes of you.”
“The likes of me, eh?” He pulled up a chair, sat down, and stretched out his legs. “So, what is it ye’ve learned about the Scoundrel MacLain?”
Her teeth grazed her plump lower lip, drawing his gaze. Bugger it. He forced himself to look away. By God, the woman’s lush mouth could tempt a dead man to sin. Bloody shame her lips were pinched tight with disdain.
Disdain for him.
There was no changing it. Not that it mattered. He didn’t need her to like him.
But he needed her to trust him. At least long enough for him to root out the vicious bastard who’d hurt her if given a chance.
“The Scoundrel MacLain?” She hiked her chin. “A bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say?”
“Would ye expect anything less from a scoundrel?”
She pursed her lips into a bow. “In regard to your question,” she began, keeping her tone crisp, “I am not about to discuss the salacious details with you. But I have heard enough to know you are no gentleman.”
