Page 54 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
Logan righted a toppled set of shelves. Turning to her, the set of his jaw betrayed the anger that simmered below the surface. He crouched down, gathering remnants of stained glass that had once formed a lovely lampshade. “Damn the bastard.”
“Perhaps they found what they were searching for.” An oddly hopeful notion ran through her thoughts. “If they did, they may be finished with me.”
Rising to his full height, Logan bit off an epithet. “Finished or not, they will pay for what they’ve put you through.”
The conviction in his voice was a comfort. Her gaze wandered over his long, lean body. How would it feel to go through life with a man like him by her side, strong and courageous and resolute?
Forcing her attention back to the mess that surrounded them, she sighed. If she were wise, she would do well to keep Elspeth’s cold glare in her thoughts. The jealous scorn in her eyes had been as vicious as a slap to the face. She’d wanted the pleasure of his touch. Most likely, Elspeth did not crave a place in his heart.
If only I could say the same.
If only she could look upon a night in his arms—a night in his bed—as a passionate escape. And nothing more.
She wanted more. Needed more.
She’d do well to protect her heart.
To protect herself.
Busying herself with a pile of papers that had been tossed to the floor, she set them on her desk and banished her musings far to the back of her mind. Moving a stack of books back onto a shelf, and then another, she set about putting the displaced volumes strewn over the floor back in place while Logan explored the back rooms of the library. The rather mindless taskoffered some comfort. Until an obnoxious pounding of the brass knocker against the front door tore her from the momentary peace.
“Mrs. Stewart, I know you are in there,” a man’s voice bellowed. “I need to speak to you.”
She spun on her heel. The timing could not have been worse. “Drat the luck.”
Logan met her eyes. “Ye know who’s calling?”
“Yes.” She resisted the urge to sigh. “Unfortunately.”
“I’ll send the bloke on his way.”
She placed a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “That would not be wise. You see, Mr. Driscoll is the owner of this building.”
His dark brows quirked. “At what point did ye gather I’d follow the wisest course?”
Despite the storm of nerves churning within her, she could not help but smile. “In any case, I suppose I should let him in.”
“As ye wish.” Logan opened the door, meeting the landlord’s cold gaze.
Amelia stepped forward to greet the burly man garbed in an inexpertly tailored tweed overcoat. “What brings you here today, Mr. Driscoll?”
The man stared up at Logan. “So, I see the rumors are true. You’ve taken to keeping company with—”
“With what?” Logan’s tone could have cut diamonds.
Nervously, the landlord shoved his hands in his pockets. “I must say, I had not expected to find the likes of you here, MacLain.” Looking past Logan, he scanned the room. His bushy brows settled into a harsh line. “What in God’s name has happened?”
Amelia hid a bit of pillow stuffing in her skirt pocket. “A bit of a mishap. Nothing more.”
“I’m acquainted with your hound’s penchant for mischief, but this is beyond that little beast’s capacity for destruction.” Mr.Driscoll scowled. “I understand you’ve had trouble recently—the kind of trouble that is not good for my investment.”
“As you may have heard, I was the victim of an attempted robbery.” Amelia held her voice steady.
“Who in blazes would want to make off with a trove of books?” Mr. Driscoll reached down to pluck a lace doily off the floor. “And cheap fripperies.”
Amelia tucked another piece of pillow into her pocket. “Now that is a question for the local constable.”
Mr. Driscoll’s mouth settled into a stark line. “As I understand it, a ruffian paid you a visit, then promptly ended his own life?”
