Page 62 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
The knight intarnished armor.
Logan had uttered the words casually. Perhaps, even flippantly. In all truth, he bore no resemblance—in word or deed—to Sir Lancelot. By thunder, he’d never considered himself a chivalrous man. But he’d done a fair enough job of defending the beautiful lass who now pondered his words, a spark of interest in her beautiful eyes.
“Knight?” she questioned as her gaze roamed over him. Pursing her lips, she slowly shook her head. “It doesn’t suit you. Not at all.”
“You think not?” He met her response with arched brows, making no secret that she’d caught him off guard. “Shall I trade my revolver for a mace?”
“Please don’t misunderstand,” she went on, a touch of mischief dancing in her eyes. “You are courageous. And daring. You most definitely possess gallant qualities. But I imagine a knight would be rather stuffy and predictable, clunking about in armor that needed polishing all the time.”
“Ye’ll get no argument from me on that. I will not be polishing any armor or, as ye put it, clunking about in the blasted stuff.”
A faint smile touched her plump mouth, the amusement in her eyes fading to a thoughtful expression. “When I was quite young, I wanted so badly to enjoy a bit of adventure. To be bold.But my father had other notions.” She sighed. “You’re not at all concerned with propriety, are you?”
“I’ve had little use for it. It serves no purpose.”
“I suppose a man can live his life without paying heed to the rules of society.” She glanced away, as if she considered a dark memory. “A scandal would not upend his existence.”
He caught her hand, smoothing his thumb over her fingers. Her skin was smooth as satin, her hand small within his. But not weak. Not fragile.
“It depends on the existence he’s chosen, lass. I’ve never had to give a damn about what others thought of me.”
She lifted her gaze to his. “I used to care what others thought of me. Quite a bit, actually.”
“But now?”
Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I’ve cultivated a circle of friends whose trust I value. As for the rest—well, they may speak ill of me as they please. They relish a good scandal.”
Driven to ease the pain her even-toned voice could not hide, he drew her closer. “Ye’re a good woman, Amelia. Kind-hearted and strong. The gossips are liars, the lot of them.”
“No, not liars. Not always.” Again, she looked away, as though pulled in by memories. “A wife who leaves her husband offers ample fuel for scandal.”
A low current of anger rippled through his veins. He knew she was a widow. Had Amelia been mistreated by the man she’d married?
She turned back to him, squaring her shoulders in that way of hers that conveyed her inner strength. “I married for love, you see. As it turned out, my husband did not. Even after we’d spoken our vows, Edward had no intention of giving up his mistresses. Nor his drunken outbursts. I began to fear him... to fear what he was capable of. That’s when Paul stepped in.”
“He helped ye to get away from the lout?”
“Yes.” Amelia’s mouth thinned. “He brought me into his home while he sought legal counsel to help me escape my husband’s control. One night, after leaving his club in a drunken rage over another man’s wife, Edward was thrown from his horse. I was told he died instantly. Suddenly, I was a widow. But that changed little. After all, it was no secret that I had sought a divorce. My reasons were of no consequence to those who take their amusement by spreading their cruel barbs.”
Gently, he tipped up her chin, meeting her gaze. Her eyes glistened. Was she holding back tears?
“To hell with the fools who’d have seen ye endure a living hell.”
“To Hades with them, indeed.” Spirit filled her quiet words. “I have my library. I have my friends and patrons. And I have Heathy.”
“Ye’ve also got a man who’s hell-bent to look after ye, Amelia. I will be there for ye.”
Her rosy lips curved up at the corners, her subtle smile pulling him in like a wave crashing to shore. He drank in the subtle curve of her mouth, the vibrant spirit in her eyes. Blast it, if Murray wasn’t likely to wander in from the backroom at any moment, he would’ve kissed Amelia right then and there.
“I’d like to think so,” she said, a teasing lilt coloring her words. “None of the biddies who live to spread their gossip can boast of a dashing scoundrel charging to the rescue, now can they?”
“Scoundrel, eh?” Slowly, he traced the curve of her face with the pad of his thumb. “The man ye’re looking at is neither a gallant knight not a dark-hearted scoundrel, but an ordinary man who set out to make his own fortune.”
“Logan MacLain, you are far from an ordinary man.”
Her eyes sparkled like a Highland loch at the first light of day. Bloody hell, when she looked at him that way, withher interest set on him and him alone, she was damned near irresistible.
He could hear Murray in the back room, going about his work. The din of metal hitting the floor clanged through the door. The barkeep had dropped a tray or a pot or something—bugger it if Logan cared what it was.
