Page 103 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
“Mr. MacLain’s come upon some information ye may find useful.”
“He’s at the Lair?”
The young man shook his head. “He’ll be at the café until midday.”
“Good enough,” Finn said. “I’ll meet him there shortly.”
As Finn set aside the drawings he’d been looking over, he paused, eyeing the layout of the entry hall of Bennington Manor. The grand staircase was showing its age, but it was still sturdy. Renovating the lower floor of the place would not be an easy task, but he could certainly oversee skilled craftsmen capable of the task. He smiled to himself. If Macie accepted his proposal, he’d see to it that her beloved grandfather’s home was preserved in style. He had the funds to start, and his share of the profits from the contracts with Mason Enterprises would provide most of the remaining cost.
Cleo hopped up on the desk, eyeing the drawings with her golden-amber eyes. She met his gaze, seemed to nod her approval for his plans, and sauntered over to the window to bask in the midday sun.
Calling over his shoulder to Mrs. Tuttle to let her know he’d be leaving her in peace for a bit, he walked onto the pavement, blinking against the sunny sky. A rare thing, that. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was a good sign of what was to come.
When he arrived at the Rogue’s Respite, he spotted a familiar conveyance—Jon Mason’s brougham. Now that was a bloody surprise. Why in blazes was he back in London, days before his expected return? Evidently, he’d attended to matters in Scotland with his typical take-charge efficiency. He would not have left Inverness had operations not been running smoothly.Likely, he’d be in good spirits. All in all, it was an excellent development, another good sign of things to come.
Youwillbear in mind that she ismysister... at all times.
Considering his friend’s words before he’d entrusted him to watch over Macie, it would be a show of good faith to let Jon know of his desire to marry her. Not that he needed her brother’s permission—or her title-hungry father’s say, for that matter, but it would be good form to declare his intentions before popping the question to Macie.
Yes, this was definitely working in his favor. He would inform Jon straightaway of his intentions to wed Macie.
It sounded easy enough in his thoughts. So why did he feel like he had a fist digging into his gut?
As he made his way up the stairs to Logan’s office, he heard the men’s voices. When Finn entered the room, Jon’s face betrayed his surprise.
“Now this is a welcome I had not expected.” Seated in a leather Chippendale chair, Jon smiled broadly. “Finn, it’s good to see you.”
“I presume everything in Scotland is under control,” Finn said.
“Operations came together more swiftly than I expected. As my father would say, the train is back on the tracks.” Jon scratched his chin, as though he pondered a thought. “You look no worse for wear. I see you survived your time with Macie.”
“Indeed,” Finn said. “She and I got on... well.”
Bloody hell, that was an understatement, if ever he’d uttered one.
“And not one scandal to speak of,” Jon said casually.
“Ye could say that. If ye don’t count stumbling upon a dead man in a reputedly haunted theater.”
“I did get word about that when I arrived last night.” Jon’s expression dimmed. “At least no one thinks she’s responsible. I understand the gent expired of natural causes.”
“That’s the detective’s conclusion,” Logan spoke up. “At least for now.”
“For now?” Jon’s brow furrowed. “Should I ask?”
Finn shook his head. “’Tis a long story. I will brief ye on the details.”
Jon shrugged. “I suppose something of that nature was bound to happen, sooner or later. Macie traipses about with that camera of hers in the most dismal places. But you kept her out of trouble. That’s all that matters.”
Finn’s thoughts flashed to the costume ball, precisely to the moment when he’d been sorely tempted to toss the ruffle-necked viscount who’d dared to touch Macie out on his noble arse. “There were some close calls.”
“I don’t doubt it was a challenge,” Jon said.
“At times.” God knew he’d faced a challenge reining in his own instincts when he was with her. He set his mind to the task at hand. He’d waste no more time before telling Jon his intentions. “There’s something ye need to know.”
“You can start by telling me this, Finn—what’s your bloody secret?”
“There is no secret,” he replied with a shrug.
