Page 27 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
Macie squared her shoulders, shoring her resolve. “As tempting as the idea may be, I have no desire to swoon tonight. Or any other night, for that matter.”
An emotion she couldn’t quite read filled his eyes. The teasing look had faded away, and a rather serious expression had taken its place. It was all part of the act. Wasn’t it?
“Very well, Macie. But remember this: if you fall, Iwillbe there to catch ye.”
Chapter Nine
Another night. Anotherball.Another noble Nob to outwit.
Macie sighed. Her life had fallen into an irksomely predictable pattern.
She’d imagined her romantic charade with Finn might prove amusing. But she hadn’t anticipated that Finn was perhaps the worst actor in all of England. Other than the heartwarming pledge he’d uttered at Lady Evansdale’s ball, he had been anything but convincing. Was it truly a Herculean task to appear smitten?
Memories of the night before taunted her.Will you be there to catch me?Her teasing query echoed in her thoughts. Again. And again.
Had she actually flirted with Finn? Most likely, he’d believed her words had been part of their act, intended to create the illusion she desired.
Or had he seen through her carefully crafted smile to the truth?
Typically quick with a witty retort, he’d paused for a breath or two as he appeared to search for a glib reply. But his response, when it came, had turned the tables.
“Do ye have any doubt?” His words had been spoken with a banter-like quality. Yet, she’d seen the intensity in Finn’s gaze, a heat flickering there that even the sly grin playing on his mouth had not cooled.
Tempting, indeed. Far, far too tempting.
And now, she sat by a fountain at yet another party, her thoughts dulling the pleasant noises of an orchestra and oh-so-genteel guests.
Years before, at some posh gala whose hostess she could not name, Macie had been barely seventeen. The dances and balls and soirees were still rather exciting then, even though she preferred to remain on the periphery and watch the goings-on. She could still remember the sight of Finn as he’d entered the ballroom that evening. He’d been all of twenty. His features had been less chiseled than now, his chest and shoulders not quite as well-muscled. But he was undeniably handsome, and her breath caught as he met her gaze. But there was more—a bit of contradiction about her brother’s roguish friend she’d found quite intriguing.
She hadn’t been able to puzzle him out, as she could quite readily with most of Jon’s associates. She’d seen how effortlessly Finn drew the female gaze with the slightest amused crook of his mouth. The ladies who preened with their prettiest smiles and corset-enhanced bosoms never looked past his witty charm. Yet, there had been a seriousness about him he could not entirely conceal, a sense of sadness only revealed when he let down his guard.
Even then, somehow, she’d known Finn was different from the heiress hunters who desired a taste of her father’s fortune far more than they hungered for her kiss. Then—as now—he’d possessed the ability to leave her feeling thoroughly vexed. Yet, her every instinct had insisted she could trust him, though she couldn’t put her reasons into words. Now, nearly a decade after she’d caught sight of him across some dignified lady’s ballroom, she still put her faith in him.
And she was still drawn to him. To the humor in his eyes. To his brash confidence. And more than anything, to the thoughtfulseriousness he’d shown to her, even when he’d hidden it from the world.
Now, Finn stood by a massive stone hearth in Lady Brookshire’s palatial home, carrying on a spirited reminiscence with an old acquaintance with whom he’d presumably raised the devil during their days at university. On the other side of the room, Nell animatedly conversed with Lord Drayton. The astronomer now seemed to turn up at every function Nell attended.
Seeking to escape her own thoughts, Macie searched for a diversion. Scanning the crush, she spied a familiar face. Goodness, were her eyes deceiving her? She navigated through the crowd, hoping for a better look at the tall man with unruly sable brown hair who stood near the door to the main hall. His neatly tailored suit was the same shade as his dark hair, while his white necktie appeared slightly off-kilter, as though it had been looped around his throat in quite a hurry.
Surely that wasn’t the newly minted university professor who’d assisted her grandfather in cataloging his collection. Was it? She hadn’t laid eyes on Peter Aylesworth in at least two years. He’d been in Greece—exploring an ancient temple or something of that nature—at the time of her grandfather’s funeral and had sent his regrets. In the past, he’d made it clear he disliked currying the favor and funds of the moneyed elites of London society. But as she made her way through the crush, she felt certain the man—who looked as ready to make his escape as she was—was indeed Mr. Aylesworth.
As they made eye contact, a spark of recognition brightened his expression. Suddenly, he no longer appeared bored. To the contrary, a smile pulled at his mouth.
He closed the distance between them. “Miss Mason, it is you, isn’t it?”
“The one and only,” she said, flashing a small smile. “I must say, this is a pleasant surprise.”
“Indeed.” His brown-eyed gaze swept over her. “It has been quite some time, hasn’t it?”
“Too long,” Macie said. “I understand you’ve been exploring ruins near the Mediterranean.”
He nodded. “The site has yielded a trove of pottery, among other relics.”
“It all sounds quite fascinating.” Macie pictured the small figure of Athena on the bookshelf behind Grandpapa’s desk. “My grandfather was intrigued by the art of that era.”
“Indeed, he was.”
Macie met his smile. My, she’d forgotten how young Aylesworth had been when he first began assisting and advising her grandfather. Only the crinkles around his eyes and the few sprinkles of silver at his temples betrayed the passing of the years. He was a bit older than her brother, perhaps in the midst of his thirties. He was handsome, especially when he wore those gold-rimmed spectacles. But somehow, she’d never taken the time to notice. Perhaps it was the way the youthful professor had been so very serious about his work. Or perhaps it was the faint air of intellectual superiority that he had not yet learned to suppress.
