Page 45 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
Finn went to the burgundy velvet couch and leaned against its wooden-framed back. Casually attired in dark trousers, charcoal waistcoat, and an unadorned pale gray shirt open at the collar, his hair curled at the ends, still damp from what was obviously a recent bath. A light growth of new beard covered his jaw, intensifying the contours of his features.
My, he is a tempting one, isn’t he? And I suspect he knows it.
“Do ye intend to leave me in suspense?” He stretched his long legs out, crossed his ankles, and regarded her with a look of what seemed to be genuine curiosity. “The wordsincidentandswordare not ones I would readily connect with a lady.”
Nell’s expression brightened. “Oh, Macie, can I tell him about Lord Rocks-for-brains?”
Macie shot her a look. “You would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”
Setting her teacup on a doily, Nell perched on the edge of her seat. “I always relish an opportunity to regale a listener with tales of your adventures. Especially an adventure involving Henry VIII.”
“Good heavens,” Mrs. Tuttle said with a weary shake of her head. “The tales that bring you amusement.”
“Henry VIII?” Finn folded his arms as furrows marked his forehead. “He’d be a bit long in the tooth now, wouldn’t he?”
“We were attending a masquerade.” A smile pulled at Nell’s mouth. “But I suppose you already knew that.”
Finn’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “I had my suspicions.”
Macie pictured the outlandishly costumed noble in her mind. “I suspect Henry VIII might’ve been more pleasant than the so-called gentleman in question.”
“The man was wearing a codpiece, of all the ridiculous things,” Nell added matter-of-factly. “The sot deserved what happened to him that night.”
“Because he was wearing a codpiece?” Finn asked dryly.
“Goodness. Would the two of you stop saying that word?” Mrs. Tuttle sank into a chair, still clutching her feather duster. “It does not seem proper.”
“You must admit, there are few opportunities to use the word in this day and age,” Nell said as Finn chuckled his agreement.
“My, you are a cheeky miss,” Mrs. Tuttle said, massaging her temples.
“In any case, Lord Rocks-for-brains had come in costume as Henry VIII that night. It appeared he had imbibed a bit too much.”
Finn nodded his understanding. “And he wanted Macie to become wife number seven?”
“That about sums it up,” Nell replied. “But Macie taught him she is not one to be trifled with. The cad should count himself fortunate the sword at her hip was made of wood and not steel.”
Finn’s gaze settled on Macie. “Ye attended a fancy costume ball... clutching a sword?”
Macie flashed a grin. “What better accessory for Joan of Arc?”
“Good God,” Finn said. “The bloke evidently relished a challenge.”
“One might say that,” Nell said. “Fortunately for him, Lord Rocks-for-brains had padded his middle.”
“Definitely a stroke of luck there,” Finn observed.
“The man was not easily discouraged. I suspect he thought I was playing hard to get,” Macie said.
Nell nodded her agreement. “Until you rather conveniently managed to spill an entire goblet of wine onto his tunic.”
“The clod had the audacity to pursue me into the reception hall. I did not mean to collide with that elderly duke’s drink.” Macie’s words were not convincing, even to herself. She smiled to herself at the memory. “I can still picture the expressions on the guests’ faces as he stomped away. Covered in red wine as he was, he looked as if I had taken a real blade to him.”
“Impressive,” Finn said with a tone of surprising sincerity.
“I do believe you would’ve enjoyed that night.” Macie met Finn’s gaze. “I wasn’t expecting you until this evening. You have news?”
“I spoke with Inspector Bradley. The intruder has shown signs that he may regain consciousness. It may take hours. Or days. But it looks as though the old man’s fighting to stay alive.”
