Page 57 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
Nell slowly shook her head. “Macie, a West End thespian would not be so convincing.”
“Really, Nell?” Macie reached for her cup and took a sip of tea. “You thought he was anything but romantic while we were dancing.”
Nell stared down at the rug for a moment, seeming to collect her thoughts. “I saw the look in his eyes.”
Steeling herself against a rush of emotion, Macie gulped a breath. “Finn is a known rogue. He relishes a challenge.” She navigated around Cleo, who’d decided to stretch out over the carpet and groom her dark fur. “Don’t worry that I’m going to be swept away by a man with an endearing brogue and a tender touch. I know better. Especially where Finn Caldwell is concerned.”
Nell’s mouth thinned. “This charade you’ve designed might not go the way you’d planned.”
“Good heavens, Nell. I know what I’m doing.” Macie nibbled her lip.Let’s hope so.
“He’s not like the others, Macie. I can sense it.” Nell let out a brief sigh. “The two of you are playing a risky game. And this time, I’m not entirely sure you will be able to guard your heart.”
Chapter Seventeen
Since she’d beena girl, Bennington Manor had seemed a haven to Macie. Now she was a woman, with an independent mind and pursuits, but the old house still represented a place where she could be entirely herself. Especially when she had her camera set up, experimenting with the light and lenses and shadows to capture the beauty of the grand old house. Finding a few hours in the day, Macie seized the opportunity to make her escape there.
Nell had made a dash to the library, intent on exploring Macie’s grandfather’s collections. While Macie set up her tripod, her friend strolled down the porch steps, toying with the miniature silver scepter her grandfather had kept on his desk. Good heavens, why had Nell decided to bring out the toy Macie had played with as a girl, of all things?
“It’s lovely.” Nell examined the tiny garnets gleaming against the silver. “How did your grandfather acquire it?”
“I believe he had it made especially for me.” Fond memories of the toy filtered into Macie’s thoughts. “Believe it or not, I pretended to be a princess when I was a little girl. Grandpapa had me convinced it was real and quite priceless.”
Nell tapped the length of silver that was a bit longer than her hand against her palm. “It has a bit of weight to it.” She threw Macie a speaking glance. “You should borrow this for Lady Fenwick’s masquerade. There’s a fair chance you’ll encounter Lord Hands-a-lot.”
Macie pictured the pinch-faced boor with his swath of pale-yellow hair and meaningless title. During their last encounter at Lady Who-ever’s soiree, she’d had to resist the impulse to toss her champagne, flute and all, at the viscount when he became a bit too free with his bony hands. She’d settled onaccidentallytreading upon his toes and making her escape. But this time, it would be different. In her mind’s eye, she pictured Finn taking action if the weasel dared to touch her. Surely Finn would face the viscount down with a stare that would make the bleary-eyed lord quake in his shoes.
“I don’t believe I will be needing that.” Macie smiled to herself and turned her attention back to her camera. The shadows surrounding the house were becoming ideal for the image she wished to capture. But not quite yet.
Focus.
Nell twirled the scepter. “In that case, I suppose I should put it back. Are there any other treasures I might come upon?”
“Most likely. Grandfather had a love of antiquities and all sorts of curiosities. Did I show you his collection of puzzle boxes?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“There are several on the shelves in his study. I think you’ll find them rather fascinating.”
“May I attempt to solve one?”
“To your heart’s content.”
“You’re quite sure?” Nell said with an eager grin.
“Very sure.”
“Just call out if you need any help. I’ll be in the study.” Flashing an eager grin, Nell hurried up the steps and disappeared behind the massive doors of the house.
Finally.She could focus her thoughts. Taking a step back, Macie assessed the angle of the shot. Positioning the camera just so, she juxtaposed the image of the bustling street with the staidold house. The shadows had fallen perfectly, creating the moody atmosphere she’d envisioned.
Just then, a jaunty coach briskly made its way over the cobbles. The driver tipped his hat and continued past. As the carriage rumbled out of view, her attention pulled to a larger, more imposing conveyance. Theclop-clopof the immense steed pulling a midnight-black brougham stood out among the sounds of the city. Slowing to a stop across the street, the driver scrambled from the bench to assist his passenger from the coach.
A man disembarked and turned to Macie. With a hawk-like focus, he fixed his gaze on her. The gent might have been her father’s age, his bright-blue eyes creating a stark contrast with his silver-gray beard and hair. Boldly, he kept his attention on her and offered a nod, as if to confirm that he had indeed put her in his sights.
He approached with a brisk vigor that belied his years, his brass-tipped walking stick bobbing in his hand. As he neared, Macie noticed the unique handle of his cane.
As she tried to dismiss her instinctive wariness, the beady ruby eyes of the wolf’s head seemed to watch her. Something about the metallic beast sent a chill through her which the man’s overly broad smile could not warm away.
