Page 63 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
“There’s something else,” Logan said. “The gent from the detective bureau who likes the sound of his own voice was in here tonight. Murray steered his talk to the old man in the hospital. The detectives believe they’ve learned his identity.”
“Bloody hell,” Finn said under his breath. “Who is he?”
“The talker told Murray the intruder’s name is Smythson. He’s not a common thief. To the contrary, he’s a scholar.”
“What in blazes are ye telling me?”
“A woman came searching for a relative who’d gone missing. She confirmed the man lying in that hospital is her uncle. Evidently, the old gent stirred a bit at the sound of her voice.”
“Bloody hell.”
“The man was a professor at a university in Scotland, an expert in the same ancient statues and such that Miss Mason’s grandfather sought for his collection.”
“Her grandfather was an expert in his own right. They may have known each other.”
“It’s a distinct possibility. Until we find out what the professor was doing in that old house, I’d suggest ye not leave her unattended.”
“She’ll chafe at the very thought of being tethered to me.”
Logan took a swig of his drink, as if fortifying himself for what he was going to say next. “I have an idea, but ye’re not going to like it.”
“Good God.” Finn read his cousin’s expression before he could utter the words. “Ye’re thinking I should call on... the Dragon?”
Logan nodded. “Amelia’s convinced the fire-breather in skirts would be a perfect companion for Miss Mason and her friend, especially as they travel about the city during the day.”
“Bollocks,” Finn said under his breath. “Ye do like to see yer cousin suffer, don’t ye?”
“Ah, ye’re a man of courage,” Logan said with a chuckle. “Ye can take it.”
“I’m not so blasted sure of that.” Finn rubbed a sudden ache in his neck. The Dragon—better known as Logan’s aunt, Mrs. Elsie Johnstone, was a force of nature. When they were lads, they’d compared her to the fiery, mythical creature. Not much in the woman’s temperament had changed since then. But Mrs. Johnstone did possess a unique set of skills, and she was the most trustworthy soul he’d ever met.
“What do ye think?” Logan asked.
“This might just work. The key word beingmight.If we were to seek her assistance, how should we go about it?”
“Amelia takes tea with her at least once a week. She’d be happy to send her a message in the morning. Aunt Elsie is planning to attend the masquerade tomorrow night. It’s all she’s talked about for the last fortnight. She’ll have no trouble breaking the ice with the ladies.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Finn said with a chuckle. “They’ll form an alliance.”
Amusement flashed over Logan’s features. “So much the better for ye,” he said. “Miss Mason possesses a natural boldness. Ye can’t be there every minute to watch over her. But Aunt Elsie can teach her some ways to protect herself.”
Once again, the back of Finn’s neck tightened with tension. “More ways for Macie to send the heiress hunters running for cover?”
Logan slowly shook his head. “It’s not theheiress huntersye need to worry about.” The amusement drained from his eyes. “It’s the bastard who wanted the professor dead.”
*
On more thanone night, during that time Finn looked back upon with a certain nostalgia as hiswildyouth, he had stealthily returned home at an hour that would’ve forced his mother to pretend she was shocked. He’d enjoyed the hours before his covert entrance—imbibing ale, learning how to throw and take a bare-knuckled punch, and if he wasn’t too bruised and battered, charming a barmaid or two. The experience had been well worth the risk of incurring a stern lecture from his father that included the wordswastrelandvagabond.
In the years since, Finn had never had to sneak into a home, save for one time when invited by a particularly fetching dollar princess who longed for a dalliance before her marriage to sometight-collard viscount. Until the night Macie and her friend had cloaked him in the ridiculous disguise and ushered him into their residence.
At least tonight, he had a bloody key to the house. And he had not needed to conceal his features. However, as always, there was a catch.
Mrs. Tuttle has prepared a room for you.Before he’d headed to the Rogue’s Lair, Macie had told him with a little grin on her face that he would no longer have to endure sleeping upon the sparsely upholstered, half-a-foot-too-short object of torture she called a settee. But there was a caveat—Mrs. Tuttle had insisted—for the sake of decorum, of course—that he occupy one of the servants’ quarters and return to the house through the servants’ entrance.
At that moment, he’d thought nothing of it. A bed was a bed. He’d get sleep, and his back and legs would not feel hobbled in the morn.
But now, lying on a comfortable bed in a modest, neatly appointed room, he knew why he’d detected an air of mischief in Macie’s smile. Surely she’d known what he’d be facing that night, alone in his quarters.
