Page 64 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
Mrs. Tuttle’s chamber was directly beside his. He presumed the housekeeper was alone behind the door to her room. But she was chattering enough for two, at the very least.
The woman talked in her sleep. Bloody hell. Buttalkingdidn’t quite describe the range of sounds emanating from the housekeeper’s chamber. A few words he couldn’t quite make out drifted through the wall between their chambers, followed by a shout. A few minutes after that, a cry jarred him while he was taking off his boots. One fell to the floor with a thud. Later, while he lay in bed, more chatter with a hearty laugh mixed in for good measure yanked him from the beginnings of slumber. Good God. Was this going to go on all night?
Suddenly, the sound of a soft snore—or was it a purr?—joined the erratic chorus coming from Mrs. Tuttle’s chamber. But this was closer. Very close, indeed.
“Cleo, ye wee minx,” he said, lighting a lamp. He spotted Macie’s cat, curled up on a side chair, happily dozing.
He rolled over, pounded a pillow to smooth out a few lumps of feathers, and closed his eyes. The cat’s contented snores permeated the confined space, a somehow fitting accompaniment to Mrs. Tuttle’s unsettled murmurs. At least one of them was getting some rest that night.
Through it all, his mind wandered. It was going to be a bloody long night. Again and again, Logan’s words echoed in his thoughts.
It’s not the heiress hunters ye need to worry about. It’s the bastard who wanted the professor dead.
Chapter Nineteen
Of all theparties, balls, galas, and soirees Macie had attended in London, she counted Lady Fenwick’s masquerade as the highlight. Mingling with the guests at the magnificent costume ball, Macie engaged in a lively discussion of Jane Austen’s works with a strutting peacock, danced with a rather bashful tiger, and made the acquaintance of a vivacious American suffragette dressed as a fairy tale princess with shiny slippers designed to resemble glass. The orchestra’s stirring notes filled the great hall of Fenwick House with smooth melodies, while the finger sandwiches and beverages were delectable. The guests were attired in all manner of ensembles, decked out as charming creatures, regal heroines, and the occasional dastardly villain. All in all, the countess’s guests appeared to be thoroughly enjoying the grand affair.
Pity her grumpy bodyguard was perhaps the sole exception. Finn had spurned the notion of an elaborate costume—not that Macie could blame him, especially given Nell’s rather insistent suggestion that he don tights and tunic to play Robin Hood to Macie’s Maid Marian. Instead, he’d chosen to dress as a character who might’ve blended in with civilized men throughout the city; his version of Dr. Henry Jekyll was more dapper than she’d ever envisioned. His midnight black wool suit was precisely tailored to show off his broad shoulders, while his burgundy silk waistcoat and silvery-gray tie added an appealing vibrance to the ensemble. Quite the handsome mad scientist,indeed. He’d caught the attention of many a female decked out in tiaras, feathers, and even the occasional set of fairy wings. Such a shame his face bore the pained expression of a man whose shoes were a bit too tight.
At the moment, he was engaged in discussion with a tycoon whose carved features were set in a look that appeared equally pinched. Trenton McAvoy was tall and lean, perhaps a bit older than Finn, given the few strands of silver marking his appealingly silky dark hair. Dressed as a younger, undeniably handsome imitation of Buffalo Bill, complete with a mustache that was most definitely not an imitation, the American industrialist cut a striking figure amongst London’s elite dandies.
Observing them from across the room, Macie felt suddenly restless. Though she was enjoying the sights and sounds of the affair, the night was not going according to plan. Nearly two hours had passed, and Finn had made little effort to spend time with her, let alone provide the noble nobs any reason to think twice before seeking her attention. Why, already that evening, a boisterous baron in a toga that bared his bony knees had attempted to entice her into a stroll to the garden, supposedly to enjoy a pristine view of the night sky. Finn’s well-timed approach and fierce glower had sent the long-legged fop scurrying in search of a more amenable heiress—preferably one who was not accompanied by a rather imposing escort whose scowl might send even a warrior running for cover.
Not long after the lanky lord had abandoned his efforts, another heiress hunter had made his move. The newly minted viscount had been far more persistent than Lord Drayton. And ever so much more unpleasant. Dressed as Shakespeare—or some other gent who wore a ruff about his neck—he appeared to be deep in his cups. Emboldened by the spirits, he had eyed Macie from head to toe, then uttered a bold declaration.
“It’s high time you took yourself off the shelf.”
The gall of the man!Macie’s cheeks had burned at the smug lord’s grating words.
She’d spotted Finn as he closed the distance between them, his scowl already in full force. “If I were ye, I’d think twice before saying another word.” He stood within arm’s reach of the viscount’s reddened face.
“This does not concern you,” the arrogant sot ground out.
Finn cocked a brow. “Ye think not?”
The viscount gulped a breath. “This may be a misunderstanding.” He tugged agitatedly at his ruff as if suddenly the neckpiece was too tight.
“Indeed,” Finn agreed. “Ye will not speak to the lady in that manner. If I hear another word from yer mouth, ye’ll answer to me. Do I need to say more?”
The boor shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I thought as much,” Finn said.
The viscount had slunk away, his eyes still radiating anger. With the situation under control, Finn offered a few stiff mumbles of conversation, spotted a man he recognized from his time at university, and politely left Macie to her own devices while Nell chatted with a gallant buccaneer.
Now, nearly an hour later, Macie spotted Finn carrying on a robust discussion with a man dressed as a cowboy. Her mood brightened as a server bearing a fully laden silver tray crossed her path and offered a flute of champagne. She happily accepted, then sipped generously from the crystal glass as she debated her next move.
Perhaps she should invite herself into Finn’s conversation. At the very least, she might enjoy a bit of flirtation with the handsome cattleman. There’d be no harm in that, now would there?
Navigating the crush, Macie’s progress halted when she bumped into the back of yet another guest attired as if he’d stepped out of the American frontier. A large hat added to his already considerable height.Good heavens, another aficionado of Buffalo Bill.Since William Cody had brought his Wild West show to London a few years earlier, the rough-and-ready showman had inspired guests at many a masquerade.
The man turned and tipped his cowboy hat. “Good evening, Miss Mason,” Peter Aylesworth said with a smile.
“It’s good to see you. I wasn’t aware you were acquainted with Lady Fenwick.”
Macie took a step back, gazing up at him. Something about the rugged costume brought out an air of masculinity in the man he usually kept tightly controlled.
“Her brother and I met while we studied in Italy. He is currently excavating ruins that predate Caesar.”
