Page 81 of The Lady Needs a Rogue
“I’ll send him in.” The housekeeper beat a quick path to the door, pausing to throw him a scowl over her bony shoulder. “I do think I shall be having a few words with Miss Mason. First, a rogue for a bodyguard taking up residence, and now a messenger from a tavern, of all the unexpected things, knocking on the door before I’ve even had my morning tea.”
Finn donned his clothing and retrieved his shoes before Logan’s gangly assistant walked through the doorway.
“My apologies for disturbing ye.” The soft-spoken young man fiddled with the driver’s cap in his hands. “I’d gone to yer home, but when ye were not there, Logan figured ye might be here.”
“Did he, now?” Finn pulled on his second boot. “Has something happened to Amelia?”
Tim shook his head. “Mrs. MacLain is well. It’s nothing like that.”
Bloody hell, why was Tim so ill at ease? “Then why in Hades are ye here?”
“We were at the Rogue’s Lair awaiting the arrival of a shipment. While we were there, a constable came by to tell Logan something he thought ye should know.”
Finn could feel his impatience rising. “What is it?”
“It’s about Miss Mason.”
A strategically timed little cough caught their attention. Tim shuffled on his feet as they both glanced to the doorway. Macie stood in the doorway, questions dancing in her gaze. She strolled into the room, dressed in an unadorned walking suit in a shade of pale green that accentuated the color of her eyes. For a change, she had not pinned back her chestnut brown curls. They tumbled in loose waves over her shoulders.
By thunder, she was beautiful. Finn pulled in a breath, pushing the thoughts away. This was neither the time, nor the place, to think about running his fingers through her silky dark hair. And it sure as hell wasn’t the time to consider how bloody much he wanted to once again savor the sweetness of her mouth, which was now set in an intrigued semblance of a smile.
“News about me? How very curious,” she said in a husky voice that betrayed she had not been awake for very long.
“Not about ye, Miss Mason.” Tim seemed to be considering his words carefully. “My name is Tim. I’m Mr. MacLain’s assistant. He asked me to deliver a message.”
Macie’s complexion paled, even as her expression betrayed little emotion. She stood quite still, as if she braced herself against what he was going to say. Whatever the news was, Finn knew damned well they weren’t going to like it. Tim’s apprehension only served to fray his patience.
“What is it, Tim?” Macie asked gently.
“It’s a bit harsh for a lady’s ears, Miss.” Again, the messenger shuffled his feet. “Mr. MacLain instructed me to tell Finn.”
Macie hiked a brow. “But the message does pertain to me, does it not?”
“I suppose it does,” the young man admitted reluctantly.
“You will not offend me.” Her mouth thinned. “I promise you that.”
Finn shoved his fingers through his hair. Bugger it, Logan would not have dispatched a messenger at the crack of dawn if the news were good. He suspected he already knew what Tim had to tell him. Unpleasant or not, Macie needed to hear it.
“Out with it. Now,” he said.
“Mr. MacLain’s acquaintance got word about the intruder in the old house of yers.” Tim’s gaze dropped to the rug beneath their feet. “The man... he died during the night.”
*
Died.
The word echoed in Macie’s ears. Her pulse raced as the news triggered an instinctive alarm. This should not have rattled her so. After all, this turn of events was not entirely unexpected. The elderly professor had seemed to be in desperate straits. Perhaps he had not been poisoned after all. Could it be possible that his heart had given out? He’d been quite agitated and filled with fear.
Leave. Before he comes . . . for you.
The old man had uttered the warning moments before he collapsed. Now, any hope of an explanation was gone. She might never know his reasons for his desperate words. Nor why a man of learning would sneak inside the library her grandfather had so treasured and wildly toss books about the floor.
“Well, then, lad, have you told Miss Mason all you need to say?” Mrs. Tuttle asked pointedly as she marched over to the window and threw open the curtains with a dramatic flair.
The young man’s throat bobbed nervously. “Yes, ma’am. That’s all of it.”
Mrs. Tuttle turned to him and planted her hands on her hips in that imperious way of hers. “In that case, it would be best if you ran along. There’s work to be done, and as you can see, Miss Mason has not yet had a chance to take a sip of tea, let alone enjoy a bite of her morning meal. Any further unpleasantness can wait until later.”
