*
Amelia milled aboutthe library, straightening shelves that were already in perfectly reasonable order, completing minor tasks as if doing so might soothe her nerves. Growing weary of the mindless activity, she moved to the window, ducked behind the curtain, and peered into the gaslit night.
No sign of Mr. MacLain.
Uttering a quiet prayer for his safe return, she crossed the room and began tidying another shelf. Somehow, nothing about this night made sense. While she remained locked behind a sturdy door, Logan MacLain was out there, putting himself at risk. She’d watched through the window as he began to pursue the gun-wielding coward who’d hidden in the shadows. A dull ache pulsed deep within her. At that very moment, he could be lying wounded in some dank alley.
And all because he was determined to protect her.
Why had Logan MacLain—of all the men in London—set his mind to playing the part of her champion? What was the debt he owed her brother?
Curled on his little pillow near her desk, Heathy watched her every move. Despite his curiosity, he showed no inclination to join her. To the contrary, the pup happily nibbled a bone, content to observe her as she undertook one chore after another.
The clock on the wall chimed.
Midnight.
Surely this new day could not possibly be as disturbing as the last. In mere hours, her life had transformed from oneof pleasant, rather predictable routine to what seemed a bad dream.
Suddenly, Heathy’s head snapped up. The bone in his mouth fell to the rug. Letting out a little growl, he padded off to the door.
Amelia’s pulse raced. What had he heard?
No need to be afraid.
A shiver crept along her spine. Drawing in a calming breath, she retrieved the pistol she kept in her desk. With any luck, she would not be forced to pull the trigger.
A heavy rap sounded upon the door. “Let me in.”
MacLain’s voice.Thank heavens!
Relief rushed through her. But still, she needed to be sure. She needed to know wild hope had not deceived her senses. “Tell me again, Mr. MacLain.”
“Open this bloody thing.” His tone was low and raw. Unmistakablyhim.
She released the bolt and threw open the door.
He hiked a sable brow as he met her gaze. “Would I be speaking the truth if I said ye’re glad to see me?”
“Indeed, I am.” There was no need to be coy. This night, they had been through far too much to play games.
He closed the door behind him and locked it.
Glancing over him from head to toe, she forced a casual tone. “It would appear you are still in one piece.”
A half-smile tugged at his mouth. “Did ye fret over me, lass?”
It wouldn’t do to confess how she’d worried. Lord knew the man was arrogant as it was. “Not for one moment,” she fibbed, not quite convincingly.
Eyes narrowing with obvious doubt, he cocked his head. “I don’t believe ye. But ye know that, don’t ye?”
“Perhaps I did worry, Mr. MacLain,” she admitted. “If only a wee bit.”
“I figured that might be the case.” He plowed long fingers through his hair. “I’d appreciate it if ye’d stop calling meMr. MacLain. Logan will do just fine.”
“It would not be proper... to use your given name.”
He’d rested his elbow against a bookshelf and leaned his head against his hand. His features betrayed his weariness, but the glimmer in his dark eyes was not dulled.
