Chapter Seven

The latch jangled as the force of the intruder’s motions shook the door on its hinges. Rose held her revolver at the ready. Resting her finger against the trigger, she prayed she wouldn’t have to use it.

Mrs. Manfred kneeled behind the desk, her spine ramrod straight as she peered over the top. She betrayed no trace of fear. Rather, a look of resolution gleamed in her pale eyes as she murmured a low prayer.

A sudden quiet fell over the room. Just as quickly as it had started, the rattling stopped.

A violent crack rang out.

The door splintered.

A hulking man kicked aside what remained of the oak panel. His gaze settled on the pistol in Rose’s hand.

His mouth twisted with cruel amusement.

Rose steadied her trembling hand. One tug of the trigger, and she’d bring him down. “Who are you?” The quiver in her voice sounded foreign to her own ears.

“I willna hurt you.” The ugly gleam in his eyes contradicted his words.

“Don’t come any closer.” She kept her gun sighted on the man’s burly chest. “Leave this place.”

“Come with me. Ye willna come to harm. Ye have my word.”

“Go. Or I will shoot you.”

“Ye dinna have it in ye, lass.”

Behind him, MacAllister stepped into the doorway. With a smooth, stealthy movement, he whipped a cudgel in his right hand.

The bludgeon slammed into the back of the brute’s head with a heavy thud. The man gasped. His jaw hung slack, and he stared at her, eyes wide, yet uncomprehending.

His head pitched forward. He crumpled in a heap on the carpet. MacAllister maneuvered around the intruder and prodded him with the toe of his boot.

Carrying a length of sturdy cord, Daniel eyed the gun in Rose’s hand. “The chap’s lucky we got to him before ye shot him dead.”

“Make sure he’s bound tightly,” MacAllister instructed, then crossed the room to assist Mrs. Manfred to her feet. “We’ve secured two others, but keep your weapon at the ready. There’s no way to tell if there are more.”

“Well done, Mr. Campbell,” the housekeeper said, glancing at the unconscious intruder. “There’s not even any blood to clean out of yer fine carpet.”

A wry smile played on MacAllister’s mouth. “That is one advantage I had not considered. Would you be so kind as to ring up the agency and inform them there’s been an incident?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Manfred said. “High priority, is it not?”

“Highest level. You know the code. Insist on speaking with Colton himself.”

“At this hour? Won’t that rouse the man from his sleep?”

“That is not a concern.”

The housekeeper’s lips thinned as if she dreaded the task. “I’ll see to it, sir.”

Turning on her heel, she left the room, her heels tapping a brisk rhythm against the polished wood floor.

As MacAllister turned back to Rose, her heart stuttered. The heat and intelligence in the depths of his gaze seemed to penetrate her defenses, as if to seek the inner truths she tried to hide from him.

He took her hand between his warm, strong fingers. So steady, even now, after his home had been invaded by violent intruders. He might’ve been killed. But he showed no trace of shock. No hint of fear.

Gently, he stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “Now, my dear Miss Fleming, you need to tell me all about your unpleasant new acquaintances.”

…

As Mac reached for Rose’s hand, he half expected her to pull away, but she seemed to welcome his reassuring touch. Despite the way she’d squared her shoulders against the intruder’s threat and faced the prospect of dealing with the rotter on her own terms, she could not hide the fear in her eyes.

Thank God he’d gotten to them in time. Rose would have pulled the trigger. He’d little doubt of that. But would a bullet have brought the bastard down?

Even if she’d stopped the man in his tracks, the aftermath of the violence would’ve taken a toll on her.

God only knew it took a toll on him.

The use of force was a necessary evil. Even so, he preferred to employ his training in the martial arts whenever possible. Practically speaking, keeping a criminal alive had its advantages. Dead men told no tales, but a thug facing the hangman might well reveal a good deal of useful information when presented with the prospect of saving his own neck.

Of course, there was another consideration. He wanted to be able to sleep when he laid his head down at night. As an operative of the Colton Agency, he’d been tasked with cases of high priority to the Crown. In the course of an investigation, he’d been forced to kill. A child’s life had been at stake, and there’d been no other option. He’d been fully justified in pulling the trigger.

But that hadn’t stopped the nightmares from plaguing him. Only time had dimmed the viciousness of the memory.

Now, he preferred to neutralize a threat with his cudgel, blackthorn stick, or his nunchucks. Ordinary enough in appearance, the blunt weapons could render a man unconscious.

Tonight he’d been able to protect Rose. If she’d locked herself behind the door of a hotel room, vulnerable to these bastards with nothing but a flimsy lock and a pistol for security, the men would likely have gotten to her. God only knows what they’d planned.

But even now, she regarded him with eyes that spoke more than words. Whatever her secret, she wasn’t ready to confide in him.

Fixing her gaze on the intruder, her shoulders sagged, just a bit. “Most impressive, if I do say so.”

“Seeing these bastards end up in custody of the Yardmen is getting to be a habit.” He gently squeezed her hand. “Later, after we’ve rid this place of the vermin, you are going to tell me what in blazes is going on.”

“I don’t have the answers you want.”

“Then we will begin with the answers you do have.”

MacAllister fought the urge to draw her near and offer her comfort. But this was a time for hard truths, not tenderness. Gentle caresses would not protect her. He had to find out what they were up against. He had to anticipate the enemy he might be forced to combat.

Releasing her hand, he joined Daniel at the intruder’s side. Hogtied and gagged, the ruffian was not about to give them any trouble. With any luck, Colton would dispatch his operatives within the hour. After security was in place, Rose could get some much needed sleep. He’d save his questions for the morning.

“I should go.” Her voice sounded calmer than her slightly trembling fingers.

“Absolutely not.” He tested the bindings, assuring himself the man could not work free.

“I don’t intend to put you or anyone in this house in further danger. If I leave now—”

“If you leave now, you will put others in jeopardy. Whoever is after you isn’t going to stop tonight.” He tugged on another knot. Satisfied with the sturdiness of the binding, he met Rose’s eyes. “Do you know who this man is?”

“I’ve never seen him before tonight.”

“He goes by Cutty. He’s hired muscle for one of the most ruthless bastards in the Queen’s empire. Given his crimes, he should’ve swung by his neck a long time ago, but he connived his way into a lenient sentence. He’s been free for weeks now.”

“But why…why would he come after me?”

“That’s what I need you to tell me.”

Confronted with Cutty’s violence, Rose blanched, pale as fresh-washed linen. “This is a nightmare from which I cannot awaken.” Her words were a mere whisper, and he questioned if they’d been meant for his ears, or if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.

Mac pressed a hand over hers. “In this house, you will be protected.” He spoke the words as a vow.

Beneath his touch, her fingers trembled, a scarcely perceptible shiver. “Protecting me is not your responsibility.”

“You’re safe here, Rose. When Mrs. Manfred returns, she will show you to your room.” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “Tomorrow, we’ll get to the bottom of what the bloody hell is going on.”

She sighed. “Every moment I’m here…my very presence endangers everyone under this roof.”

“As you’ve seen, we are prepared for any threat. You’ve no need for concern.”

“MacAllister, I could not forgive myself if…if something happened to you…to any of you.”

“Escorting you to a hotel carries its own set of risks,” he went on. “Leaving before the sunrise is not an option. In the morning, we’ll see to your security.”

“Very well,” she agreed, reluctance flavoring her hushed tones.

Seeming to steady her emotions, she met his gaze. He drank her in. God above, she was as lovely as the last time he’d laid eyes on her. If anything, she’d matured into a beauty akin to a work of art.

As the clock in the hall chimed the quarter hour, Rose dropped her gaze, severing the invisible connection between them.

“Mr. Colton will dispatch security within the hour,” Mrs. Manfred announced as she swept into the room. “He sounded most intrigued by the…situation.”

“The man does relish a new challenge,” Mac said. “And the Yardmen—I presume Colton’s requested backup to transport these blighters to jail.”

“They’ll be here straightaway.”

“Good enough. Thank you, Mrs. Manfred.”

“’Tis only my duty.” The faintest of smiles pulled at the matron’s mouth. “Shall I see Miss Fleming to her room?”

“Yes. Please.” Rose spoke up. “I’ll be able to think more clearly after I’ve had a bit of rest.”

“Morning will come soon enough, my dear,” Mrs. Manfred said, her tone growing gentle. “Ye need sleep.”

“Thank you.” Rose turned to MacAllister. “I didn’t want to draw you into this. Of all the men in London, I never thought I’d encounter you again.”

For a long moment, he studied her. For so many years, he’d thought she was lost to him forever. He’d dreamed of her then, feverish, desperate nightmares. Again and again. If he’d had any reason to believe she had not perished in that accident, no power on earth would have kept him from finding her.

Now, she regarded him with a practiced reserve. Her face had always been so expressive, her intelligent green eyes betraying even the most subtle nuances of emotion. When had she learned to hide what she was feeling, what she was thinking?

“Ah, Rose, haven’t you learned by now that Fate has a rather twisted sense of humor?”