Chapter Eleven
MacAllister Campbell had long prided himself on his logical approach to situations. Even as a lad at school, he’d been reasonable, approaching any problem as a question of weighing possible solutions against their downsides and choosing the most advantageous route.
But now, seeing the distress in Rose’s eyes, he cast his good sense aside. He’d agreed to serve as her bodyguard, to assist her in her quest to bring Merrick’s thugs to justice. Blast it, he’d thrown his good sense to the wind, hadn’t he?
Not that that was anything new. The first time he’d laid eyes on Rose, he’d nearly abandoned his commitment to logic. He was finishing up his university studies, certainly in no position to take a wife. But by thunder, how he’d wanted her. In his bed. In his arms. In his heart. For the rest of his days.
But he’d craved a life that would take him far from home, an existence brimming with the adventure and danger that got a young man’s blood pumping. Witnessing events that held the power to shape history. Bringing the truth and emotions of the moment to readers far removed from the actual scene.
When the opportunity came to seek his fortune in London, he’d seized it. Even then, he’d longed for Rose. In time, after he could support her in the manner she deserved, he would marry her. Or so he’d told himself. Despite the doubt in her eyes, she’d promised to wait for him. Through her tears, she’d whispered she would never take another into her heart. She would always be his.
With the arrogance of youth, he’d convinced himself he could have it all.
Damned shame he’d been wrong.
Not long after he’d left for London, he’d lost her.
Forever.
Or so he’d thought.
She’d fled Scotland because she’d been frightened. And rightly so. Merrick was an evil bastard, capable of God only knew what.
But by hellfire, why had she allowed him to twist in the wind? A few words on a scrap of paper would have eased his misery.
And yet, through it all, she’d kept her silence.
Her aunt had deceived him cruelly. Hadn’t he deserved the truth? The bitter memories cut into him, the pain as sharp as a dagger’s slice into his skin.
And now, of all the men in London—of all the operatives at the Colton Agency—he would be the one to spend days and nights with Rose—watching for any sign of danger, prepared to defend her.
I will do whatever it takes to bring my aunt’s killers to the gallows.
Rose had come out of hiding to help Aunt Helen, and now, determination to see justice blazed like fire in her green eyes.
Once, he’d arrived at her family’s home at the very moment when Rose had risen to the defense of a housemaid being manhandled by one of her father’s inebriated guests. She’d set the boorish barrister back on his heels, and the man had stormed from the house. Her father had said little, but his cold, angry gaze when he’d looked at Rose had set Mac’s protective instincts on high alert. Something about her father had always rubbed him the wrong way. He’d shown her no warmth, no affection, but she’d kept a smile on her face and carried on as if all was right in the world.
If he’d suspected she was in danger, he would’ve dragged her away from that house. He would not have left her.
Bugger it, I cannot rewrite the past.
But now, he would protect her. He would keep Rose safe. Anyone who dared to threaten her would bloody well regret it.
Damned shame she didn’t fully trust him. Despite her tearful words, Rose was hiding something. She knew more about the men who had come after her than she let on. Whatever her blasted secret was, he would uncover it.
…
Rose settled comfortably onto a chair as MacAllister discussed the logistics of the Coltons’ plan. Judging from the frown on his face, he was not pleased with their scheme.
“The bastards know she’s in London. If Merrick was indeed responsible for the attempts to abduct her, there is a slim chance the danger has passed. The blighters are behind bars, or, in Henshaw’s case, their threat has been neutralized,” MacAllister said. “But my gut tells me our luck is not that favorable. We have to get Rose away from London, the sooner, the better.”
Mrs. Manfred appeared in the doorway, thrusting a satchel into his hand. “A delivery has arrived for your guest.”
Mac stared down at the bag. “This is not a good time, Mrs. Manfred.”
“I do hate to interrupt… oh, there’s more—a trunk for the miss,” she went on. “I instructed the gent who was carryin’ it to deposit it in the front hall. I feel for the man’s achin’ back, sir. Why, ye could hide a body in that steamer chest.”
“We can only hope there will not be a need,” he replied drily.
“Indeed,” Jennie Colton spoke up. “Though it is good to know the option is there.” She threw her husband a wink, drawing a smile from Colton, then she turned to Rose. “We took the liberty of sending an agent to retrieve your things from the hotel. I assure you she approached the task with the utmost discretion. I do hope that was acceptable.”
Rose managed a wan smile. “There’s nothing interesting to be found there, I assure you.”
The housekeeper fished an envelope out of the pocket on her starched white apron. “The man left this for ye, Miss Fleming. He said it was delivered to the hotel last night.”
“Thank you,” she said, glancing down at the sprawling script on the missive. So, Mr. Crabtree had sought her out at the hotel. What had the man discovered now?
“Is there anything else?” MacAllister asked.
The housekeeper gave her head a weary shake. “No, sir. After that poor man left the trunk, he hobbled back to his carriage and drove away.”
Jennie Colton eyed the letter in Rose’s hand. “The investigator you hired—he is aware you are in London?”
Rose nodded. “This correspondence is from him.”
“He knew where you were staying?” Jennie went on.
“He is the one who suggested I take a room at the hotel,” Rose said. “Trusting him may have been a mistake.”
“Given the situation, you will need to refrain from letting anyone know where you’re staying,” Matthew Colton said.
She stared down at the missive. A blend of anticipation and dread coursed through her. Had Mr. Crabtree uncovered new evidence? Or had he come upon another fruitless clue such as the contact with the mysterious woman at the theater? The photograph Portia had given her provided no answers. If anything, the image had provoked more questions.
“I understand,” she said. “If you will excuse me, I require a moment of privacy.”
Seeking the quiet of MacAllister’s library, she settled into a comfortable chair by the window and unfolded the missive.
Her hands trembling, she reread the message. What had the investigator discovered? Had Mr. Crabtree found the true connection between Merrick and her father?
A quiet knock pulled her from her thoughts.
“Are you all right?” MacAllister called through the door.
“Yes. Please, come in.”
“Your investigator, I presume?” His gaze dropped to the note in her hand as he entered the room.
She nodded. “It would appear we have an engagement this evening. He has requested a meeting.”
“May I see the letter?”
“Of course,” she said, placing it in his hand.
MacAllister scanned the missive and returned it to her. “The man has good taste in establishments, I’ll give him that. At least we’ll enjoy our meal.”
“There’s always something to be thankful for, isn’t there?”
“With any luck, he’s as skilled at gathering intelligence as he is at selecting a restaurant with an excellent wine cellar. Does the bloke have a name?”
“Crabtree. He came highly recommended.”
“Did he, now?” MacAllister’s slight smile faded. “I’ve heard the name in passing. Nothing that caught my interest.”
“My solicitor in New York spoke highly of him. Mr. Crabtree did some business for a client whose wife had remained in England while he came to America. Sadly, the wife used their time apart to pursue, shall we say, some rather unconventional interests. The ensuing scandal made the papers in both countries.”
“What we’re dealing with is a bit more complicated than infidelity. Do you believe Crabtree is up to the task you’ve set for him?”
“That remains to be seen,” she said.
“He’s the one who sent you to the theater last night?”
“Yes.”
A muscle in MacAllister’s jaw went taut. “The investigator may be involved with Merrick’s men. Or he may simply be a fool. Tonight will tell the tale.”