Chapter Thirty-Two

One Week Later

Seated in a comfortable Chippendale chair in Quinn’s drawing room, Rose peered over her cup of oolong tea. Seated across from her, Sophie Stanwyck sipped from a porcelain cup.

“I do hope you’ll join me in an excursion, Rose. It’s high time we did something to brighten up that pretty face of yours.”

“I’d love to,” she said, taking another sip of tea. “I’ve been feeling a bit like a bird in a cage.”

A relaxed little sigh escaped her. Had it been only days since she’d felt Merrick’s fingers dig into her throat, choking the life out of her? Somehow, it didn’t seem quite possible so little time had passed.

Staying on as Jeremy Quinn’s guest as the Colton Agency operatives concluded their investigation, Rose had developed a friendship with Sophie and the female agent they’d assigned to protect her in the event coconspirators attempted to silence her. A cheery woman in her middle years with a fondness for flamboyant hats, Maureen O’Dowd was neither physically imposing nor quick to flaunt her abilities, but she wielded her ever-present parasol with lethal skill. The woman would pose a formidable threat to any assailant fooled by her unassuming demeanor.

“I agree—an excursion would be lovely,” Maureen agreed. “A bit of natural light and fresh air might do us all good.” She tapped her ginger-gold hair. “And I am in the market for a new hat. One can never have too many, you know.”

“Indeed.” Sophie’s glance traveled from the immense coral-pink flower on Mrs. O’Dowd’s hat to Rose. “Let’s make a day of it, shall we?”

Rose smiled. “I could do with a new hat as well.”

“Excellent,” Maureen said. “I’ll see to arranging the carriage.”

Hours later, the women returned from their trip into the heart of the city. They’d visited shops, taken a spot of refreshment in a welcoming little tea room, and enjoyed warm conversation. Invigorated from the outing, Rose did not hesitate to say “yes” when MacAllister stopped by the town house and proposed a quiet meal in a fine restaurant.

Donning an evening ensemble in deep burgundy wool, she freshened up her face and arranged her hair in a soft, upswept style with ringlets about her face.

Waiting in the drawing room, MacAllister cut a handsome figure in a brown tweed suit with a sable waistcoat and a necktie of the same hue. She smiled at the sight of him. Freshly shaved, the aroma of bergamot in his soap teased her senses. Ah, she’d never grow tired of that delectable scent.

As he came to her, her heart sped.

“You look lovely, Rose,” he said, his tone more casual than the look in his eyes.

“Thank you.” They exchanged a bit of small talk, and then he clasped her hand in his warm, strong fingers and led her to the coach.

Buildings of brick and stone blurred in the background as the carriage picked up speed. He turned to her, his expression enigmatic.

“There are times when words fail me.” The softest of smiles played on his mouth. “This, my sweet, is one of them.”

“You, at a loss for words? Why, MacAllister, I didn’t believe that possible.”

“Believe me, it is.” He slid his arm around her and drew her close. “You’re beautiful, far lovelier than words could ever capture.”

Dipping his head, he pressed his mouth to hers, a passionate caress. With a sigh, Rose relaxed into him. The taste of his mouth intoxicated her.

“Oh, MacAllister,” she whispered. “Your kiss is much more delicious than words.”

He cupped her face in his hands. “Rose, I’ve never wanted a woman as I want you.”

The carriage rumbled to a stop. MacAllister groaned against her lips as Bertram rapped against the door.

“The man has a blasted poor sense of timing,” MacAllister grumbled.

“Indeed.” She pressed a quick kiss to his mouth before he escorted her from the carriage and into Isadora’s, a fine restaurant in the heart of the West End.

The maître d’ escorted them to a secluded table lit by candlelight. Curtains in jewel tones and glittering chandeliers lent a rich elegance to the dining room, while each table was set with fine crystal, china, and silver.

They dined on a delectable meal, engaging in quiet conversation between bites, each avoiding any discussion of the vile plot that had claimed so many lives. Finally, Rose decided to broach the subject.

“I understand several others have been apprehended in Merrick’s schemes,” she said, taking a sip of wine.

MacAllister’s expression turned somber. “Portia Rathbone’s so-called bodyguard has been extremely talkative. There’s little chance he’ll avoid the gallows, but he’s desperate now.”

“I understand Merrick’s sister has been cooperative,” she said.

“You could say that. The woman realizes her neck is on the line, and she’s leveraging what she knows for a chance at leniency.”

“I still do not fully understand Portia Rathbone’s motives. She truly did try to protect me, in the most bizarre of ways.”

“She wanted to punish Merrick for what he’d done to her. Destroying his chance to carry out the foul scheme he’d plotted for years must have given her some satisfaction. I believe she anticipated one of us would kill him, and she’d have her final revenge.”

“Such a web of evil.” Rose glanced away, studying the intricate design in the lace tablecloth. “If you hadn’t come when you did…if you hadn’t found me…”

He placed a gentle hand over hers. “Darling, I wasn’t about to lose you again.”

Her fingers moved to her throat, skimming over the bruised flesh concealed beneath her high lace collar. Without thinking, she searched for her pendant, the locket she’d treasured for so many years. And then, the bitter truth shot through her. The necklace her abductor had snatched away was lost to her forever. The thief had robbed her of her last tangible connection to her mother.

Pain rippled through her, as real as the cut of a blade. Seeming to sense her anguish, MacAllister leaned closer and kissed her, a light, feather-soft caress.

“Merrick can’t hurt you now.” MacAllister’s husky voice comforted her. “You’re safe. The men who abducted you are either in their graves or facing a very long time behind bars.”

“It’s not that…I know I’m safe with you. It’s only…” Tears she didn’t want to shed stung her eyes.

He searched her features. “Rose, you must trust me. What is troubling you?”

“The blackguard stole my locket.”

“Your mother’s locket,” he said, recollection gleaming in his eyes. “It was gold, with rubies and sapphires.”

She nodded. “And now it’s gone forever.”

“You cherished it,” he said softly.

“It’s irreplaceable.” She blinked back tears. “The man who abducted me tore it from my throat. Heaven knows what’s become of it.”

MacAllister scowled. “The filthy blighter.”

“I’d hoped it might turn up after the criminals were apprehended. But that does not seem to be the case.”

“I will retrieve it, Rose. You can count on me.”

“I cannot imagine where it might even be. The scoundrel likely sold it to someone who will tear it to bits for the gems and gold.”

“I’ll find it, darling. And I will bring it to you. No matter where you are.”

“Oh, I do hope so.” She managed a smile. “Shall we speak of something more pleasant?”

“What would you suggest?” he asked. “A discussion of literature, perhaps? I was much impressed by H.G. Wells’s recent work.”

“The Time Machine?” She took a sip from her water glass. “I didn’t think you possessed a taste for fiction.”

His eyes darkened with challenge. “At times, I enjoy a good novel. But at the moment, I’m considering a far more invigorating pursuit.”

“Is that so?” She quirked a brow. “I suspect you may have something quite wicked in mind. I must admit, I am intrigued.”

His seductive smile would’ve made Lucifer proud. “I’ll love you till the sun rises if you’ll stay with me tonight.”

“A tempting proposition, indeed, Mr. Campbell.” She drank in the passion in his dark eyes. “Won’t that break some protocol or another?”

“To hell with protocol.” He drew the tip of his finger along the slope of her nose, the gesture nearly chaste. Yet the fire in his eyes made it the most brazen of seductions. “We belong together, darling. Tonight. And every night.”

She held his gaze. “Every night.”

“Until I take my last breath.” He cupped his palm against her cheek, his breath warm against her lips as he leaned in to kiss her again. “I don’t ever want to walk away from you again.”

Her hand resting lightly on MacAllister’s forearm, Rose accompanied him into the study in his comfortable town house. The warm woods and casually elegant furniture appealed to her. Somehow, it felt like home.

Home. The word played in her thoughts.

Where precisely was her home? She’d left Scotland so long ago, and now, everyone she considered family was an ocean away.

Everyone, that is, other than MacAllister.

When she was with him, her heart was content. She could stay with him in London or Scotland or on the blasted moon until the end of her days and never regret a moment spent in his arms.

But what of the people who depended on her tavern for their livelihoods? She couldn’t abandon those loyal souls who’d been there for her in the hardest of times.

Her heart wanted to be here with MacAllister. With every fiber of her being, she craved his touch and his passion and his delicious kisses.

And yet, moment by moment, year by year, she’d constructed a life for herself.

She couldn’t simply walk away, not even for a delectable fantasy.

She couldn’t leave it all behind.

But she could have tonight.

She could have MacAllister in her heart. And in her dreams.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, studying her face.

“A bit of nerves. Nothing more.”

“Tell me the truth, Rose. I can see it in your eyes—what’s troubling you?”

“Might I have a brandy?” she asked, attempting to change the subject.

He poured the rich amber liquid into a crystal glass and handed her the drink. “Perhaps it is too soon.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You have suffered a trauma. I need to be patient.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She sipped the liquid. “Truly, I’m well.”

He poured himself two fingers of Scotch. “I’d find your words easier to believe if you didn’t keep glancing away from me.” He tipped up her chin. “Darling, tell me what you’re thinking.”

She took another slow sip of the liquid. The brandy trickled down her throat, warming her. “I want this night, MacAllister. More than you know.”