It certainly was, Charlotte silently agreed, but it was also incredibly thrilling and excellent fodder for the book she was currently writing. She started forward. Mr. MacNeil turned, his gaze landing on her with remarkable force.
A delicious spine-tingling sense of awareness swept through her.
He frowned and then his eyes darkened to midnight black. “What in hell and tarnation are ye doing here, lass?”
Oh, he could sound as angry as he liked. Her body still delighted in the sound of his voice. Unafraid, she moved closer, until he was well within her reach. He stood stock still with his hands on his hips, eyeing her as she drew to a halt. With brazen disregard for what might be proper, Charlotte allowed herself a moment to simply admire his gorgeous physique. After all, how often did a woman like her have a chance like this?
The opportunity was too perfect to pass up, so she let her gaze wander across the hard planes of Mr. MacNeil’s exposed chest and toward the muscular ridges bellow. Her eyes shamelessly followed the faint dusting of hair that ran from his naval and over his lower stomach before disappearing beneath the waistband of his breeches. Good God. He was beautiful. And while she didn’t mean to drop her gaze any lower, she did, absorbing each inch of perfection until—
“Lass?” Mr. MacNeil’s voice was both hoarse and strained. “I can strip bare if that would help ye with yer assessment.”
Charlotte’s cheeks flamed in response to his words. Good heavens. She’d quite forgotten herself and he, scoundrel that he was, had called her on it. Her chin jerked up and she took a sharp breath. With her heart knocking wildly against her breast she retreated a step, almost stumbling as she did so due to the fierce intensity burning within his gaze. Jaw clenched, he watched her with the quiet scrutiny of an experienced predator on the prowl.
“Thank you,” she rasped. “That won’t be necessary.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Are ye sure?”
“Quite,” she squeaked. “I’m here because I need your help.”
“Really?”
She gave a firm nod and tried to focus on why she’d come. “There’s been a theft at Carlisle & Co. My most recent work has been stolen. I must go there at once.”
Whatever roguishness he’d allowed was quickly replaced with a businesslike mien. “Let me clean up a bit and get changed. Claus, please serve these ladies some tea while they wait. I won’t be long. Ten minutes at most.”
Grabbing his discarded shirt, he marched toward some exterior wooden stairs. He took the steps two at a time and quickly arrived on the overhead walkway. One second later, he’d disappeared from Charlotte’s sight.
They arrived at the publishers twenty minutes after leaving The Black Swan, following what Blayne could only describe as the most awkward carriage ride he’d ever experienced. Miss Russell, with whom he’d believed he’d developed a friendship of sorts during the course of the last week and a half, had refused to look at him. A problem she hadn’t lacked in the least when she’d faced him after his training session with Richard.
Reminded of the appreciative gleam in her eyes while she’d let her gaze wander across his bare skin, he forced back the devilish smirk that threatened while he helped her alight. Covered in sweat, he should have offended her senses. Instead, she’d looked at him with the sort of interest that had sent blood rushing straight to his groin. God help him, he’d tried to pretend he was made of stone while she looked her fill – to not respond in any way. But of course that had been utterly impossible. As soon as her gaze had dipped below his waistband, arousal had spiked through him with such intense fierceness his only recourse had been to force her gaze away from that area before it turned into a bigger and far more obvious problem.
Between the day he’d first met her and now, he had to acknowledge an increased attraction toward her. It was deuced inconvenient of course, but he wasn’t about to deny its existence. Hell, seeing her in that gown she’d worn when he’d dined at her home – the way that silk had hugged her gorgeous figure and allowed him a more daring glimpse of her breasts than ever before – had fed his nightly dreams ever since. At the time, it had also instilled in him a sense of possessiveness he ought not allow himself to feel. It had made him want to cement his position as her fiancé. Even though he wasn’t. Even though he had no right. Even though it was all a charade.
And yet, while he’d begun to suspect a reciprocal pull on her part, he’d not been completely certain until today. Charade or not, Miss Russell desired him, and while that certainly made his whole body hum with delicious expectation, he couldn’t ignore the danger of it. His job was first and foremost to protect her, and since he always took his work seriously, he intended to do precisely that. Which meant he would never be able to act on his baser urges with her. He’d have to guard her against his past, against the demons that chased him wherever he went, and against the darkness that gripped his soul.
An unbidden memory flickered to life before he was able to shut it out. Pain-stricken eyes wide with fear stared back into his. Hands – his hands – gripping the base of a candelabra. His father’s enraged words and his uncle’s shocked voice immediately after. “Christ have mercy on yer soul, James Callanach. Ye’ll hang for this.”
He blinked in response to a softer tone and realized Miss Russell was staring at him, her expression puzzled. “Are you all right?”
A nod was all he could manage just then.
She tilted her head. “Where did you go?”
Air. He sucked it into his lungs and expelled it while keeping his eyes trained on her, anchoring himself in the present. “Nowhere important.”
Was that disappointment he saw on her face? The look was gone before he could figure it out, but at least she wasn’t ignoring him anymore. She tugged on her hand and he realized that he still clasped it while Daisy waited impatiently for them to move so she could get out of the carriage as well.
Muttering an apology, Blayne turned to assist the maid. Moments later, the three of them entered Carlisle & Co. where shattered glass, upended furniture, and scattered items gave evidence of the break-in that had occurred. A blonde woman Blayne hadn’t seen before was crouched in the middle of an office, picking papers up off the floor while Mr. Carlisle offered assistance.
Miss Russell rushed forward.
“Avery,” she exclaimed, drawing the blonde woman’s attention. “I came as quickly as I could.”
Recalling Mr. Carlisle’s mention of his sister’s given name being Avery, Blayne realized this was the woman who’d started the business.
Miss Carlisle stood and accepted the fierce embrace Miss Russell gave her. “I’m so sorry, Charlotte. I should have taken your manuscript home with me. I should have—”
“It’s not your fault,” Miss Russell said with a hasty glance in Blayne’s direction. Turning her back on him, she lowered her voice to a whisper and told Miss Carlisle something he couldn’t hear.
Another secret perhaps? Interesting how Miss Carlisle had referenced Miss Russell’s work as a manuscript. If the raven-haired beauty merely dabbled in observational train of thought musings, wouldn’t they be considered collections?