Chapter Twenty-Five
A melia passed a pleasant morning in Logan’s study, pouring over the morning edition and savoring the quiet. Setting the newspaper aside, she refilled her cup with oolong tea from the silver pot on the sideboard, then relaxed upon a comfortable leather wing chair to take in the editorial pages.
Heathy sauntered in, arrogant as a wolf beneath a full moon, interrupting her peaceful bliss. A bootlace dangled from his mouth. Unfortunately, the leather string was attached to a shoe, the very same boot Logan had previously moved out of the dog’s reach. Or so he’d thought.
Amelia bit back an unladylike word. Drat the luck.
Heathy plopped the boot down upon the Aubusson rug as though it was the spoils of a hunt, sprawled over the carpet, and sank his teeth into the polished leather. If it were possible for a dog to grin, Heathy was doing just that.
“Oh, Heathy, you’re such a naughty boy.”
Drat. Drat. And double drat.
She’d confidently insisted Logan had no worries about her dog’s affinity for shoes. Heathy had certainly proven her wrong.
Ignoring the dog’s whines of protest, Amelia scooped up the boot while debating her next move. Surely Logan would understand. Wouldn’t he? Still, there would be no harm in placing the teeth-marked boot and the bits of well-chewed leather lace out of sight. It wasn’t as if she intended to deceive Logan. Rather, she’d simply delay the inevitable. At some point in the future—well into the future, with any luck—she would find a proper moment to inform him of her dog’s newfound fondness for the taste of leather.
Yes, that’s what she’d do. She would simply wait for the right time.
But before she could stash the boot, the sound of a throat clearing rather purposefully rendered her deliberations moot.
Startled, she whirled about. The shoe nearly fell from her hand when Logan marched through the doorway. A tall, strikingly attractive woman whose dark hair was laced with elegant strands of silver stood by his side. As she met Amelia’s gaze, a trace of a smile danced in her vivid brown eyes.
“No liking for shoes, eh?” Logan calmly took the boot from her hands and examined it. “I’d say these are fresh teeth marks. And I’d wager you are not the one who decided to bite them.”
Relieved by the good humor in his tone, Amelia felt the tension in her shoulders ease. “I am sorry. Heathy never fails to surprise me.”
Logan frowned. “Somehow, the wee beast did not surprise me.”
The brunette cast him a sneaking glance. “Such a pity the dog could not figure a way to conceal a slimy toad within the boot, isn’t it?”
“Actually, it was a frog.” Logan looked as if he were holding back a grin. “The creature was comfortable beneath yer quilt. I never would’ve taken the chance ye’d step on him.”
“Ye were an incorrigible lad,” she said in a tone that sounded rather fond of the memory. “I suspect ye’re still cheeky as they come.”
“And I suspect ye’d be right.” Logan turned to Amelia. “I’d like to introduce ye to my aunt, Mrs. Elsie Johnstone.”
Amelia blinked. So this was the woman Logan summoned, the dragon he’d rather have spent the night in the infamous Tower than call upon for help. Amelia wasn’t quite sure what she had expected, but this elegant woman garbed in a lovely traveling suit was most definitely not what she’d pictured.
“Mrs. Stewart, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Mrs. Johnstone reached down to pet Heathy. “And this spirited dog of yers. I’m quite sure we will get on splendidly.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Amelia said as a delighted Heathy basked in the attention. “And please, I do prefer my given name—Amelia.”
“As you wish.” Mrs. Johnstone’s smile warmed her dark eyes. “The little fellow... what is his name?”
“Heathy. Short for Heathcliff.”
Recognition settled over Mrs. Johnstone’s features. “Ye admire Miss Bronte’s works, do ye?”
“Despite my governess’s valiant efforts to direct my focus to my needlework, I could not tear myself away from Wuthering Heights . I do believe my father regretted obtaining the book for me.”
“Ah, after I read it the first time, I could not banish thoughts of Heathcliff from my mind.” Mrs. Johnstone’s words brimmed with a surprising wistfulness.
“Heathcliff,” Logan commented under his breath. “Poor bastard, with a name like that.”
His aunt cut him a glare. “Yer da saw no point in exposing ye or yer brother to literature. And yer ma, my dear sister, she was more interested in stories of adventure than lovelorn sonnets. But we tried our best to broaden yer minds.”
“I’ve never had a taste for fancy words in a leather-bound tome,” Logan said matter-of factly. “As for an interest in danger-filled tales, ye lived yer own for years.”
“I’ve had my fair share of exploits. There’s no denying that,” Mrs. Johnstone said with a touch of pride. “Don’t go putting it in Amelia’s head that I was a hellion in petticoats.”
Logan grinned. “Petticoats were not yer preferred attire in those days. As I recall, Ma was shocked to see ye wearing trousers.”
Trousers. How very unusual. In her elegant tweed ensemble, Elsie Johnstone seemed more likely to be on her way to a society tea than to be seeking adventure in traditionally masculine attire.
“She worried so over your da’s reaction.” A faint smile played on her mouth. “But when we were young, your mother never wore skirts when she was galavanting about on her beloved Daisy. Why, she stitched her own riding trousers.”
A look Amelia couldn’t quite read fell over Logan’s features. “She did not share that side of herself with her sons.”
“It’s a pity you did not have long with her.” Caring filled his aunt’s eyes. “You were quite young when the cursed fever took her. Your mother had spirit, she did.”
“I do remember that much about her,” Logan said, his tone more subdued than usual.
“Where do ye think ye and Ewan got your thirst for adventure? Certainly not from yer da. Now, do not misunderstand. Yer father was a good man. But he wanted a proper wife. And your ma... she loved him.”
“Aye, that she did,” Logan agreed. “After she died, he was never the same.”
“After that horrible day, I never heard him laugh. Losing yer ma hit him hard.” Mrs. Johnstone turned to Amelia. “Now, enough of these gloomy reminiscences. I’m interested to learn about the library you’ve opened. I’m told it is strictly for female patrons.”
“My library is a place for women to gather, to enjoy stimulating conversation in the company of other ladies.”
“Brilliant,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “I cannot wait to pay a visit.”
“Perhaps I might show you around this afternoon,” Amelia said, pleased at the revelation of a kindred spirit. “I do need to put the place back into order. You see, an intruder vandalized the space. But, thankfully, the collection appears to have escaped significant damage.”
“Mrs. Langford would enjoy driving, I’m sure.” Mrs. Johnstone turned to Logan. “I presume your coach will be available.”
Logan crossed his arms over his chest. “When I sent for ye, the two of ye roaming about the city was not what I had in mind.”
Ah, the arrogance of the man. Amelia met his frown with an overly sweet smile. “Between the three of us, I am confident we will survive a short venture out in the light of day.”
“If anyone dares to try to get to Amelia, they will regret their error.” Mrs. Johnstone tapped the reticule dangling from a thick braided cord at her wrist. “Mr. Remington will see to it.”
“Mr. Remington?” Amelia asked.
“My pistol, dear,” she replied smoothly.
Logan plowed a hand through his hair. “Ye’re sure of this?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Johnstone regarded him with a serenely confident expression. “My derringer holds two bullets. If the first does not do the proper job, the second will finish the task. And ye know I am quite an efficient shot.”
“Ye’ll get no argument from me on that point. But do not take any chances.”
Mrs. Johnstone’s smile reached her eyes. Her irises were as deep and rich a brown as Logan’s. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
“It’s one thing when I’m risking my own neck. But I will not put the lass in danger.” The protectiveness in his eyes stirred a comforting warmth in Amelia’s heart.
Mrs. Johnstone toyed with the intricate silver brooch pinned at her throat. Her brows drew slightly together. “I must say, Logan, this is a side of you I’ve never seen.”
Logan shifted his gaze to Amelia, a thin smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Some things in life are worth protecting. No matter the cost.”