Chapter Twenty-Six
T he afternoon sun beamed warm rays through the high windows of the library as Amelia led Mrs. Johnstone and Mrs. Langford into the library. Amelia escorted the ladies through the main corridor, pointing out the shelves designated for various areas of interest. Her heart still sank at the sight of the disarray the vandal had left behind. But thankfully, most of the books appeared to have been left unscathed. With a bit of help, she’d soon have the collection back in order.
“Oh, I must have a better look. I do enjoy a rousing story,” Mrs. Langford said with enthusiasm. She strolled among the shelves while Mrs. Johnstone browsed the collection, pausing to thumb through the pages of a leather-bound volume of Shakespeare’s works.
“What a marvelous collection.” Mrs. Johnstone glanced up to meet Amelia’s gaze. “I shall need to visit the city more often, if only to enjoy these fascinating books.”
Pausing before the art history bookcase, Mrs. Langford scanned the spines of the thick volumes. “’Tis a wonderful place. So much knowledge under one roof.”
Delight bubbled within Amelia. “In truth, I cherish the good company I find in this place even more than the books within these walls.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Johnstone placed the atlas back upon the shelf and surveyed the space. “Now, shall we get to work putting the shelves back into proper shape?” Instantly spotting Amelia’s hesitation, she went on, “Do not regard me as a guest who shouldn’t lift a finger to help. I am kin to Logan, and now I am a friend to ye. And that’s what friends do.”
“Ye’re a wise woman,” Mrs. Langford agreed. “Between the three of us, it won’t take long to put the books in place. Logan and ye have already done much of the work.”
The genuine helpfulness in their voices lifted Amelia’s spirits. “Thank you. I do appreciate your assistance.”
Mrs. Johnstone scooped up a novel the vandal had left under a chair. “Helping ye is also a chance to take a better look at the collection.”
After Amelia instructed the ladies on the organization of the shelves, the trio got to work. Engaging in a robust discussion of their most cherished books, they moved from shelf to shelf, placing the collection back in order. It wasn’t long before they’d arranged the books in the proper cases and were ready to enjoy fresh-brewed tea and conversation. Amelia prepared a pot of piping tea while the ladies relaxed in comfortable wing chairs. Their words flowed like those of old friends Amelia had known for years.
Amelia brought the tea on an enameled tray that had escaped the intruder’s destruction. “I cannot help but be intrigued by the infamous frog in Logan’s past,” she said, unable to tamp down her curiosity regarding the amphibian and the lad who’d grown into the man she was coming to adore. “Care to tell me more?”
Mrs. Langford took a sip of tea and gave her head a little shake. “Ah, the lad was a rascal.”
Mrs. Johnstone shot her a frown. “Polly, ye would not find it so amusing if he’d chosen yer bed for the creature’s hiding place.”
“He rebelled against ye because ye were the one tasked with reining him in. I was not saddled with such a challenge,” Mrs. Langford replied.
“Very true,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “Ye see, Amelia, when my dear sister was taken from us, the boys had no mother in their lives. Their father was too bound by grief to take another wife, so after a time, I came to live with them. By that point, Logan’s brother Ewan was on his way to becoming a man, but Logan was still a mischievous boy. He rebelled against any attempt I made to teach him to be a gentleman.”
“Ye knew nothing of children, much less a boy who’d lost his mum. We both know Maggie doted over him. Why, she spoiled him rotten.” Emotion colored Mrs. Langford’s soft tones. “Don’t forget, ye weren’t much more than a girl yerself. Ye went from a daring life in America to watching over two headstrong lads. But ye did well by those boys.”
“As well as I could. We all did.” Mrs. Johnstone cast her gaze down to her teacup. “All except for the blasted frog, that is.”
Mrs. Langford chuckled. “The ugly little beast was more terrified of ye than ye were of it.”
“I was not terrified of it.” Mrs. Johnstone offered an indignant sniff. “But I certainly did not expect to find a cold, grunting companion beneath my covers.”
“Cold and grunting—ah, that brings my dear departed husband to mind,” Mrs. Langford reminisced, her tone a cross between wistful and cheeky. “But I’d rather talk about yer memories, Elsie. Have ye forgotten the snake?”
Mrs. Johnstone flashed a scowl. “Good heavens, no. If only I could wipe that memory from my mind.”
“Anyone who heard ye scream that night would’ve thought the lad had hidden a cobra between yer sheets,” Mrs. Langford said with a chuckle, clearly enjoying the memory.
“The boy was incorrigible.”
“He had spirit. And he’s turned out to be a fine man.” Mrs. Langford turned to Amelia. “I do believe Logan’s quite taken with ye.”
Amelia choked down the sip of tea she’d just taken. Oh, dear.
“It’s true,” Mrs. Langford went on with a little grin. “Why, I’ve never seen him so besotted. Not since that calculating little—”
Mrs. Johnstone shot her a sharp glance. “I don’t think Amelia needs to hear about that scrawny wench.”
“Please, do go ahead. I’d like to learn more about Logan. About what’s made him... well... him .” Amelia took a little sip of tea, if only to collect her thoughts. “He crashed into my life as unexpectedly as a bolt of lightning. I take it there was a woman he once cared for.”
Mrs. Johnstone nodded, holding her features taut. “Logan adored that girl. But love was not enough for the likes of her.”
“She accepted his proposal, you see. But days before they were to speak their vows, Maeve broke off the engagement. After she left him to wed that pompous arse, all puffed up with his title and his fine house, Logan changed,” Mrs. Langford explained. “He was bitter. And determined to make his fortune, no matter the cost. He sailed to America, then headed west to one heaven-forsaken town after another, taking risk after risk. Until finally, he returned home. His da was ailing then, but after his father’s blessed recovery, Logan left the Highlands behind for another life right here, in London.”
“I did not think he’d ever find it in his heart to care for another woman again.” Mrs. Johnstone’s gaze settled on Amelia. “Not until he met ye.”
Amelia struggled for words. She’d sensed he had experienced a great loss. And now, she was learning the truth. He had loved another woman, only to suffer a crushing betrayal. The thought of his misery cut like a dull blade. Would Logan ever again truly open his heart?
The cheerful ting of the door chimes interrupted the suddenly uncomfortable conversation. For a heartbeat, Amelia was thankful.
Until she saw the visitor who’d strolled through the door.
Cecil Mansfield.
Years had passed since her chance meeting with Mansfield at a museum ball, but there was no mistaking the art dealer. The man displayed both his wealth and his arrogance with each tap of his gleaming silver walking stick against the wood floor. Garbed in a meticulously tailored suit with a cravat of burgundy-hued silk loosely tied at his throat, he plastered a false smile on his face as his piercing gray eyes narrowed in assessment. Why in blazes had he decided to pay her a visit? Her intuition flared into warning. She would not like the answer to her question.
Mansfield greeted her with a perfunctory tip of his hat. “You remember me, do you not, Mrs. Stewart?”
“Of course. Paul was most impressed with your collection.”
Mansfield offered a solemn nod. “Your brother was a brilliant man. I valued his insights.”
“He possessed an incomparable eye for art. Might I ask what brings you here today?”
“You may have heard that I plan to expand my galleries. In light of my past dealings with your brother, I am inclined to offer an arrangement you will find favorable.”
Mrs. Johnstone and Mrs. Langford hiked their brows in unison.
“An arrangement? Of what sort?” Amelia questioned.
“The terms I am prepared to offer are exceedingly favorable. In truth, my solicitors believe I am offering far too much,” he went on without answering her question. “I would not consider such generous terms if I had not held your brother in high esteem.”
“Esteem, is it?” She did not care if he detected the skepticism in her tone.
“Why, of course.” His reply was smooth. Too smooth.
Amelia let out a low breath. “What sort of arrangement do you propose?”
When Mansfield’s gaze flickered to the ladies, Amelia added, “You may speak freely. Surely there’s nothing in your proposal that must be held confidential.”
“I suppose not. It is no secret that I am expanding my galleries. I intend to acquire this building. As you can understand, you will need you to remove your property.” His critical gaze swept over the bookshelves. “The sooner, the better.”
She pulled in a steadying breath. “You are asking me to relocate my library.”
“You may find another space. Or you may toss the dusty books in this place into a bonfire. It makes no difference to me.”
The gall of the man. Amelia squared her shoulders. “I’ve heard quite enough, Mr. Mansfield. I’ll ask you to leave now.”
“Not yet.” His expression cold, he retrieved a sealed document from his pocket and presented it to her. “When you review this offer, you will see I’ve been most generous. But you will vacate these premises by the end of the month.”
“There’s no need to read this.” Holding her chin high, she thrust the envelope back at Mansfield. “I am not going anywhere.”
“I’ve offered enough to make the move, or whatever it is you end up doing, exceedingly profitable.”
Amelia shook her head. “That won’t do. Not at all.” Glancing to Mrs. Johnstone and Mrs. Langford for moral support, she hiked her chin in defiance. “I have no intention of leaving until my right to occupy this property has come to an end.”
“You must be reasonable.” Mansfield toyed with the walking stick, seeming to test its weight against his hand. “I’d hoped we could come to an arrangement without delay. But I am prepared for further negotiations. If need be, I can be very persuasive.”
“I am not interested in your money.”
He flashed a scowl. “As I said, I can be very persuasive. In one way. Or another.”
Amelia marched to the door and held it open. “Please leave.”
Mansfield tapped the silver tip of the stick against his palm. The gesture was not innocent, but a thinly veiled threat.
“I will return. Another time, when I may speak more frankly.” His cold eyes drilled into her. “Mark my words, Mrs. Stewart. You will come to see things my way.”
He crossed the threshold, and Amelia closed the door behind his back, casting aside any care for politeness. The man’s callous tone had left her far more shaken than she’d been willing to show. The click of the latch sliding into place offered some calm for her nerves.
“Who in blazes does the rotter think he is?” Mrs. Johnstone’s tone was as fiery as the look in her eyes.
“Language, Elsie,” Mrs. Langdon chided.
“I would tell the man he’s a rotter to his face,” Mrs. Johnstone said. “I held my tongue for Amelia’s sake. Not for his.”
“He deals in rare works of art. Old Masters, and such,” Amelia said. “As you heard, he’s set his sights on this building for another gallery.”
“The man’s a toad, he is.” Mrs. Langford roamed to the window. Pulling back the curtain, she peeked out into the street. “That must be his carriage. Quite elegant for a reptile.”
“I do believe a toad is an amphibian,” Mrs. Johnstone pointed out.
Mrs. Langford shot her a glare. “Very well, then. It is an elegant coach for an amphibian .”
Smiling despite her frayed nerves, Amelia joined Mrs. Langford at the window. A wiry man perched on the driver’s bench of the elegant brougham waiting within steps of the library. Impatiently, the coach driver tapped his fingers against the seat.
“Cecil Mansfield certainly possesses the funds for such a fine carriage,” Amelia said. “He’s made a fortune selling works by artists who sadly saw little benefit from their talents while they were alive.”
“Isn’t that the way?” Mrs. Johnstone said. “Do not let the weasel trouble ye, Amelia. He will not get the better of you. Logan will set him straight. Ye can wager your last coin on that.”
*
As the clock in Logan’s study chimed the midnight hour, the sound of boot heels in the corridor drifted to Amelia’s ears. Had he returned from the Rogue’s Lair? Or had Caldwell arrived with news? Tension washed over her like an icy wave. Given the nature of Logan’s establishment, he’d spent many a late night at the tavern. But these were not ordinary times. His commitment to watch over her had brought danger to his door. She couldn’t rest until she knew he’d returned.
Marking her place in the novel with a scrap of velvet ribbon, she set the book on the marble-top table and went to see whose footsteps she had heard.
Logan was reaching for the knob as she opened the door. His gaze locked with hers, and then, he smiled. Had he detected her quiet sigh of relief?
“Ye’re up late, Amelia.”
“I became engrossed in quite a riveting tale. Until the sound of a man’s boots thudding against the floor distracted me.”
A hint of a smile played on his full mouth. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think ye were worrying about me.”
“I’ve no cause for worry.” She cupped her palm against his face, lightly drawing the pads of her fingers over the dark stubble edging his jaw. “Now do I?”
“I can take care of myself.” Entering the room and closing the door behind them, he brushed a soft kiss over her cheek. “Ye’ve no worries about that.” His expression turned darker. “I understand ye had a visitor today.”
“A most unpleasant man,” she said. “But I suppose you already know all about it.”
“Not all about it. Only what Finn was able to ferret out of Mansfield’s driver. The man’s a talker when he’s got some whisky in him.”
“There’s something about Cecil Mansfield—something that sets my every nerve on edge.”
Logan’s sable brows rose. “Did he threaten ye?”
“I cannot say that he did. Not directly. But he clearly implied a warning that I should give him what he wants.”
“He’s out to get his hands on the building.”
Amelia nodded. “He plans to use the space to expand his ventures.”
“Do you have any idea why he’s decided to acquire that particular building?”
“He did not explain his reasoning.” Amelia laced her fingers together in a nervous knot. “In time, the man will get what he wants. But I won’t leave until there is no choice. As you know, I made that clear to Mr. Driscoll.”
“If Mansfield returns, send for me. He will soon understand he’s made an error in judgment.”
“He will be back.” She pulled in a steadying breath. “But I am not afraid of him.”
“I meant what I said, Amelia. If the bloke steps one foot in the library again, I want to know. If he gives ye any trouble, he will answer to me.” Logan went to the sideboard, poured sherry into a crystal glass, and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She took a sip, warming her throat, easing the sensation that her nerves had been stretched too tightly.
Logan led her to the settee. She sank down upon the plushly upholstered piece, placed her glass on the marble-topped table, and smoothed out her skirts. He joined her there and took a drink from his glass, leaning back.
He glided his long fingers through her hair and brushed a light kiss over her lips. Searching. Asking. Tempting her to surrender her heart.
“Ah, Amelia, that pretty face of yers could bewitch a man.” His gravel-edged words were a caress.
She sighed against his mouth, the sound filled with wanting she could not deny.
He claimed her lips with a kiss. Tender, yet passionate. Carnal. Nearly primal in its intensity.
“I want ye in my arms, lass. In my bed. Tonight.”
And every night.
Startled by the boldness of her own thoughts, Amelia opened her eyes. Dragging in a low breath, she inhaled his scent, notes of whisky and bergamot blending with the crisp aroma of shaving soap.
Oh, she wanted him. More than she should. Much, much more than was wise.
She needed to keep her head about her. Under no circumstances could she allow herself to be swept away. Not again. But how very glorious it would be to surrender. To her own desires. To her dreams of love. To this man whose touch she craved more with each beat of her heart.
This feels so very right. But I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. How dear would the price be for each delicious night she would spend in his arms?
Gazing down at her, his eyes flashed with questions. “Something is troubling ye.”
“I’ve never been able to hide my emotions.” As she spoke the words, they sounded like a confession. She glanced away, searching for words that could convey the depth of her feelings. She had shared his bed. They had shared desire and passion and pleasure.
If only the pleasure of his touch could be enough.
Deep inside, she knew passion without love would never satisfy the yearning deep within her soul. If only her heart were not so very fragile. Pity she could not build a wall around that most vulnerable part of herself.
“Tell me what’s troubling ye, Amelia.”
She met his gaze. He studied her. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he appeared to search her face, seeking to ferret out the emotions she could not quite disguise. Perhaps it was time she trusted him with the truth. “I am a bit afraid, I suppose.”
“Afraid?” He swept the pad of his thumb over the curve of her cheek, the softest of touches. “No one will hurt ye. Trust me. I will protect ye.”
“I do trust...” The words would not come. He would do everything in his power to protect her life. She knew that now, beyond any doubt. Logan was courageous, a man who would not run from danger. He would honor his promise to watch over her. But protecting her heart was another story, entirely.
I did not think he’d ever find it in his heart to care for another woman again. Mrs. Johnstone’s words whispered in her thoughts. Certainly, he did care for her. But could that ever be enough when every kiss swept her closer to the point of no return? Would Logan ever be able to love her, just as she was falling quite hopelessly for him?
“Don’t worry yer head over that weasel,” he said. “If Mansfield thinks to intimidate ye again, I will set the bloke straight.”
“It’s not that.” She allowed herself a little sigh. “Not entirely, at least.”
“I do have a solution.” Logan tipped up her chin with the tip of his finger. “I’ve been giving this a bit of thought. I know a way to ensure ye will never have a problem with Mansfield or Driscoll again.”
She met his confident gaze. “What do you propose?”
His brow furrowed. Had he noticed how she’d worried her lower lip? “Ye think I mean to threaten the fools, do ye?”
“I certainly hope that is not the case.” She glanced away. “But I have no idea what else you might be planning.”
A smile played on his mouth. “What I have in mind does not involve violence. Or threats.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Ye require a space for yer library.” He paused, as if searching for the right words. “And I have funds to invest. I will acquire the property.”
Amelia felt her eyes go wide even as the question burst from her lips. “You will do what ?”
“I’ll buy the blasted building.” Logan’s eyes gleamed with what looked like triumph. “Driscoll made it clear he’s eager to sell. I’ll have my solicitor look into the matter in the morning.”
Amelia reached for her drink and downed a gulp of sherry. “You believe that is what I want you to do?”
“It is an obvious solution to the problem. Is it not?”
She took another sip. “You do realize that what you are proposing would make you my landlord?”
A sly grin played on his features. “To the contrary, ye will never have to answer to a landlord again. I’ll see to it that the building will be yers, Amelia.”
Her hand suddenly trembling, she set the glass back upon the table. “I do not possess the funds to repay such a sum.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “It goes without saying that I would expect nothing of the sort.”
She struggled for words. “I cannot accept such a... bountiful gift.”
“Amelia, I want to see ye happy.” Gently, he caught her hands in his. “And this... this will make ye happy. Will it not?”
She swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat. How could he possibly think she would want him to acquire a building—of all things—for her benefit? Surely, he did not think she would allow him to provide the flat in which she lived, much less the place which housed her library. Such an act would have been exceedingly generous had they been husband and wife. But they were nothing of the sort. They’d shared a bed, but he’d spoken no words of commitment, no words of love. She did not expect charity from this man. And she certainly would not settle for being this—or any man’s, for that matter—mistress.
“Make me happy?” As she repeated his words, a spark of indignation took hold, flaring into a flame. Her incredulous words poured out before she could hold them back. “Might I ask if you have suffered a blow to the head?”
The confident smile drained from his features. A blend of confusion and indignation flickered in his eyes in its place. “What in Hades do ye mean?”
“I am struggling to understand how you could believe such an extravagant gesture would make me happy. Surely you must know I have no intention of being treated like... like your paramour.”
For a long moment, he regarded her silently. When he spoke, his voice sounded hard as flint. “Ye think that’s my intent? To set ye up as my kept woman?”
“Quite honestly, I don’t know what to think.” She gulped a breath, even as her heart raced. “I would like to think your motives were pure. But I am entirely certain of what everyone would say. Including my friends.”
“For the record, that was not my intent.” The taut set of his jaw eased, just a bit. “I want to protect ye. I want to provide whatever it takes to make ye happy, Amelia. Yer brother is not here. So now, it’s up to me to watch over ye, just as he would’ve wanted.”
Tears she didn’t dare shed prickled the backs of her eyes. “So, I am to believe this idea emerged from your determination to honor a vow?” She sighed. “That it’s not even about me. And you.”
“Of course it’s about ye. And me.” He coiled his long fingers around hers and pressed his lips softly to the back of her hand.
Amelia stared down at the glass, taking in the light reflecting off each delicate cut in the crystal. “I never expected any of this. Days ago, I was living my life, and you were living yours. Our existences are so very different. For years, I’ve sought calm and peace and stability. And now—I feel as though I am wading into the deep.”
“Ye lived a life without passion.” He framed her face in his hands. “Ye cannot lie to me. Ye want me, just as I want ye. I feel it in yer kiss. I feel it in yer touch.”
“I do want you.” Pulling away, she blinked back against the angry tears. “But this doesn’t feel right. What happens when you feel you’ve repaid your debt to Paul? What happens then?”
“What we have doesn’t have a blasted thing to do with any vow.”
Not with any vow.
Not to Paul.
Not to me.
“What precisely is it that we do have, Logan?”
“It’s damned good between us.” He came to his feet, went to the sideboard, and poured whisky into his glass. Slowly, he shook his head, leaving the tumbler as he turned back to her. “I know this, Amelia—I want ye more than I’ve ever wanted a woman in my bloody life.”
She swallowed the last of the sherry in her glass. “And what if that isn’t enough?” She met his eyes. “What if there is... a child?”
“We both know there are precautions.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But in the event a babe is meant to be, I will not turn away from my commitment. Ye can count on that, lass.”
“Commitment?” She fought against the urge to hurl the elegant brandy snifter against the fireplace if only to watch it shatter into bits. Just as her heart was shattering. “How very noble of you. And what if I need more... more than a reassurance that you will act out of honor? What if I need love?”
“Love?” An emotion she could not quite read flickered within the depths of his eyes. Turning his gaze from her, he swept a hand through his hair. “What in blazes could I possibly know about that sentimental rubbish?”
For a moment, she could only stare at him. He’d seemed to transform before her very eyes, the warmth in his expression stripped away.
“Scoff all you wish, but I know that love is not sentimental rubbish .” In her mind’s eye, she pictured her mother and father, and a fresh wave of emotion washed over her. Their bond had been deep and rich and enduring, unbroken until their last breaths. “I know love is quite real.”
“So, is that what ye want from me, lass? My blasted heart? Or is it a band of gold on yer finger that ye’re after?” Logan kept his voice low, his words under tight control. He marched to the window, pulling back a drape to stare into the night. “I cannot do anything about the heart, lass. But the ring can be arranged. That is, if ye truly wish to tie yerself to a man like me for the rest of yer life. What would ye say if I asked ye to marry me?”
She folded her arms and glared at his back. “An hour ago, I might have believed the answer to that question to be ‘Yes.’”
He turned to her, the set of his features unreadable. If her words surprised him, he didn’t betray it. “Did ye, now, Amelia?”
She steeled her spine even as she swallowed her hurt. “Fortunately, you have done an excellent job of ridding me of such foolish notions. Rest assured, I have no intention of becoming your—or any man’s—mistress.”
An icy hardness fell over his features. “In that case, ye can thank me for clearing yer head. Now ye can bide yer time and wait for some high-and-mighty bloke to whisk ye away to his country manor. A beauty like ye should have no trouble enticing some chinless fop to bend down on one knee.”
A hot tear streamed down her cheek. It felt as though it had seared her flesh. “What has made you so cold?”
“A woman like ye doesn’t want to settle for a man who earned his fortune rather than inheriting it. I learned that lesson a very long time ago, Amelia.”
She gulped against the sudden burning in her throat. “I know that someone hurt you.”
Understanding flared in his midnight dark eyes. “Ah, I see. My aunt has seen fit to inform ye about the lass who hardened my heart. She’s warmed to ye. It makes sense she would want to warn ye.”
Amelia shook her head. “It was nothing like that. Quite the opposite, really.”
“Is that so?” He crossed the room, standing near enough to touch her, but he held his hands very still. “Ye’re right that a woman hurt me. At the time, it seemed a betrayal. But now, I see she was right. I could not have given her what she wanted.”
“But I am not her.” She blinked hard, struggling to hold back rebellious tears.
“No, ye’re not, lass.” The faintest hint of a smile curved his mouth. “Ye cannot hide yer feelings. Ye’re not one to make promises to one man while enticing another. The lass I was going to marry found herself a more prosperous match. She returned my ring via a blasted courier. She did not even have enough regard to tell me to my face.”
The lingering pain in his eyes tore at Amelia’s heart. “I am so sorry that happened to you.”
He shrugged. “Looking back, she did me a favor. A cruel turn of fate often turns out for the best.” He grazed his fingers over her cheek, brushing away a teardrop. “Ye’re nothing like her, Amelia. Yer heart is kind. But ye don’t know how to trust a man... a man like me who puts no stock in the stuff of myths and lonely poets and blasted fairy tales.”
With that, he turned and went to the door. The stout panel closed softly behind him, leaving Amelia alone with her thoughts and her bitter tears.