Chapter Thirty
T wo miserable weeks passed before Logan received the message he’d dreaded, the message he’d known would come. A blasted fortnight wasted in a haze of drink and denial, and all the while, he’d struggled to convince himself that he had not made the biggest mistake of his life.
Amelia had not wanted riches. Nor jewels.
She’d wanted the one thing he did not think he could give.
Blasted fool that he was, he’d walked away. He’d turned his back and closed the door behind him.
She’d bared her soul to him. And like a harebrained dolt, he’d left her there, her lower lip quivering as she valiantly fought back tears she was too proud to shed.
All because he couldn’t find the courage to speak the words she needed to hear.
Even though he knew the truth. He’d thought he could wall off his heart. But it was too damned late. He loved Amelia. More than he’d ever loved anything or anyone in his life.
And now, he’d lost her.
Within hours, she would be on a steamship heading away from England. Away from him.
But far more than an ocean would keep them apart. He had hurt her. At the moment when he’d last looked into her eyes, she had struggled not to weep. Now, she’d never forgive him. Not that he could blame her. Bloody hell, he couldn’t even forgive himself.
Why hadn’t he spoken the words she’d longed to hear? Why hadn’t he told her the truth?
When the courier arrived not long after dawn, Finn’s hastily scrawled message had seemed a blow to the gut. Logan had read the note not once, but twice, then crushed the paper into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace. At this point, it didn’t matter. Amelia would depart London that day. Soon, he’d be little more than a memory to her, the dolt who’d let her slip through his fingers.
So why in Hades had he come to the building where Amelia had housed her cherished library, the very place he expected to find her?
He wanted to offer a proper farewell. Or so he tried to convince himself. She deserved that, and so much more.
But that wasn’t the half of it. He wanted to see her again.
No, not wanted. Needed.
If only to burn the image of her coral-rose smile and sapphire eyes into his memory.
Now, standing before the place where he’d first laid eyes on Amelia, he saw Finn emerge from the building, hauling a large steamer trunk down the steps. Spotting Logan, Finn threw him a scowl.
“Logan MacLain, I’d always known ye were a stubborn arse. But I had never taken ye for a blasted fool.”
“Fool, is it?” Logan folded his arms and returned Finn’s glower. “The way I see it, ye’re the one breaking yer back.”
Finn made it to the pavement and deposited the trunk in his spacious coach. “Funny that you mention it—my back, that is.” He stood away from the carriage and rubbed his sides for effect. “It would be better for all of us if ye convinced Amelia to stay. My sore muscles would be most grateful.”
“Ah, it’s good for ye to put them to use for something other than chasing skirts.” A peculiar lump settled in Logan’s gut. “Where is she?”
“She’s gone off with Mrs. Langford for something or other she needs for the voyage. I expect them back within the hour.”
An unfamiliar emotion coursed through Logan, like a poison in his veins. “I see she’s got ye wrapped around her finger.”
“Amelia needed assistance. She couldn’t very well turn to ye, now could she?”
“Not wasting any time, are ye?” Logan gave voice to the peculiar bitterness that had suddenly infused his thoughts.
“If I had the energy, I’d set ye straight on yer arse for saying such a thing.”
“If I find ye’ve any thought of taking advantage of the lass, ye will answer to me.”
Anger flashed in Finn’s eyes. He stalked toward Logan. “Has a blasted horse kicked ye in the head? The lass has eyes for ye and ye alone.”
“It’s not her motives I am questioning.”
“Ye know damned well I would not do such a thing... not to Amelia. She deserves better than a man like me.” Finn scrubbed his hand against his jaw. “Besides, she doesn’t want me. Or any other man, for that matter.” He glared at Logan. “For some confounding reason, the lass wants you.”
“She’s got some blasted fairy tale in her head. The lass wants a bloody poet who will spout sonnets and declarations of love.”
Finn cocked a skeptical brow. “Sonnets? Blast it, MacLain. I’ll be damned if ye’re not the most dunderheaded mule I’ve ever known. Ye’re going to let her leave? Ye’re going to stand here and let her put an ocean between the two of ye?”
“What choice do I have? I can’t give her what she wants. What she deserves.”
“The hell ye can’t.”
“Amelia is a lady. She deserves a gentleman. Not a bloke like me.”
Finn slowly shook his head. “Ye will regret this ’til the end of yer days. The lass loves ye.”
“And I love her.” Logan raked his fingers through his hair. “Which is why I am letting her go.”
Finn stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns. “Don’t try to convince me ye’re being noble. I know better.”
The words plowed into him, but Logan met his cousin’s eyes. Damned if he’d show the bastard he had hit his mark.
“She deserves a better man than me.”
Finn’s scowl eased. “She deserves a man who loves her, ye bloody dolt.”
“In time, she’ll find a respectable gent who can give her the life she wants.” Logan stared down at the ground. “It’s for the best.”
“Ye’re a blasted fool.”
With the words echoing in his ears, Logan turned and marched away. Finn was right. He was a fool. He never should’ve come here. How could he have believed he could simply bid farewell to Amelia, as though the lass had been little more than an acquaintance? When she left, she would take a piece of his heart.
But he’d meant what he had said.
It was for the best.
He stormed through the doors of the Rogue’s Lair, marching straight up to the bar. Murray regarded him silently, his weary eyes saying enough.
“Do not start on me,” Logan said, keeping his tone low and even despite the emotion coursing through him. “Finn said enough.”
Murray shook his head as he wiped down the bar. “Evidently, not enough. If he had, ye wouldn’t still be standing here. Ye’d be doing everything in yer power to stop the lass from sailing off to America.”
“Ye know bloody well why I can’t stop her.”
Murray’s bushy brows knit together. “I know why ye think ye should let her go. I also know ye’re dead wrong.”
“We both know I’m not the man for her.” The words tasted bitter in Logan’s mouth.
“I know someone did ye wrong. But that was a long time ago. Ye need to remember—the lass is nothing like the woman ye’d planned to marry. I’ve seen how Amelia looks at ye. She’s not eyeing a title. Or a fortune. She’s looking at a man—a man who’s a blasted idiot if he stands back and lets her sail out of his life.”
The words slammed into Logan like a blow. “We both know I cannot give Amelia what she needs.”
“And what in blazes is that?” Murray regarded him for a long moment. “Do ye love her?”
Logan knew lying to the man who’d known him since he was a lad was pointless. He’d speak the truth, no matter how it clawed at his chest.
“Yes.”
Murray nodded, confirming he’d already known. “And the lass... she loves ye?”
“I believe she did. Until I walked away.”
The barkeep leaned his elbows on the counter and pinned Logan with his gaze. “Then I’ll ask ye, MacLain—what in hell are ye doing here?”
*
Logan had always believed himself a determined man. When he set his mind to something, he’d see it through, come hell or high water. But now, as he walked through the doors of his townhouse, the quiet of the home assailed him. His housekeeper and his aunt had both gone to see Amelia off on her journey. How oddly silent the house seemed without the pleasant sound of their banter. Each room felt strangely barren. Strangely empty.
Just like his heart.
Without Amelia.
He headed directly to his study and retrieved the velvet-covered box he had stored in his desk. Stashing it in the pocket of his jacket, he turned on his heel and left the house.
By hellfire, he’d been an arse.
But he would set it to rights. He would fix the mess he’d made of things. Her home was not in America. She belonged with a man who loved her more than life itself. Amelia belonged here.
With him .
And now, he’d convince her to stay.