Chapter 8
Eight
Logan blinked as a shaft of sunlight moved across his eyes, rousing him from the depths of sleep.
Stirring and stretching, he found himself alone in his bed.
The relaxed smile left his face as he wondered for an instant if he had dreamed the previous night.
No, there were faint rust-colored smudges on the sheet…
traces of Madeline’s blood. A wave of tenderness went through him, and he was suddenly eager to hold her, tell her what pleasure she had given him, how much he loved her.
After rolling from the bed, he pulled on a robe and dragged his hands through his rumpled hair.
“Maddy?” he said aloud, striding through the suite.
Her discarded gown was gone from the private sitting room.
Even the pins from her hair had been gathered from the carpet.
Logan reacted with a puzzled smile. Perhaps Maddy had been embarrassed by the signs of their night together and hadn’t wanted to cause gossip among the servants.
But there was no need for such modesty…and furthermore, she wasn’t to go about straightening up rooms like a housemaid.
She was never to lift a finger again; from now on she would live like a queen.
Logan entered the room she had been using. It was oddly bare and pristine, as if she had never been there at all. Frowning, he went to the armoire and opened it. A few of her gowns were missing, as well as her shoes and bonnet.
He didn’t like the suspicions that formed in his mind.
Striding from the suite, he went barefoot to the great staircase.
To his relief, he saw Madeline’s small form in the hallway.
She had paused to exchange a few words with the housekeeper.
Mrs. Beecham wore a disturbed expression as she evidently tried to detain Maddy.
Maddy was dressed in her wool cloak and carrying a bag that must contain her belongings. She was trying to leave him.
Soundlessly he descended the stairs and approached Maddy from behind. Mrs. Beecham’s perturbed gaze flew to his face. Sensing his presence, Maddy turned toward him.
“Good morning,” he said, his hands closing over her shoulders.
He stared into her tense face, noting her pale cheeks and dark-circled eyes.
She looked like she had been through hell.
To his knowledge, no woman had ever worn such an expression after spending the night with him. It was hardly flattering.
Discarding false modesty, he knew he was a skilled lover. His partners had always purred with gratitude the morning after. It had been obvious that Maddy had enjoyed his lovemaking—he was too familiar with the signs of a woman’s pleasure to doubt it. Why did she look so tormented?
Her lips parted and she began to say something, but he interrupted and spoke calmly to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Beecham, see to it that breakfast is prepared.”
“Yes, sir.” Understanding his desire for privacy, the housekeeper left at once.
“I won’t stay—” Maddy began unhappily, and Logan silenced her with a long kiss.
She resisted at first, her body stiff in his arms, her mouth closed.
Logan continued with loving determination, his lips twisting over hers until she shivered and sighed in surrender.
Only when he was assured of her response did he lift his head.
A touch of color had entered her cheeks, but she still wore the same stricken expression as before.
“Maddy,” he said softly, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, “what the hell is going on?”
“I told you I was going to leave.”
Logan stared at her for a long time, while her gaze dropped to the floor.
“You were going to sneak away without a word to me? After what happened last night?” His voice roughened.
“Dammit, I’ve had enough of this.” Ignoring her protests, he took her wrist in a hard grip and pulled her to the nearby parlor.
Closing the door behind them, he held her against his body, his fingers digging into the braids pinned at her nape.
“Maddy,” he said urgently, “it’s never easy for a woman the first time.
I should have been more gentle with you last night—”
“No,” she said, her eyes glittering. “You…you were very gentle.”
“I’ll make it better for you next time.” Gently he nudged her chin with his knuckle. “Come upstairs with me, and I’ll show you how enjoyable it can be. I’ll make you forget any pain you felt—”
“Just let me go,” she choked.
“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
Maddy twisted free of him, backing away to the door. “I can’t stand it when you look at me that way, when I know that soon you’ll hate me…almost as much as I hate myself.”
Perplexed, Logan considered her words. “Is it that you’re ashamed at the idea of being my mistress?
” It was the only explanation that made sense.
The self-loathing on her face, the misery in her eyes…
it must be that she thought it immoral to give herself to a man outside the bonds of marriage.
Filled with tenderness, he crossed the distance between them and cupped her face in his hands.
“Sweet love, would it ease your conscience if we were married?”
Startled, she looked at him with wide eyes. “You would do that for me?”
Logan smiled slightly, his heart beating fast. He hated to put himself at risk—the very word “marriage” sent a chill of apprehension down his spine—but he was no coward.
It had taken him long enough to find a woman he could love.
He wouldn’t shrink from any commitment she required.
“God help me, I told you I’d give you whatever you wanted. ”
An intensely bittersweet expression wrenched her features. “I wish…” she began, and stopped as if her throat had closed.
Before either of them could continue, there was a knock at the parlor door. “Ignore it,” Logan muttered, lowering his mouth to Maddy’s. But the irritating staccato persisted, and Mrs. Beecham’s voice drifted to them.
“Mr. Scott…”
Logan’s head jerked up, and he looked at the closed door in disbelief. The housekeeper knew better than to interrupt him at such a time. “What is it?” he snapped.
“There is a… situation.”
“Unless the house is on fire, don’t bother me with it now.”
“Sir…” Mrs. Beecham persisted uncomfortably.
Logan let go of Maddy with a curse and went to the door, flinging it open. “Is there something you’d like to tell me, Mrs. Beecham?”
The housekeeper squared her shoulders and studiously avoided looking at Maddy. “There is a gentleman waiting in the entrance hall.”
“I have no appointments for today.”
“Yes, sir, but he is in an extremely agitated condition.”
“I don’t care if he has an apoplectic fit on my doorstep. Tell him to come back later.”
Mrs. Beecham looked strained. “Mr. Scott, the visitor identifies himself as Lord Matthews. He claims that he is trying to find his missing daughter. It is his belief that you have her.”
“That I…” Although Logan made no conscious movement, he must have turned to look at Madeline. Her face was in his line of vision…she looked horrified…her lips silently formed the word “no.”
The same word sprang to Logan’s mind. No, not again…
another time that he had found happiness, only to have it crumble.
He didn’t comprehend what was happening, or of what significance the visitor might be.
All he knew was that the look on Madeline’s face forbode an awful discovery, her paleness suddenly covered with the flush of shame.
God, no, he thought desperately, let this be a mistake.
He summoned all his abilities to make his face impassive, while underneath his emotions seethed.
Some rational part of his brain analyzed the situation.
If Maddy was the daughter of Lord Matthews—whoever the hell he was—then she had lied to him, not once but repeatedly.
The only thing left now was to find out just how deep her deception had gone, and for what reason.
“Send him in,” Logan said softly.
As the events unfolded, it seemed to Logan as if he were in some third-rate play. He had been cast as the villain of the piece, while Maddy was the helpless ingenue…and Lord Matthews, the aggrieved father.
Matthews came into the room as if fearing what he might see.
He wore the expression of a man who had entered what he thought was a respectable dwelling, only to discover that it was a house of ill repute.
He was a man in his early forties with an unremarkable face, too short in the chin and round on the sides, and dark hair that had receded far back on his head.
For a moment Logan experienced a twinge of relief at the sight of the man, thinking that he looked like no relation of Maddy’s. However, both father and daughter wore identical expressions of mute accusation and dread as they stared at each other. There was no doubt of Maddy’s identity.
“Madeline, what have you done?” Matthews murmured.
She stood like a statue, except for the small shake of her head, as if she were trying to deny her father’s presence. “I…was coming to you today.”
“You should have come to me a month ago,” Matthews retorted. Attempting to gather his self-control, he turned to Logan. “Mr. Scott, it appears that explanations are in order. You have no idea how sorely I regret meeting under these circumstances.”
“I have some idea,” Logan murmured.
“I am Lord Matthews, of Hampton Bishop. Two days ago I learned that my daughter Madeline has been missing from school for almost a month. I—” He stopped briefly, his face contorting as he glanced at Maddy.
“I should have expected something like this. She is the youngest of my three children, and by far the most willful. Although she is betrothed to Lord Clifton, she had refused to accept my judgment that he is an appropriate husband for her—”
“He’s an old man!” Madeline burst out, and her father turned toward her with a thunderous face.