Page 19 of To Bed the Bride
“My name is Logan,” he said. “Logan McKnight. At the moment I’m a guest of Old Ned.”
She took a step back, wishing she knew what to say in response. She should simply leave now while she had the illusion of winning this confrontation.
“Can I offer you some tea, Miss Craig?”
She stared at him. Tea? She should march out of here right this minute and consider herself fortunate not to have to encounter him again.
“Yes,” she heard herself saying. “That would be lovely.”
Had she lost her mind?
Perhaps she wanted to solve the mystery of who, exactly, he was. He hadn’t provided that information. However, it might be considered improper for her to be alone with any man, especially in an isolated cottage. After all, she was engaged to be married.
The thought didn’t cause her to gather up her skirt, say something cutting, and leave the cottage. Instead, all she did was step to the side so that Logan could close the door.
They were standing in what looked like the front room, with three doors leading to other rooms, one of them the kitchen. She was surprised at how spacious the cottage was since from the outside it had looked snug and compact.
A set of traps rested in the corner. A bookcase filled with objects rather than books was beside a sagging sofa. The floor was covered with a faded rug that clashed with the flowered curtains. Everything about the cottage was clean but threadbare.
Logan struck her as the kind of person who would not be concerned with furnishings or clothing. However, he was elegant in a way she couldn’t explain. The cottage didn’t fit him.
“You don’t live here, do you?” she asked, her gaze coming back to him.
He hadn’t moved, but was still looking at her intently. “Why would you say that?” he asked, retrieving the puppy from the basket.
After opening the cottage door, he stepped outside and deposited the puppy on the ground, where Bruce sniffed the grass, a few rocks, and a thistle or two before finally doing what he was supposed to. Looking up at Logan, he gave a happy little bark, then followed him back into the cottage.
“Please be seated,” Logan said, gesturing toward the sofa.
She took the opposite chair instead, since it looked easier to get out of once seated.
He scooped up the puppy and plunked him down in Eleanor’s lap.
“I can’t...” she began, but it was too late; he had already left the room. She and Bruce looked at each other a moment before he yawned once more, circled twice, then made a tight ball of himself and fell asleep.
There was no reason she shouldn’t put him down on the carpet. It was worn and faded, but otherwise looked comfortable. He could just as easily fall asleep there as on her lap.
One hand went to his back, her fingers stroking through the puppy’s thick fur. He made a sound like a sigh. That was certainly no reason to feel a spike of surprise or even pleasure. She hadn’t done anything, merely placed her hand on him, but it was the first time she’d done so with affection.
No, she was not going to feel anything for the animal. She had returned him to his rightful owner, whether he was a shepherd or not. Bruce seemed very contented, however, as if this was the spot he wanted to be above all others.
She sat there for a number of minutes, wondering if Logan was ever coming back. Just when she had decided to put the puppy down on the carpet and seek him out, he entered the room again.
“It’s a temperamental stove. I’ve yet to figure it out,” he said, placing a teapot and two cups down on the table in front of her. “There’s no tray, either,” he added, retreating to the kitchen and returning with a jug of cream and a sugar bowl. Both were chipped, as were the cups.
She didn’t suppose it mattered. She’d never taken tea in a chipped cup, but she wasn’t about to say that to him. He was acting the host and even though it was obvious he didn’t live here, she wouldn’t embarrass him by being a rude guest.
“You never answered me,” she said. “You don’t live here, do you?”
“Nor did you answer me. Why would you say that?”
“The cottage doesn’t seem to fit you,” she said, feeling a little ridiculous by saying something so odd.
“Doesn’t it?”
“No,” she said.
She took the cup he’d poured, and added some sugar to it. He excused himself once more and returned with two spoons, one for her and one for himself. His tea was doctored with cream and a good bit of sugar.
