Page 59 of To Bed the Bride
The world disappeared and there was only Logan. Logan, steady and firm, pushing back reality and gifting her with bliss. She held on to him as her head spun, as her blood warmed, and sparks of sensation traveled outward from deep inside.
His lips were firm but soft. His breath was heated. When he tilted his head slightly, her mouth opened beneath his. She’d never known a kiss like this, intrusive yet welcoming, sensual and familiar.
Bruce barked, the sound bringing her back to sanity. Logan stepped back first, keeping his hands on her upper arms to steady her.
The puppy circled them, no doubt because he wanted his liver treats and they were lax in their training. She bent, retrieved the end of his lead, but instead of giving him a command, she turned and headed toward the gate.
She glanced back once to find Logan watching her. She wanted to return to his side and beg him to spirit her away. Or kiss her again until she forgot everything but him.
Instead, she left the park, knowing that the day of reckoning had finally come. They couldn’t meet like this again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Logan finished packing the papers into his valise before returning to his desk. He’d already dismissed Fred for the night, sending his driver to take his secretary home.
This final task was the one he dreaded the most. He needed to write Eleanor.
Tomorrow morning he’d be on his way to Edinburgh. His nephew’s birthday would be in a few days, and that was one of the reasons he was going. The other was to call on his uncle.
Both visits were necessary, and timely as well.
Tomorrow, before he left, he was due to give a speech on taxing units and he couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. The words wouldn’t come. He always wrote his own speeches. Sometimes he conferred with Fred if his secretary had done additional research. Mostly, however, what he said was what he thought. Unfortunately, he was unable to think about anything but Eleanor.
His conscience was screaming at him to do the honorable thing. The time had finally come. No, he should have done this weeks ago but he wanted to keep seeing her. He needed to see her.
Perhaps with a little practice he wouldn’t recall the sight of her face. If he concentrated, he would forget what it had been like to kiss her. He could banish the sound of her laughter given enough hours. Gradually, he’d be able to erase her from his thoughts. Finally she’d become only a fond and distant memory.
Except that he was certain he was lying to himself.
She couldn’t marry Herridge. She couldn’t be anyone’s fiancée. She couldn’t become some other man’s wife.
He should tell her about his uncle. Would she break off her engagement if she learned about his family? If she did he’d forever wonder if she wanted him for himself or for another reason.
He would miss her, more than was wise.
He’d told her things he’d never divulged to another person. He wanted to explain himself, to have Eleanor know him in a basic, elemental way. He wanted her to be so in tune with his thoughts that she could understand what he was thinking. He wanted to be open and direct, holding nothing back. In the past he’d always withheld something of himself, feeling that it was important to maintain his privacy. All that had gone to hell with Eleanor and it shocked him.
Soon she’d be a bride. He might even be invited to her wedding. He would be expected to sit and watch her repeat her vows to a man he detested.
He stared at the blank sheet of stationery for long moments before he finally picked up the pen.
That evening Eleanor spent an hour preparing for a function she and Michael were attending. In addition, Aunt Deborah and Hamilton would be sharing their carriage. Jeremy was off doing whatever Jeremy did during the week, a little gentlemanly gambling with his stepfather’s money or carousing with his friends.
Or perhaps Jeremy led a secret life, not unlike she had recently.
After dinner they were all herded into a drawing room that was enlarged by opening up a second room. There they listened to a succession of women playing the piano. Their hostess introduced a woman with an Italian name who was evidently famous for her operatic voice. For a quarter hour Eleanor managed to sit and pretend an interest in a tale of spurned love in Italian, but the aria was simply a backdrop to her own emotions.
The past few weeks had been the most enjoyable she’d ever spent in London, yet at the same time she’d felt a series of emotions. Some guilt, of course, that she was meeting Logan in secret. Confusion, that she could be so attuned to one man even as she was pulling away from another. Her conscience vied with her wish to be with Logan all the time. Perhaps that’s why she was angry, because she knew it could never happen.
When the entertainment was blessedly over the guests milled around the room, talking. She sat against the wall, listening as two older women made a game of guessing which husband was faithful to his wife and which wife had strayed. Eleanor was surprised at the venom of their comments, then wondered if she would be a target for their speculation after her wedding.
The rest of the evening was as hideous as most social events. When they arrived back at the townhouse she waited until her aunt had left the carriage to address Hamilton, then asked him to go on ahead so that she could speak to Michael.
“What is it, Eleanor?” Michael asked once they were alone in the carriage.
“Will you be a faithful husband, Michael?”
“What kind of question is that, Eleanor?”
