Page 57 of To Bed the Bride
Time seemed to be accelerating, her wedding looming larger each day. Deborah and Daphne were busier than ever planning the ceremony, the parties before and after, and every conceivable celebration of Eleanor’s ascent to countess.
She approached Logan slowly, not wanting to disturb his reverie. Bruce, however, had other ideas, racing to the bench, jumping on it and then on Logan. At first he laughed, and then he corrected Bruce in that calm voice of his.
“Down, boy. Don’t get so excited that you forget your manners. You’re going to be a countess’s dog. You mustn’t forget that.”
She tried to push back the spear of pain his comment caused and greeted him.
“I think he grows at night. When I wake in the morning I half expect him to be another few inches taller.”
“Pretty soon he’ll be the same size as his mother.”
They were talking as if they were strangers again, not two people who’d met every day for weeks, exchanging thoughts and experiences, being direct and honest in a way she’d never experienced with another person.
Had something happened?
She came and sat on the bench, making room for Bruce to sit between them. She carefully gathered her skirt to one side, put her feet together and then her hands, staring at the profusion of leaves blowing across the grass. London never felt as cold as Scotland in the winter. However, she was a Highlander and had grown up tolerating Scottish weather.
Perhaps they could talk about the seasons. Or she could ask about Mr. Disraeli. Or perhaps she should simply remain silent. Yet she’d never been meek and reserved with Logan. She was not going to begin now.
She turned her head to look at him. He was watching her, his eyes giving nothing away.
“Why are you here so early?”
“Because I had a curious need to see you,” he said.
Bruce chose that moment to jump off the bench and attack some errant leaves blowing across the path.
“Why?”
“Damned if I know. I think it has something to do with setting the mood for my day. I find that everything goes better when I’m able to share a little of it with you. Those days when I can’t be here I find myself resenting the press of my business, the same work that used to thrill me, that fascinated me so much that I gave it my life.”
“Don’t say things like that, Logan. I never know how to respond.”
“But don’t you understand, dear girl? You don’t have to say anything at all.”
He hadn’t kissed her after that first day. They had taken care to be proper and cautious around each other but that thrumming awareness was always there, at least on her part.
Now he was saying he felt it, too.
“This is the very last place I should be yet I find myself unable to stay away.”
She should say something, anything, but not one word came to mind. She should stand and leave. Or the best thing would be to say goodbye to him. Their paths had unexpectedly crossed, but he’d been right from the first. London was large enough that they wouldn’t necessarily see each other again.
Her marriage would happen and his career would prosper. Perhaps one day she’d read that he’d married. Or that he’d been elected to an even more important position. Perhaps he’d see the announcement of her first child. Their futures were planned by circumstances and people around them.
“What do you want me to say, Logan?”
“Nothing. You might as well offer an apology for dawn or sunset. You are yourself. I have somehow become attuned to Eleanor Craig to the point that you’re important to me. To my days. To my dreams.”
He studied her, an intense regard that had her wanting to squirm. It was like he had never seen her before or wanted to imprint the sight of her in his mind.
“Should I tell you to run away, Eleanor? That way you would be safe.”
“I’ve always felt safe with you,” she said.
“Ah, but if I told you what I wanted to do, it would frighten you. Perhaps you should escape like the devil himself was on your heels.”
Her stomach felt like it was bobbing up and down. Her hands were shaking and her feet felt strangely cold. Nothing was right on this beautiful morning. Yet everything was. He was saying things he shouldn’t say, but she didn’t silence him. She didn’t lean over and press her fingers against his lips. She didn’t demand that he stop speaking. Nor did she monitor her own words.
