Page 42 of Because You're Mine
Unnerved, Madeline stood and went to the door. “I’ll consult with the chef about luncheon.”
“You can do that later.”
“Would you care for some soup, or some fresh vegetables and a slice of ham—”
“I don’t want to talk about food. I want to know why you’ve stayed so long to take care of me.”
She remained at the doorway, keeping a safe distance between them. “There was no one else to do it.”
“I have an entire staff of servants who could have managed quite well.”
Madeline took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if you would have preferred that.”
“Regardless of what I would have preferred, you’ve been under no obligation to take care of me.” His hand moved in a gesture for her to come to him. “I’d like to hear your reasons for staying. God knows it hasn’t been easy for you.”
Madeline covered her discomfort with a wry smile. “I don’t know how this all happened. I started out trying to seduce you, and instead you nearly expired in my arms.”
“Did you stay out of pity, then?” he asked, his blue eyes locked on hers. “Or do you still harbor hopes of seducing me?”
“No,” she said immediately, flushing. “I wouldn’t…I don’t want that anymore.”
“I should probably feel relieved,” he reflected out loud, although his tone held a distinct shadow of regret. His gaze continued to pin her in place. “I never understood why you were so determined to climb into bed with me.”
Madeline shrugged and cast a desperate glance over her shoulder, longing to flee to the empty hallway behind her. She couldn’t begin to think of how to answer him.
Her distress hardly failed to escape his notice. He stared at her contemplatively, while the silence simmered around them. “At times,” he said slowly, “women have approached me that way because they consider bedding a well-known actor a sort of…trophy. A conquest they could boast to their friends about.”
“Yes,” Madeline said, seizing on the excuse, though nothing could have been further from the truth. “That’s why I wanted you.”
Logan regarded her with a puzzled frown. When he spoke, his voice was softer and more tender than she had ever heard him before. “Little one…don’t you know you’re worth more than that?”
She dropped her gaze, unable to look at him anymore. If she didn’t leave him now, she would weep and howl, and throw herself at him in a way that would embarrass them both. “But we didn’t have an affair,” she said faintly. “There was nothing for either of us to be ashamed of. That’s all that matters.”
Before he could reply, Madeline walked away quickly, pressing a hand to her hot cheek. She knew it was far too late for any kind of intimacy between them. She loved him too much to use him that way.
The only thing left to do now was go back to her former life and assume her position as the Honourable Madeline Matthews.Honourable, she reflected with shame, and sighed. She had failed everyone by embarking on this escapade. Worse, all she wanted was to stay with Logan forever and live as a fallen woman. She was certain that her sisters would never have entertained such wicked thoughts. On the other hand, they had probably never met a man like Logan Scott.
Through bullying persistence, Logan finally had his sickroom fare changed back to his usual fine cuisine. Furthermore, he insisted that Madeline share the evening meal in his suite. It was the first night that he felt well enough to keep his usual hours, instead of falling asleep early as he had done the previous two weeks. Madeline agreed reluctantly, deciding that sometime during the private dinner, she would bring herself to tell him that she was going to leave his estate the next day.
She dressed in her blue cashmere gown, the twilled fabric clinging to her body and making her skin look translucent. Her hair was pulled into a simple knot at the back of her neck, with loose strands curling at her cheeks and nape.
At eight o’clock Madeline entered Logan’s bedroom. He waited for her beside a table laden with candles and silver dishes. Wearing another of his luxurious collection of robes and a pair of fawn-colored trousers, he seemed like a lion at rest in his den. The air was filled with a silken mixture of aromas: soup swirling with leeks and pepper, salmon simmered in wine, poultry dressed with herbs, truffles, and champagne.
Logan’s attentive gaze swept over her as she stood in the pool of candlelight. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said, seating her expertly.
The French dishes prepared by Logan’s private chef were vastly different from the plain English fare Madeline had eaten all her life. She indulged in one heady flavor after another as the staff served themá la russe. In spite of Logan’s amused warnings, Madeline overate during the first two courses, filling herself with the delicious offerings until she was unable to take more than a bite of the salads and desserts that came later in the meal.
“Slowly,” he advised her, his eyes twinkling as he watched her drink thirstily from a glass of French wine. “A hedonist would savor every drop.”
“Hedonist?” Madeline repeated curiously.
“A person devoted entirely to self-indulgence,” Logan said, refilling her glass. “Someone who regards pleasure as a way of life.”
“Is that what you are?” Madeline asked.
“I try to be.”
“But you work so much of the time.”
