Page 54 of Because You're Mine
“Enough!” Logan dropped the face towel and headed to the door. “When I return, I want to find my dressing room empty.”
“Do you think you’re the only one who’s been hurt?” she asked crisply. “You’re an arrogant young cur!”
“And you’re a meddling old bitch,” he responded evenly. “Good evening, madam.”
Mrs. Florence seemed amused rather than outraged by the insult. “I have information that is of great significance to you, Scott. Refuse to hear me out, and you’ll regret it someday.”
Logan stopped at the door with a sneer. “I’ll take my chances.”
Mrs. Florence folded both hands over the head of her cane and regarded him with blinking eyes. “Madeline is expecting your child. Does that mean anything to you?” She watched him keenly in the ensuing silence, seeming to relish the upheaval she had caused.
Logan fixed his gaze on the wall. The beating of his heart became unnaturally loud. It must be a lie, something Madeline had concocted to manipulate him further.
He shook his head blindly. “No. It means nothing.”
“I see.” The elderly woman regarded him with piercing eyes. “You know what will happen to Maddy. In a family such as hers, the only recourse is for her to have the baby in secret, and give it away to strangers. Either that, or she’ll have to leave her parents and make her own way in the world, providing for herself and the child as best she can. I can’t think you would be pleased by either option.”
He forced himself to shrug. “Let her do as she wishes.”
Mrs. Florence clucked softly. “You would deny all responsibility to Maddy and her baby?”
“Yes.”
Her expression took on an edge of contempt. “It seems you’re no different from your father.”
Logan’s shock gave way to a spurt of baffled rage. “How the hell do you know Paul Jennings?”
One of her hands lifted from the cane, and she gestured to him. “Come here, Scott. I wish to show you something.”
“Go to hell!”
Shaking her head over his stubbornness, she opened her reticule and unearthed a small green-lacquered box. “It’s a gift…a piece of your past. I assure you, I have no reason to deceive you. Come take a look. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
“You have nothing to do with my bloody past.”
“I have everything to do with it,” she replied. “The Jennings weren’t your real parents, you see. You were given to them because your mother died in childbirth, and your father disclaimed responsibility for you.”
He stared at her as if she were mad.
“There’s no need to look at me that way,” Mrs. Florence said with a slight smile. “I’m in full possession of my senses.”
Slowly he walked toward her, while uneasiness spread inside him. “Show me your damned trinket.”
Carefully she extracted a pair of gold-framed miniatures and placed one in his palm. The subject was a little girl not much older than Julia’s daughter Victoria. She was a pretty child with a pink bonnet tied over her long red curls. Logan stared stonily at the tiny painting and gave it back without comment.
“You don’t see it?” the elderly woman asked, and gave him the next one. “Perhaps this will prove more illuminating.”
Logan stared at a lovely young woman, her features strong but finely proportioned, her luxuriant hair darkened to auburn and pulled to the crown of her head in a mass of curls. Her expression was confident and flirtatious, with intense blue eyes that seemed to stare directly into his. As he examined the miniature, he realized that it was a feminine version of his own face.
“You want me to admit there’s a resemblance,” Logan muttered. “Very well, I see it.”
“She was your mother,” Mrs. Florence said gently, taking back the miniature. “Her name was Elizabeth.”
“My mother was—is—Mary Jennings.”
“Then tell me which of your so-called parents you favor. Tell me which of your siblings is most like you. None of them, I’ll wager. Dear boy, you don’t belong in that family. You were never a part of it. You are my daughter’s illegitimate child—my grandson. Perhaps you don’t want to accept the truth, but in your heart you must recognize it.”
He reacted with a contemptuous laugh. “I’ll need a hell of a lot more proof than a set of miniatures, madam.”
