Page 56 of Because You're Mine
Logan shook his head as he stared at the elderly woman. Frail and small she might be, but she possessed an amazing force of will. “You’re a tough old hen,” he said gruffly. “I can almost believe we’re related.”
Mrs. Florence seemed to read his thoughts. Another smile curved her lips. “When you know me a little better, dear boy, you’ll have no doubt of it.” She rose from her chair, leaning on her cane, and Logan automatically moved to assist her. “I’m going home now. Will you be coming with me, Scott?…Or shall you conveniently ignore the mess you’ve helped to create?”
He let go of her with a scowl. The honorable thing, of course, would be to marry Madeline and legitimize the baby. But it was galling—no, outrageous—to be forced into this position. Besides, he had never been a particularly honorable man.
He looked longingly at the brandy bottle, tempted to drink himself into a stupor.
“You’ll have a bald patch if you don’t stop that tugging,” Mrs. Florence said, her voice touched with amusement.
Logan realized that he had reverted to his habit of pulling the front of his hair when distracted. He let go of it with a muttered curse.
“Your pride is hurt because Maddy deceived you,” Mrs. Florence said. “I’m certain it will take a long time for your wounded feelings to heal. But if you could manage to look beyond your own concerns, you would realize that there is a frightened girl who needs your support—”
“I know what my duty is,” he said tersely. “I just don’t know if I can stand to look at her again.”
Mrs. Florence frowned, impatiently tapping her cane on the floor while he went to the dressing table and took a long pull on the brandy bottle. He was filled with the urge to punish Madeline, humiliate her as she had him…and yet the prospect of going to her now nearly made him tremble with anticipation.
“Will you come with me?” Mrs. Florence asked.
He set down the bottle, nodding briefly.
“And will you offer for her?”
“I won’t know until I talk to her,” he growled, fumbling for a fresh shirt. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to change my clothes…withoutan audience.”
Ten
A clockchimed as they entered Mrs. Florence’s house, signaling the arrival of midnight. “Where is she?” Logan asked.
“She needs to rest,” the elderly woman said. “I’ll have the maid show you to another room until a decent hour of the morning—”
“Where is she?” he repeated grimly, preparing to go through the house room by room until he found Madeline.
Mrs. Florence sighed. “Upstairs. The room at the end of the hallway. But I warn you, if you disturb her in any way—”
“I’ll do what I like with her,” he said coolly. “And I don’t expect to be interrupted.”
Rather than look distressed, she rolled her eyes at the bit of theatrics and waved him on his way.
Logan strode alone through the house, which seemed to be filled from floor to ceiling with antique clutter and theater mementos. He ascended the stairs and located Madeline’s room. His chest was taut with anticipation as he clasped the brass doorknob. He felt his blood pumping fast in his veins. The power of his reaction alarmed him…he was tempted to turn and flee…but he couldn’t seem to make himself let go of the doorknob. His hand clenched around the polished metal until it turned hot from his skin.
After a long time, Logan entered the room. The only sound he made was the click of the key turning in the lock. He saw the outline of Madeline’s body on the bed, the loosely braided rope of her hair on the pillow. Her breasts moved in a deep, regular rhythm. Suddenly he was shocked by the vivid memory of how it had felt to have her breathing against him, her naked body clasped to his.
He sat in a chair by the bed, unable to take his eyes from her. After two months of drowning in numbness, it seemed that life was returning to his body. He thought of taking her now, stripping off her gown and entering her before she was fully awake, burying himself in her tender flesh.
For hours he sat with her in the darkness, watching her sleep. The smallest movement she made fascinated him—the way her fingers curled and twitched, the turn of her head on the pillow. There had been so many women in his life—erotic, talented, passionate women…and yet none of them had ever affected him as she did.
He was glad that her condition made it necessary for an expedient wedding. Having her at his convenience would be worth the mockery he would have to endure once all of London became aware that he had been “caught.” No doubt he would be the subject of many a caricaturist, portrayed as a meek bull with a ring through his nose, being led by a pregnant shepherdess…no, the jeers would be even more fiendish than that. People loved to poke fun at public figures, and he was a highly visible target.
He thought of what his friends would say, especially Andrew, and made an involuntary sound of discomfort. Andrew would take great amusement in the situation, merciless bastard that he was. Before Logan could dwell on the subject of Andrew, Rochester, and the question of his parentage, the small figure on the bed began to move. It was morning.
Although Logan remained silent, Maddy quickly became aware that someone was in the room with her. Her breathing changed, and she rolled toward him with, a sleepy murmur. The kitten-sound reverberated through him, making him hard and excited, and most of all resentful. He had discounted his love for her as a temporary madness…but it seemed that she still had the same power over him. He craved her physically and, what was worse, emotionally. She had made him lose the easy detachment that had always kept him safe. He would never again hold himself aloof and superior to others. Madeline had shown him that he was all too human, and therefore vulnerable. He intended to punish her for that, in ways too numerous to count.
Madeline’s amber eyes opened, and she stared at him in bewilderment. He waited until he saw the recognition on her face, and only then did he move, crouching over her on the bed, pinning her in place.
Madeline caught her breath as she felt Logan strip back the sheets, revealing her meagerly clad body, the hem of her nightgown having crept to the tops of her thighs. His hot blue gaze moved over her shrinking body, and that, combined with the cold air in the room, made her nipples harden. Her mind reeled, and she wondered frantically if she were dreaming. How had he known to come here? It must be that Mrs. Florence had told him.
His gaze raked over her breasts, noting the shallow rise and fall of her breathing. His large hand moved to one gentle mound, fingertips plucking gently at the tender point, stimulating her through the thin cloth until she fought to suppress a moan. His fingers wrapped around her breast, tightening in a grip that was almost painful. Too stunned to speak, Madeline watched his blue eyes narrow to bright slashes.
