Page 60 of Because You're Mine
“I’m not an actor,” she replied stiffly. “I don’t know how convincing I can be. If you expect me to walk into my parents’ home and pretend that I’m happy—”
“That’s exactly what I expect.” There was a discreet knock at the carriage door, the footman ready to assist them, but Logan ignored the sound. “You look like hell,” he said, staring at Madeline’s white, strained face. “Smile. Try to relax.”
“I can’t.” She gave him a glance rife with dread.
As Logan stared into her tense features, it occurred to him that she would belong to him for the rest of her life. Their blood would mingle in the veins of their child. It was paramount to the child, as well as Logan, that no one ever realize the true state of affairs between them. His pride demanded that Madeline look and behave like a woman in love, that she accept his suit with the appearance of gladness.
He cupped her face in his hands and brought his mouth to hers. He kissed her with all his considerable skill, slipping his tongue into her softness, probing and caressing until she responded helplessly. When he lifted his head, she was gasping, her face flushed.
Pulling back, Logan surveyed her dispassionately. “That’s better.”
Helping her out of the carriage, he guided her along the paved circular pathway that led to the front door. The footman had already rushed ahead to knock on the cream-painted panels and announce their arrival. A welcome gust of warm air rushed out from the house’s entryway.
Logan kept his arm around her in a solicitous manner that was guaranteed to shock the Matthewses. Although Madeline knew that his supportive arm was merely for show, she was grateful for it. She wondered how her parents would react to the impending news. Logan Scott lacked the all-important birthrights of aristocratic blood and family inheritances. Furthermore, they had made it clear that a professional man would never be suitable for one of their daughters, even one involved in medicine or the law. An actor was unthinkable.
Both her parents appeared in the entryway with expressions of horrified amazement. Her mother’s aristocratic features were pale, her narrow mouth pinched with outrage. “Madeline, you should be with Justine!”
“There was a change of plans,” Logan replied, stepping forward with a slight bow. “An honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Matthews.”
Madeline winced as her mother gave Logan a deliberate snub, stepping backward and refusing to make any gesture of welcome.
“Mr. Scott,” Lord Matthews said, staring at the pair of them in disbelief, “perhaps we can retire to the parlor, where you may attempt to explain this situation to me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Lord Matthews turned to his daughter with a forbidding glare. “Not you, however. You may go to your room, where you will be dealt with later.”
Madeline began to stutter in protest, and Logan interrupted quietly. “Madeline will stay with us, my lord. Her presence is necessary, as the matter of her future will be discussed.”
“As I once told you, Scott, I will see to my daughter’s future. You are possessed of rather amazing effrontery to come here and interfere with a situation in which you are no longer involved.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, my lord.” Keeping his arm around Madeline, Logan followed the Matthewses into a small parlor filled with straight-backed English furniture made of “plum-pudding” mahogany with swirling yellow and brown wood, and gold upholstery. The only painting in the room was a nondescript English landscape.
Lady Matthews seated herself and indicated for the rest of them to do the same. “Madeline, you may sit over there,” she said crisply, indicating a chair set away from the main grouping of furniture.
Logan felt Madeline stiffen. He caught her cold hand and drew her to a place beside him on a small settee. Glancing at Lady Matthews, he silently challenged her to object. Her nostrils flared, and she gave him an icy glare.
Some would have called Lady Matthews a handsome woman, but she was utterly devoid of warmth, with no softening laugh lines around her eyes or mouth. There were two faint but distinct horizontal creases on her forehead, giving her a pinched and resolute appearance. He guessed that once Lady Matthews made a decision, nothing would cause her to change her mind.
No wonder Madeline had run away from school against their wishes. No wonder she had conceived such a ridiculous plan to thwart the match they had made for her. He could only imagine what sort of man Lord Clifton was. Old, Madeline had said…and no doubt very, very respectable.
“Now, Mr. Scott,” Lord Matthews said, unconsciously smoothing the top of his balding head and the graying hair in the back, “if you would care to enlighten me—how is it that you’ve come here with our daughter? I would ask Madeline herself, but I doubt she is capable of telling the truth.”
Deliberately Logan brushed his thumb over the burning crest of Madeline’s cheek. He took pleasure in Lady Matthews’s gasp of outrage. “Madeline came to inform me of a very significant fact. She felt it was her obligation to let me know before anyone else did.”
“That fact being?” Lord Matthews asked, suddenly sounding suffocated.
Logan fingered a loose curl at Madeline’s temple. “She…we…are expecting a child, sir. According to the doctor, it will be born in June.” He paused to take in their stunned reactions and continued at a measured pace. “Naturally my sense of honor demands that I do the right thing by Madeline and the baby. Therefore I’ve come to ask your blessing—”
“Yoursense of honor?” Lady Matthews broke in, each syllable crackling with outrage. He guessed that if there were a knife in her hand, she would gladly stab him. “After what you’ve done to our daughter, you have the gall to claim that you have a sense of honor?”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Madeline broke in impetuously. She would have said more, but Logan’s hand settled on the back of her neck, squeezing her into silence.
Logan kept his gaze on Lord Matthews while the atmosphere swirled with hostility. “My lord…I believe the situation can be salvaged to everyone’s satisfaction. I give you my word that your daughter will be well taken care of. With your permission, I’ll arrange for an expedient wedding—”
“You’re not fit to marry her,” Lady Matthews burst out. “I spent years training her to be the wife of a man like Lord Clifton, only to have her ruined by a theatrical performer. Now her descent is complete, and she’s nothing more than a—”
“Agnes,” Lord Matthews interrupted brusquely. His wife clamped her mouth shut and regarded Logan with outrage.
