Page 43 of Because You're Mine
“For me that’s a pleasure as well.”
Her brow wrinkled. “It seems an odd idea, life being centered around pleasure.”
“What is life supposed to be, then?”
“It’s about duty, and sacrificing for others. And if we’ve been good, our pleasure comes later when we’re rewarded in the hereafter.”
“I’ll take my rewards now.”
“That’s sacrilegious,” Madeline replied, frowning at him.
“Hedonists don’t hold stock in religion. Suffering, self-sacrifice, humility…none of those things would have helped me in my career.”
She remained silent and puzzled, unable to find the flaw in his logic.
“Maddy,” he said softly, and an irresistible laugh was pulled from him as he stared at her. “You’re so damned young.”
“You’re laughing at me,” she chided.
“I’m not. It’s just that you’re a pleasant change from the crowd of degenerates I usually associate with. All your ideals are intact.”
“So are yours.”
“I never had ideals to begin with, sweet. I’ve never believed in pure honesty and kindness—I’d never seen it in anyone. Until you.”
Sickening guilt made Madeline’s stomach turn over. She hadn’t been honest in her dealings with him, and her every act of kindness had sprung from ulterior motives, until the moment she had recognized that she had fallen in love with him. And even then she would have carried out her original plans, except that she was afraid of hurting him and making him even more cynical than he already was.
“What is it?” Logan asked, staring at her keenly, and she realized that her misery was easy for him to read.
“I’m not a kind person, or a good one,” she said in a low voice. “It would be wrong of me to allow you to think otherwise.”
“I have my own opinions on the matter,” he replied, his gaze caressing.
Dessert was brought in, a dish of pears poached in a sauce of red wine and topped with English cream. In between spoonfuls of the sweet, tart confection, Madeline drank from a tiny glass of liqueur. Feeling drowsy from the alcohol, she blinked as she stared at Logan through the veil of candlelight.
“It’s late,” Logan said. “Would you like to retire now?”
Madeline shook her head. She was filled with the bittersweet awareness that this was their last night together.
“What do you want, then?” There was a teasing edge to Logan’s voice. He was relaxed and handsome with the golden light playing over his dark hair, bringing out the rich glints of fire.
“Perhaps you could read to me,” Madeline suggested. They shared a love of literature and philosophy, having previously discussed subjects as diverse as the superiority of Keats over Shelley, and the theories of Plato. To Madeline’s delight, she had discovered many rare and unique books in the mansion’s library, many of them acquired at private auction or presented as gifts from powerful friends.
Logan helped Madeline from her chair and rang for the servants to clear the dishes. He led her to an adjoining room, a private area filled with amber cushions, works of Chinese porcelain, and paintings and bronze moldings on the walls. Sitting before the marble fireplace, Madeline shivered from the pleasant warmth of the blaze. Logan lounged on the floor beside her, leaning an elbow on a velvet pillow as he read fromHenry the Fifth, his voice a quiet rumble. Mesmerized, Madeline only half-heard the words.
She tried to fill her mind with every detail of his face: the shadows of his lashes as he looked down at the volume in his hand, the elegant planes of his cheeks, the shape of his wide mouth. At times he quoted from memory rather than reading, reciting the romantic passages in which Henry wooed Katharine, the daughter of the French king. The words were wry, tender, touched with ironic humor. Suddenly Madeline felt as if she couldn’t stand another moment, listening to entreaties that made her heart ache. The setting was too intimate, the words too close to her own longings.
“Please, no more,” she said breathlessly, just as he reached the line “You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate…”
Logan set down the book. “Why not?”
Madeline shook her head, beginning to rise from the cushions, but he reached out and caught her. He drew her down beside him, running a hand along her stiff body. “Don’t go,” he murmured.
Madeline gasped as Logan pressed her against him. They were matched length to length, and he was so large and solid, his shoulders looming over her. She couldn’t see his face, but she felt the brush of his lips as he whispered close to her ear.
“Sleep in my arms tonight, Maddy.”
The words she had worked for, waited for. Madeline nearly choked on a sudden rush of tears. “I can’t,” she managed to say.
