Because You're Mine (18 page)

“Gladly.” Logan didn't look at Maddy. She no longer existed to him.

“Logan, please,” she whispered. “I can't bear for things to be left like this.”

“Mrs. Beecham will see you out,” he said in a monotone. “Good day, Lord Matthews.” He walked from the room, not conscious of where he was going, only aware that he had to leave at once.

Soon he found himself in his private rooms, fumbling with the door as he locked himself in solitude. He felt as if he were moving underwater. He stood in the center of the room for a long time, not even daring to think. But Madeline's voice echoed through his mind, saying
I love you, Logan…love you…

She was a better actress than he'd ever suspected. She had sounded absolutely sincere. And he had allowed himself to believe it.

His eyes ached in their sockets. Reaching up to clear away an infuriating blur, he felt an insistent trickle down his cheeks. “Christ,” he muttered, while self-hatred washed over him.

He heard a despairing groan, felt the exquisitely textured surface of a Tang-dynasty vase in his hands, and hurled it in no particular direction. His ears were assaulted by the shattering of priceless porcelain. It seemed that the sound unleashed a destructive demon within him. Barely conscious of his actions, he tore a painting from the wall, ripped the fragile creation of canvas and oil, and moved to other objects nearby, his hands demolishing works of glass, wood, and porcelain until he had sunk to his knees, his bloody fists resting on his thighs.

The muffled knocking at the door underscored the vicious pounding in his head. “Mr. Scott! Please won't you answer? Mr. Scott—”

A key grated in the lock, and Logan turned with his features twisted in fury to view the worried faces of Mrs. Beecham and Denis. “Get out,” he said hoarsely.

Shocked and frightened by what they beheld, they retreated at once, leaving him alone with the ruins of his beloved artwork. Logan dropped his head and stared at the floor. He felt something dying inside…all the potential warmth and tenderness that could have transformed his life. He would never be the same. He would never let anyone hurt him again.

“Loagan!” Julia
exclaimed in delight, standing up from the long velvet sofa. Her cheeks were slightly fuller than usual, the remaining vestiges of her pregnancy, but with Julia's active lifestyle, the added pounds would come off soon. The extra weight actually enhanced her beauty, giving her a soft and wholesome appeal that would have affected any man under the age of ninety.

As Julia welcomed him into the Leeds family's parlor, there was a flash of concern on her face, but it was quickly buried in an extravagant smile.

Since the birth of the Leedses' son, two months passed before Logan made the journey from London to the duke's luxurious Warwickshire castle. The ancient honey-colored building had been modified to make it light-filled and comfortable. It was a perfect place to display a magnificent collection of tapestries, paintings, and sculpture that Logan greatly admired. However, the duke's greatest treasures were his wife and two beautiful children…Victoria, the golden-haired daughter who had been born four years earlier, and Christopher, the latest arrival.

“You took your time coming to see the baby,” Julia reproved, gripping his hands firmly.

“I've had to attend to the small matter of running the Capital,” Logan replied, returning the pressure of her hands and letting go at once. He strode to a mahogany cradle ornamented with mountains of embroidered cream linen, and peered at the small occupant. Christopher William, the current Marquess of Savage and future Duke of Leeds, lay sleeping with a miniature thumb tucked in his mouth, his features a near-perfect replica of his father's imposing ones.

Seating herself on the velvet sofa, Julia smiled with pride. “It was thoughtful of you to send so many gifts, and especially to include one for Victoria. Most people never think of the first child in all the fuss over a new baby.”

She reached to the floor, where her daughter played with the gift Logan had sent, a toy theater commissioned to resemble the Capital, complete with little velvet curtains and an elaborate proscenium. A set of tiny dolls had been costumed as the actors, while a collection of backdrops and set pieces had been included.

“Darling,” Julia said to her daughter, “this is Mr. Scott. You remember him, don't you? You must thank him for the lovely gift he sent you.”

Victoria remained on the floor near her mother's skirts, half-hidden in the heavy silk folds as she peered out at Logan.

Having no natural affinity for children, Logan regarded the girl with polite interest but made no attempt to approach her. “Hello, Victoria,” he said with a faint smile.

She was a beautiful child with a mass of blond curls and large blue eyes, her small hands filled with dolls. “Thank you for my toy,” she said shyly, returning his smile with a wary one of her own.

At that moment the Duke of Leeds entered the room. As always, it struck Logan that the man was completely different in private than in public situations. To the outside world Damon presented an aloof mask, while at home with his family he was warm and smiling, cavorting with his daughter in a manner that no one would have believed.

“Papa!” Victoria cried, darting across the room to him, and Damon scooped her up with a soft laugh.

“Hush, imp, or you'll wake the baby. And then I'll have to take you outside and roll you in the snow as punishment.”

The child giggled at the idea and looped her arms around her father's neck. “I'll put a snowball down your collar, Papa.”

“I'll bet you would,” Damon replied ruefully, grinning at his daughter's demure threat. He turned to Logan, his smile fading a degree. “Scott,” he acknowledged in a polite tone. They had never been close and probably never would be. They moved in some of the same social circles, yet they occupied very different worlds. Julia was the only bridge between them, serving as a wife to Damon and a colleague to Logan.

It was no secret that Damon would be pleased if his wife never set foot onstage again, but he tolerated her profession because it made her happy. Logan respected the duke for that, knowing that only a rare man of his position would allow his wife to mix in the disreputable world of the theater.

“A handsome child,” Logan said, nodding toward the sleeping infant. “My congratulations.” Before Damon could acknowledge the compliment, Logan turned to Julia. “When are you coming back to the Capital?”

“When I'm able,” Julia replied, smiling at his abruptness.

Logan glanced at her speculatively. “You look healthy enough to me.”

“Regardless of my wife's condition,” Damon interceded, “the babe is still too young for her to return to London.”

Victoria spoke up with childish curiosity, her expression anxious. “Is he going to take Mama away from us, Papa?”

“Of course not, Tory,” Damon replied, his expression gentling as he regarded the small face so close to his own. “Come, let's visit the new horse in the stables, while Mama explains to Mr. Scott that his theater is not the center of the universe.”

“Don't forget her coat,” Julia called after them, laughing as the pair exited. Her smiling regard turned to Logan, and she indicated a seat nearby. “Old friend,” she said, half in jest, half in earnest, “I was beginning to think you'd forgotten my existence.”

“I told you I've been busy.” Logan sat and stretched out his long legs, casually regarding the tips of his polished shoes. “It's not easy managing the theater without you, much as I hate to admit it.”

Julia bent to gather up the discarded dolls, each of them no longer than one of her fingers. “I'm sorry I couldn't come to you when you had the fever—”

“I wouldn't have wanted you,” he assured her swiftly. “Not at the risk of harming the babe.”

“At any rate, it seemed that you were in capable hands.”

They both fell silent while the subject of Madeline hung between them like a silent specter.

“I've been reading the
Times
,” Julia commented. “The reviews haven't been flattering of late.”

“The critics can go hang themselves,” Logan said. “The theater seats are filled every night. That's all that matters.”

The papers had taken to complaining about what they called a series of blank-souled performances on Logan's part, technically proficient but emotionally bereft. Unfortunately, even he couldn't disagree with their collective opinion. The knack he had always taken for granted—of connecting with the audience, of making them see a play through his eyes—had vanished. He didn't care. He couldn't seem to care about anything now.

Even his keen interest in the company had evaporated, replaced with a sour attitude that seemed to antagonize everyone. The Capital players were resentful of his directions, his sharp manner…for God's sake, even his acting.

“I don't know what you intend when you read the line that way,” Arlyss Barry had actually dared to complain during rehearsal the previous day. “I don't know how my character should react when I can't tell what you're supposed to be feeling.”

“Worry about your own performance,” Logan had snapped, “and I'll take care of mine.”

“But my character—”

“Have your character react any way you like. I don't give a bloody damn.”

And Arlyss had continued the rehearsal with flat, unemotional line readings that fell just short of mimicking his own. Logan had been tempted to fine her, but that might have provoked the entire company into outright rebellion.

Perhaps the atmosphere at the theater would return to normal once Julia came back, with her softening influence and diplomatic ways. Perhaps acting on stage with her would help Logan to rediscover the inner reservoir of emotion he had always tapped for his performances.

Another endless silence passed, and then Julia dared to bring up the subject that lay at the heart of everything. “Any news of Madeline?”

He gave her a guarded look and didn't reply.

“Arlyss told me what little she and the others knew,” Julia murmured, her face compassionate. “I've been able to guess the rest.”

Reluctantly Logan told her the briefest possible version of the story. “It seems that Madeline decided to make herself less attractive to her fiancé by ridding herself of her virginity,” he concluded dryly, “and I was enlisted to help her.”

Julia's turquoise eyes darkened in consternation. Carefully she set aside the collection of dolls. “And the two of you actually…”

Logan spread his hands in a mocking gesture of appeal. “Who was I to resist such charms?”

A frown worked across Julia's brow. “You must not have realized what Maddy had planned until after…” Her voice faded. “Oh, Logan,” she whispered.

“No harm done,” he said, his back stiffening at her sympathy. “Miss Matthews accomplished her objective, and I had a delightful time assisting her. Everyone was satisfied.” As Julia continued to stare at him with searching blue-green eyes, he stood and began to wander around the room as if it were a prison cell.

Most men would have been able to dismiss the matter without difficulty, perhaps even count themselves fortunate to have been given the gift of a beautiful girl's virginity with no obligations. Why, then, was it still twisting him into knots? Why was the knowledge of Madeline's betrayal just as painful—more so—than it had been the day she had left?

Logan was able to fill the daytime hours with work and social commitments, until the thought of Maddy rarely entered his mind. But at night his sleep was broken by dreams of her. She had cared for him so tenderly when he was ill, had fed and bathed and cooled him, and made his suffering bearable. There had never been a need for anyone to take care of him before…and that, more than anything, had made him love her.

The realization that Maddy had only done those things in order to serve her own purposes nearly drove him mad. In the dark hours of evening he silently raged and twisted in his bed until the sheets formed tangled ropes around his legs. Each morning he woke up exhausted and angry, hating himself and everyone who was unfortunate enough to cross his path.

“I don't believe there was any malice in Maddy's actions,” Julia said quietly. “Only the thoughtlessness of a child. It speaks of her innocence that she would have dared to meddle with a man like you—she couldn't possibly have understood what she was doing.”

His hand moved in a silencing gesture. “Enough about her. She's irrelevant to anything we have to discuss.”

“How can you say that when it's obvious that you still haven't recovered from what happened?”

“I don't want to talk about her.”

“Logan, you'll never have any peace until you find some way to forgive Maddy.”

“Mention her name again,” he said softly, “and our partnership is over.” The threat was in deadly earnest.

Suddenly Julia looked every inch a duchess, her nostrils flaring with hauteur. “I don't like your tone.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said with exaggerated courtesy, returning her cool glare.

After a moment Julia's temper died as quickly as it had flared. “When I was her age,” she said, avoiding the use of Madeline's name, “I ran away from my family for a very similar reason. I wanted to escape the plans my father had made for me. I can't blame her for that, and neither should you.”

“I don't. I blame her for being a liar and a manipulator.”

“What's going to happen to her now?”

“I don't care.”

“Of course you care,” Julia replied, staring at his grim profile. “You can't do your work properly, the acting company is nearly in revolt, and the reviewers are tearing you to shreds. You've lost weight, which means you're not eating, and you look as though you're at the end of a week-long hangover. This is far more than wounded pride. From all appearances, your life is falling apart around you.”

There was no hangover. A hangover would come when he stopped drinking, and that wasn't likely to happen for a while. Logan gave Julia a glacier-cold smile. “Nothing is falling apart. Every actor is due for bad reviews at some time during his career. It's merely my turn now. Furthermore, the Capital players will get used to the fact that I'm not going to coddle them any longer. If I've lost weight, it's because I've been doing some extra fencing for an upcoming play. And let me make one thing clear—I
never
loved Madeline. I desired her, I had her, and now I'm finished with her.”

The housemaid's tap on the door was a welcome interruption. She entered the room with a silver tea tray, giving Logan a shy smile as she passed.

“You don't have to be honest with me,” Julia said in a low voice, staring at him with exasperation. “But at least be honest with yourself.”

It was early evening at Somerset Street, and Madeline's heart drummed as she stepped from the carriage,. She stared at Mrs. Florence's house with a mixture of hope and trepidation.

“Shall I tell the driver to bring the bags in?” her maid inquired.

Madeline hesitated before replying. “I don't know if we'll be staying, Norma. Please wait in the carriage for a few minutes while I call on my friend.”

“Yes, miss.”

Madeline smiled at her gratefully. It was only because of the maid's kind and sympathetic nature that she was able to pay a visit to Mrs. Florence. At this moment Madeline was supposed to be arriving at her sister Justine's home for a month-long stay, but thanks to a forged note sent to her sister and a bribe to the family driver, they wouldn't be expected until tomorrow. “Thank you, Norma,” she said quietly. “I don't know how to thank you for keeping this visit to Mrs. Florence a secret. I know the risk you're taking by helping me.”

“I've known you for many years, miss,” Norma replied. “You're a good, kind girl—the best of the Matthews lot, I daresay. It's made all the staff sad to see you so brokenhearted. If talking with your friend will make you better, 'tis worth the risk.” The maid retreated into the carriage, pulling a heavy fur-lined blanket up to her shoulders.

Madeline took care to walk between the thick patches of ice as she approached Mrs. Florence's house. It had been over two months since she had been there, and she had no idea what kind of reception to expect. It wasn't likely that Mrs. Florence would turn Madeline away—she was too gracious for that. Still, Madeline was uneasy as she knocked at the front door.