The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 (16 page)

Logan snapped to attention, meeting her intense stare with one of his own, his eyes, now devoid of the passion they just shared. “I caused you discomfort, love,” his voice was barely audible above the hissing and popping from the fire, his words laced with a hidden meaning.

Sybil cupped his face in her palms. “I don’t understand.”

Leaning forward, Logan kissed her, though this time his lips were gentle, his kisses petal soft and brimming with feeling.

What didn’t she comprehend?

Panic began to rise, its talons piercing her spine, prickling her skin. He wrapped his arms around her, tugging her against his chest.

“If you are as experienced as you are rumored to be, that should not have caused you pain,” he soothed her back in a small, circular motion. “I don’t believe that you are who I believed you to be.”

First she wondered if her reputation was fictional but ruled that out. It would not be the cause of her discomfort.

Then his words began to register.

I longer detest you. Not this you.

You have an identical twin named Arabella.

Bella…

I am Arabella Sutton
.

The reason behind why the name Sybil never felt quite right, never connected with her, never felt like her own became clear.

Because she was Arabella.

Like dense fog lifting within the recesses of her mind, a vision crashed through her veil of confusion. It was a memory of her, sitting on the steps of a bakery, next to Logan. He had been much younger, without any scars marring his tanned features. His clothes were worn, mirroring his poverty.

She was reading to him. No, she was teaching him to read. Encouraging him to read a phrase of poetry to her.

The poem … their poem.

The same poem he read to her tonight.

Arabella placed her cheek against his chest, the steady
tha-thump
of his beating heart a welcome distraction as she summoned the courage to speak.

“
I ask thee, my love…”
her voice cracked, the flood of emotions shaking Arabella to her core. “You read that poem to me once. Before tonight.”

“You remember?” he kissed her hair.

The scene rushed over her, the intensity of her feelings causing her to clutch him tighter.

Did she remember?

What an understatement that would be.

In truth, her heart swelled to the point she thought it would burst at how much she once loved this man. “I remember how much I adored you. I can see us sitting on a stoop, I can hear you reading to me.”

Her vision clouded, tears pooling in her eyes as she met his gaze. “I remember that you loved me, as well. It was evident every time you called me
Bella
.”

A tear traced a path down his cheek. “I loved you very much.”

“What happened to us?” Arabella struggled to navigate through the thick vapor that hid her history with this man.

“I lived for you,” another tear traveled down his cheek. “Until you informed me that I wasn’t good enough for you. You helped remind me of what I already knew.”

This, Arabella did not recall.

“The truth is that I am still not good enough,” Logan smirked. “I’ve done so much since we last spoke, the more abhorrent of my sins being that I just compromised you, on a sofa nonetheless, while believing you to be someone else. True, I thought of you always but still, after all these years … had I known you could ever be capable of wanting me again, I would never have traveled the path I did. I would have lived differently. To be worthy of you, I would have done anything.”

More tears flowed, down his cheeks and hers.

She loved him.

Then and now.

Arabella may not have access to all of her recollections, but she recognized what was in her heart, which now ached at the thought of separating from him ever again.

No, she refused to allow it.

Quite simply, she would not release him. Not now. Not ever.

Leaning forward, she kissed Logan’s cheek, wet with his own tears. The salt lingered on her tongue as she traced a path to his lips.

“Arabella, no,” Logan clutched her arms. “We’ve gone too far. We must end this now.”

Her gaze met his. Reflected in his obsidion eyes, amongst the muted shadows of the dying fire, was remorse intermingled with anguish.

“We are in quite the conundrum,” she placed her palm against his cheek. “Because I love you, even now. Ending this is not logical. It would make us both miserable and I believe you have lived in too much misery since we last sat on that stoop together.”

He exhaled, “If you possessed your memory—”

“I would still say
I love you. Now and always.
And I would apologize for whatever I said previously because the mere thought breaks my heart. I love you.”

Logan’s brow furrowed and she kissed the deep creases. “I love you.” Her lips roved over his smooth cheek. He had shaved before dinner. “I love you.” To his lips, “I—”

He placed his forefinger over her lips. “I love you. More than my life itself.”

Crushing her lips against his, she kissed him. With all the love in her heart, which was now brimming with the possibilities of what was to come.

She began to undulate again.

“Not here,” he whispered.

“Why? It is fitting, is it not, based upon the history between us that I do remember?” She nimbly traced the cleft in his chin with her forefinger. “Here among the poems and hidden love letters, among the stories of adoration, lost love and second chances. Where else would be more appropriate?”

“I can’t think of any place more ideal than where you are,” Logan tucked her hair behind her ears.

A scene, a vivid flash, complete with summer sunshine and white flowers danced within Arabella’s mind. Daisies. A fistful of daisies. She held it like a bouquet. Logan wore his finest shirt for the occasion.

“
I promise to be by your side … now and always
.” Could it be so? “Logan, did we exchange vows?”

Her heart skipped a beat, followed by another as he nodded. “It was informal. It wasn’t legal.”

“But it was real for me,” she whispered. Somehow, even if she didn’t recall everything, on this she remained steadfast. “I can see the sunshine, feel the warmth on my face, and remember the expression on yours. Your smile, brimming with unabashed pride and devotion. You, the memory of you, shines a bright light on my heart, and what I felt.”

A glint sparkled from Logan’s ebony gaze. “It was real for me, as well.”

“The pain – we never—”

“No,” he shook his head.

Since they had already initiated the act when Arabella thought she was a trollop, her inhibitions vanished into the vapor that surrounded her few precious recollections of this man.

The man she loved.

Logan was, for all intents and purposes, her husband. Legality had nothing to do with it. Her heart was forever linked with his. She married him when they were young. Arabella sensed now that she had never been unfaithful. She knew not why or how, just that she believed it to be so.

Seizing his lips in a gentle kiss, she stroked his tongue with hers. Arabella wanted Logan to desire her. She longed for him to want her, need her, as much as she did him.

Shifting his weight, his arms encircled her within his tight embrace as he lifted her then placed her gently upon the sofa, her head resting against a small, square pillow.

“Are you certain?” he asked, his thumb idly caressing her jawline. “We can go upstairs. Or wait.”

“We have waited long enough,” she splayed her palms against his chest. His bronzed flesh was mutilated with more opaque scars.

This man had seen battle. The Dowager Viscountess and Eve had already admitted that fact. Now, Arabella wondered if her rebuff had sent him there. Though she hoped not, her shrill inner voice decried that she indeed was responsible.

What horrors had he endured because of her heartless words? What other lasting wounds and how much torture had he survived?

Tugging Logan towards her, she kissed his chest. Each scar, every injury. Some were circular while others were slashes, some clean others jagged. Arabella suspected that some were from pistols, while others were stab marks.

She kissed them all.

Once her task was complete, Arabella flattened her hand against his chest, noting that the steady rhythm of his heart had begun to race erratically against her palm while a vein pulsated in his neck.

He was attempting to control himself.

For her.

Arabella recognized it. “You won’t hurt me.”

Logan exhaled, studying her beneath his weight.

The beautiful woman he once loved to distraction, the same beloved woman he once believed to be lost and ruined. How did Arabella garner such a sordid reputation when, in the deep recesses of his soul, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she remained pure?

His.

Always his.

Though she had remained his deepest wish, and one of his biggest regrets, Logan never dared to hope that they would be bestowed another chance.

“How I wanted it to be you,” he admitted what had been in his heart since she swooned in his arms. “I wanted it to be you so much that I saw reminders of you and thought I was imagining things.”

Bella traced the cleft in his chin with her thumb. “Your wish has been granted.”

Leaning on his elbow, his eyes roved her face. Her high cheekbones, heart-shaped lips, and hazel eyes that changed color depending upon her mood and surroundings. Now amber, with flecks of gray, her hooded gaze held his for several long moments.

Ever since he found her on his estate, his heart had tried to tell him that this was his Bella. She was so unlike her sister. Yet, he failed to see it. Refused to heed his own infallible intuition.

True, he had his doubts but, regardless, Logan’s conscience screamed in revolt, his abdomen coiling with guilt and … was this apprehension?

Years ago, he had fallen for this woman only to be shunned. Now, he had fallen for her again, believing her to be someone as morally corrupt as he.

Believing that they deserved one another. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

What would Arabella Sutton think of him once she learned the truth? She would despise him, of that he was certain. Because Bella was too good for him.

Yet she was willing to love him again.

Now.

At this moment.

On this night.

Caressing her cheek, he studied her, memorizing her scent, her beauty, her warmth, her beguiling presence. He wanted to remember this moment. No matter what awaited him in the future, he would savor how she looked, felt, tasted as if it were his last, his only, moment with her.

He would always remember how Bella’s blonde waves fanned her face, accentuated with deep tawny strands that glowed among the amber hue cast by the wall sconces and fire still alight in the hearth.

She was bright sunshine, burning through the thick, gray cloud cover on the dreariest of days. She was the first bloom of spring, standing tall amongst the snow-covered grounds. She was everything he remembered and more.

So much more.

He rose to his feet, removing his shirt followed by his breeches. She studied his face the entire time, never daring to look any lower.

Bella’s innocence filled his soul with joy as yet another wall in the stone fortress erected around his heart crumbled to dust. Soon it would be gone. He would lay his heart bare for her, as he had done once before.

He prayed she wouldn’t rebuff him once again.

Though it caused panic to take root in his heart, it was a risk he was willing to take. Because a woman like Bella enters one’s life once if he is fortunate. To be blessed when he deserved no mercy, with this sweet, intelligent, witty, beautiful woman reentering his life a second time … that was extraordinary.

By some form of chance, divine intervention or sheer dumb luck, Logan was so fortunate and taking this risk was worth it for the promise of Arabella. If his heart lay broken again, it would not be from his lack of trying.

Resting beside her, the soft cushions sunk underneath his weight and Arabella’s breathing quickened. Her shift was all but transparent. He hadn’t noticed before but, with the fine fabric stretched above her breasts, her large globes were accentuated. His blood pumped harder in his temples, as his intense thirst for her escalated.

Logan lifted her shift above her knees then began to kiss her leg, his mouth traveling up her thigh, until his lips reached where the garment bunched below her womanhood. He followed course with her other leg, reveling in her breathy gasps and guttural moans.

Arabella’s thighs tensed under his lips.

“Are you certain you wish to continue?” his voice was a hoarse whisper.

Clutching her shift within her fingers, she lifted it higher. It now hovered above her womanhood. “Yes,” she lifted it higher yet, revealing the soft honeyed curls at the outer edge of her feminine core.