The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 (17 page)

She released a throaty gasp as Logan kissed her curls, before proceeding upwards. His hands, trailing his lips, which explored her ribcage, followed by her breasts. His teeth nibbled at one of her taut buds and Arabella clutched the fabric tighter. She then lifted it over her head before tossing it aside and threading her fingers in Logan’s hair while his hands and lips explored every supple curve of her body until Bella was writhing beneath him.

His fingers again sought the curls at her womanhood, toying with several as they sprang back in place. His hand traveled lower, where he made certain she was moist and fully prepared for him.

That is when he made love to Bella at long last, entering her with great care as not to cause her pain.

Taking his face within her palms, Arabella gently tugged him towards her and kissed him, her tongue probing for entrance, which he readily granted.

With each thrust, her kisses became more fervent, more demanding, more incessant. His slow, deliberate rhythm was meant to heighten her desire.

Bella wrapped her leg around his, allowing him deeper entry. That is when Logan knew she was prepared for him.

As his thrusts quickened, he could feel her feminine core tighten around his shaft.

Then and only then, after she uttered, “Please” in a guttural moan, did he bring them both to an earth-shattering climax. Intimately joined, they clung to each other as the room became brighter, bursts of colors flashing across his eyes.

Just when Logan thought he had found a pleasure unlike any he’d ever known, Arabella undulated beneath him. Heightening her own climax and sending the room spinning. Together, they rode this wave until, sated and content, they lay in each other’s arms.

“I love you,” Bella whispered. “I don’t know much, but I do know that.”

Her statement, just like their intimate joining, was intense, private, and meant only for him.

Logan embraced her body, now slick with perspiration. “I love you, Arabella,” he whispered against the nape of her neck, kissing the hollow curve. Lingering, his lips continued to kiss the bruises at her neck as his heart began to race.

He willed his panic to subside.

An unknown force was hunting her. He knew not why, only that he would protect Bella. No matter what, he would brave the devil himself for this woman.

No one would harm her.

But that wasn’t his only fear, for Arabella had forsaken him once before. She had pledged her undying devotion only to cast him aside.

This time would be different.

It must be different.

Surely, she wouldn’t change her mind now? They were all but married, were they not? Bound by a pledge they swore years prior and now bound by an intimate joining. One that most would consider scandalous, one that could have conceived a child.

It was possible, if not probable, after all.

As soon as he was certain doing so was safe, Logan would acquire a special license and marry Arabella posthaste. However, that was not an option as long as she was in peril.

Instead, he must trust that Arabella would love him enough this time not to leave him.

Another risk …

This woman was filled with risk, with danger. This woman shook his once predictable and secluded world to the core. But, if any woman was worth such an undertaking, it was Arabella.

Hence, Logan would pray that her affection would be constant. There was no other option, for he adored her and his heart ached at the mere possibility that he may lose her again.

No, he would trust in the woman lying naked and sated in his arms. He had no other choice for, God help him, Logan could no longer live without her.

Not again.

Never again.

Logan would do what he must to ensure that Bella remained his, now and always.

Logan and Arabella lounged on the sofa in the library behind a locked door well into the early hours of the morning. Wrapped in her shawl, which worked quite sufficiently as a blanket, neither slept, each talking. Logan told her what he knew of her – the real her. Arabella, the governess. He decided to refrain from the reputation she had garnered.

Tonight was not the night.

Instead, the conversation steered towards him.

“You sound much different than what I remember,” her tone held a hint of wonder, as did her grin.

“I became proper,” Logan reverted back to his street accent before he explained further. “It took me a great while to learn the proper vernacular and it wasn’t easy. I still use terms like ‘mate’ and ‘love.’ I always will, I fear.”

Arabella’s forefinger traced a path down his neck. “I find that endearing. Besides, it has not impeded you.”

“True,” Logan sighed. “This estate, the privacy it provides, allows me to be myself. With no judgment. Society is far more agreeable if consumed in small doses.”

“What about these?” She traced one of his scars. “Can you tell me about them?”

Although it was a difficult topic for him to discuss, it was far better than the alternatives.

Like her parents’ whereabouts.

Or her employment.

Therefore, he allowed Bella into his private hell, all the while feigning indifference to the torrent of apprehension that prickled against his flesh whenever he discussed his misdeeds.

Pointing to one scar, followed by another, Arabella inquired how and where he received them. She wound her way to a small mark on his temple. Most would not have noticed it. “Was this the war, as well?”

“No,” Logan drawled. “That was the work of a man I refer to as Colin’s insane Scottish stalker. He wanted Colin’s life. Though they weren’t related, Colin was the legal first born by a father who wasn’t his by blood, while the man who gave me that scar was the illegitimate first born of Colin’s fake father.”

“Pardon?” Arabella gaped at him.

Offering her a wry grin, Logan explained. “It is complicated. The man was utterly mad. Set fire to Colin’s Scottish estate, attempted to kill Eve, knocked me unconscious, and shot Colin. I ended up saving the day.”

Her mouth hung agape. “By killing him instead?”

“Keir was attempting to murder Colin at the time,” Logan idly caressed her shoulder with his thumb. “I was justified, I assure you.”

“We have much to catch up on,” she arched her brow, a mischievous glint in her now green-gray eyes.

“That is an understatement, love,” Logan used what was once a term signifying his low birth as a term of endearment.

It held a deeper significance now, for Arabella was indeed his love.

His one and only.

“How did we meet?” she asked as the clock tolled four.

“I was an orphan. I worked as a chimney sweep as a child. I fled the orphanage at the first opportunity and worked the streets as a pickpocket.” Logan’s fingertips stilled in the process of trailing her décolletage. “One day, I attempted to steal from the right person … your father. Instead of calling the authorities, he offered me a way to atone by assisting him at his bakery where your mother gave me food. They insisted I return the following morning, then the next. Once I had proven myself, it became a job. Your father changed my life the day he offered me that kindness.”

Bella grinned. “My parents sound wonderful. I wish I could remember them.”

“I do, as well, for they were remarkable—”

Damn it to hell, Logan had broken his own silent pledge by referring to Arabella’s parents in the past tense. Despite his best efforts to save Bella from this truth, he had given the information away with a reckless disregard.

That was the last thing he wanted.

Logan couldn’t have loved Bella’s parents more if they had been related to him by blood. He mourned the passing of her mother. In truth, he felt as if his guts had been ripped out upon receiving word. His visceral reaction, the searing pain he still felt from the mere memory, caused dread to encompass his once sated soul for he predicted Arabella’s reaction and despised himself for it. Add to that, her father’s demise and he feared for her.

His words lingered, engulfing them in a thick silence.

Arabella’s eyes examined Logan’s.

Searching for … what, precisely?

She had heard him correctly, of that she was certain. He spoke of her parents in the past tense – the realization causing her brow to furrow.

Studying the deeply etched crease in his forehead, and those gently lining his eyes – the same onyx eyes now dim, muted, sorrowful – the truth settled in the pit of her abdomen, causing an emptiness to consume her.

“They are deceased.” It was a statement, not a question, for Arabella knew the answer deep within her heart, which now felt weighted like an anchor. “I suspected it. You mentioned a sister, but no parents. I think I chose to ignore it. As if it would not be true if left unspoken.”

Nodding, Logan’s baritone trembled. “I’m sorry, Bella. Your mother died when you were young. You took me on afterward – her ‘charity child,’ as your father once called me.”

As if reading her thoughts, Logan saved her from having to ask. “Your father died several years ago. I kept in touch with him upon returning from India. His business was faltering and I offered him assistance. He and your family aided me for so long. I owed him that debt.”

“My father refused to accept your help, didn’t he?” Though she knew not how, Arabella predicted her father’s fate with a lucidity that eluded her ever since her encounter with those who wished her dead.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “How did you …?”

Her sudden clarity stemmed from another truth she had uncovered about herself: Arabella was methodical, logical to a fault. Her father’s refusal made the most sense, given the circumstances as they had been provided.

“From what you have revealed, I am a governess. My sister works in the theatre. Neither of us are affluent.” She considered what she understood, assessing memories that lingered just beyond her reach, images and events Arabella couldn’t yet place. “I have a feeling that my father would not have accepted assistance, or what could be considered pity.”

“Your father’s lenders took possession of his business shortly before his death. I attempted to purchase his debts, without him ever knowing, though my attempts failed.”

“Thank you for trying to aid him,” Arabella snuggled her cheek against Logan’s chest. His flesh, his warmth, grounding her. Fortifying her against the emotions swirling within her chest, the current of confusion rushing her veins, the agitation rising with each breath.

There was so much she didn’t remember.

The top of the list was who attacked her, who was still after her and why.

Squeezing her eyes closed, Arabella asked herself – what rekindled her memories?

Sights, sounds, aromas, tastes. Yes, they all stirred emotions within her. Emotions that led to recollections.

Inhaling deeply, she was assailed with the lingering scent of Logan’s cologne. It reminded her of the outdoors. It stirred vivid images of running through the woods, fleeing from those who chased her.

What would happen once she was outside?

Would she remember what occurred and why?

“Walk with me,” Arabella sat upright, clutching the shawl over her breasts. “Now. Before sunrise.”

Concern darkened Logan’s rugged features.

“I need to remember,” Arabella smoothed one of his wrinkles of worry with her thumb. “Your investigators, though qualified, aren’t enough. I must remember what occurred. You found me at night, outside, therefore that is where I must be.”

She kissed Logan’s cheek before reaching for her shift, shrugging into it.

“You must dress first,” he insisted. “Otherwise, you will catch your death of a cold. You are fortunate you did not when you first fled through those woods.”

“Agreed,” Arabella picked up her robe. “Let us hurry. We must head out before the sun rises.”

Pacing the spans of the library as Logan donned his breeches, shirt and boots, Arabella began to tick off what she knew. “I am a governess, last you heard. You know me to be responsible, kind, and loving. Yet, I came to your estate seeking refuge with no memory, wearing my sister’s bracelet. Why?”