The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 (24 page)

“Yes, it does,” Bella concurred.

“This is unbelievable,” Logan shook his head. “Who needs investigators when you can rely upon some gossipmonger?”

Victoria nodded. “It appears that certain members of the
ton
have affronted someone who is eager to disclose their secrets. He or she is discreet enough not to mention names, yet if you watch and wait, many times the pieces fall into place.”

“So, it isn’t beyond the realm of possibility that Lord Lawrence is the person Sybil stole from and that his illness may stem from the blade of her knife?” Logan took a hefty swig of his port.

“I am acquainted with Lord Lawrence through his late wife as well as his mother,” Fiona announced with a flourish of her fan, an ostentatious array of silver, gold and crimson brushstrokes in the shape of flames. The more she flicked her wrist, the faster the fire seemed to spark. “I could call upon the Dowager Duchess to see how she and her son are faring.”

“I would join you, of course,” Colin affirmed with a grin.

Fiona bowed her head. “I would expect nothing less from you, my darling boy.”

“We shall join you in London once we are wed,” Logan announced.

After a series of gasps, the room fell silent. Each guest stared at Logan, eyes wide.

“What?” he shrugged. “Arabella and I are betrothed.”

“Of course you are, dear,” Fiona drawled.

Victoria laughed. “Of that we had no doubt. Our astonishment stems from the fact that you are joining us in London. Have you been stricken with fever?”

“Or perhaps overrun with madness?” Colin chimed in.

Logan shot his friend a look of frustration. “Though you are all amusing, Arabella and I must make a grand entrance as husband and wife if we are to garner her sister’s attention and that of the person or persons Sybil has wronged.”

“Well, I can assist you there,” Tristan offered. “I have acquired some properties in London that may be useful.”

“Yes, Tristan has been procuring properties in London at a rapid rate. Just in time, as need is increasing.” Victoria was clearly proud of her husband’s business acumen.

“I can offer you a palatial townhome that would be quite impressive and is presently unoccupied,” Tristan added.

Logan smirked. “We shall take it.”

“Good. Now that this is settled, you must procure a special license.” Victoria turned towards her husband. “Tristan and I know a clergyman, quite discreet, who owes me a favor … he will happily provide said license and preside over the nuptials posthaste.”

“Arthur? Really?” Tristan arched his brown brow.

“Who is Arthur?” Arabella prodded.

Logan shrugged, the name being one he had never before heard.

“Yes, darling … Arthur,” Victoria’s smile failed to reach her voice. She must have noted the quizzical looks aimed at her, for she explained, “He was once Tristan’s driver. However, he has since atoned for his sins and is a clergyman who owes me a rather large favor. He can marry you as soon as we summon him.”

Arabella glanced about the room. “Is this … legal?”

“It matters not,” Fiona drawled. “Our lot is progressive. We beat drums as opposed to marching to them.”

“There isn’t much that deters us,” Eve added holding her glass in a toast to Arabella.

Colin tipped his head towards his wife. “We are facing a formidable threat.”

“Tell that to Keir,” Logan quipped.

Tristan chimed in. “Keir? Please. We have faced worse than that lunatic, have we not?”

The Dowager Viscountess shrugged. “We all have our daemons.”

“Do I want to know the details?” A crease spread across Bella’s forehead.

“No, my dearest girl,” Fiona patted Arabella’s hand. “Just follow our lead.”

Logan met Arabella’s warm gaze, offering her an encouraging smile.

“I couldn’t be in more capable hands.” Her cheeks turned a bright crimson and Logan could read her thoughts for he too, had recounted his hands exploring her body repeatedly.

His fingers twitched just thinking of it.

“Good, now that it is settled, we must make you and your bride London ready.” Victoria placed her napkin upon the immaculate tablecloth.

“What precisely does ‘London ready’ mean?” Logan’s tone dripped with skepticism.

The fact that Colin cleared his throat and avoided his gaze caused Logan to peer about the room. Fiona continued to fan herself while Tristan smiled at his plate.

“What am I missing?” Logan asked.

Colin tapped his fingers on the tablecloth, studying Victoria. “I’m not telling him.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Victoria stood, clearly exasperated as she crossed the room. She positioned herself behind Logan and grabbed his long hair, yanking his head backwards. “You must cut your hair.”

“I will not,” Logan shook his head as much as Victoria’s grasp would allow.

Victoria yanked harder. “Yes, you will.” She stood over him, like a mother lecturing her son on his unkempt appearance.

“I refuse to play the role of a refined gentleman—”

“That is correct. You must exude wealth and power; you must appear formidable, make the rest of the
ton
envious while at the same time intimidating them. In order to succeed, this long mane must go. Your scar will be much more striking and you will look much more menacing without the hair.” Though Victoria’s tone brokered no argument, Logan refused to heed her.

“My ‘mane’ as you refer to it adds to my menacing demeanor,” he insisted, though his argument sounded feeble even to his own ears.

“No, it makes you look eccentric and unstable when you want to project strength and raw masculinity. You want people to know upon first glance that you are shrewd, calculating and dangerous. If it were me, I would want them to wince when I glare at them. If you take my advice, they will, Logan.” Victoria stared down at him, her determined azure eyes unwavering. “Follow my instructions and you will terrify whoever is hunting Arabella.”

“You terrify me,” Logan quipped, though he was only half-joking. This woman was a force to be reckoned with.

Logan knew it.

Victoria knew it.

Hell, the whole room did.

Tristan sniggered. “You aren’t the first person to find my wife formidable.”

“Best not to argue with her, mate,” Colin concurred at last. “She is correct. Trust her. Trust me. I agree with Victoria.”

“Damn it to hell,” Logan sighed.

Fiona laughed, the sound tinkling through the room like bells. “Yes, well. Damned as those in hell may be, we must retain our composure, Logan. This is supper not a drunken stupor at White’s. So, the hair is to be cut.”

The Dowager Viscountess’s announcement rang through the large room, echoing like a clock tolling the hour.

Ironic since time had indeed caught up with Logan. He was losing control of his tight-knit, reclusive life at a rapid rate.

Who was he kidding?

He lost control the moment Arabella wandered onto his grounds. Glancing at his beloved Bella, who studied him, he noted that her eyes sparkled with mischief and she donned an effervescent smile that caused the room to illuminate brighter than any candle or wall sconce.

That look – her response – was all he needed.

He would do anything to keep her safe. Cutting his hair was nothing in comparison to the many acts he would commit to keep his beloved Bella alive.

Listening to the advice of his friends was the least dangerous act he would commit. Hence, he would own his transformation, own who he is, deep inside.

For Arabella.

Everything he did now was for her.

Those who got in his way would be secondary to his prime objective.

Logan would ensure they would never see him approaching.

T
hough Logan’s transformation was ambitious, it was also a complete success. From his hair to his clothes he appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a member of the
haut ton
.

But looks were deceiving.

As Victoria predicted, attire and a haircut only enhanced Logan’s formidable façade. His bronzed skin and scar became more pronounced, as did his square jawline, broad shoulders, and muscular build.

He towered above most men of the
ton
by at least four inches, and seemed to overpower every man he met.

The London dwellers were drawn to Logan’s status and wealth. Add to that his powerful friends, such as Tristan and Victoria who were now known by the title Tristan inherited from his grandfather as the Viscount and Viscountess of Cavendish. Throw the Dowager Viscountess of Haversham into the mix and the Duke and Duchess of Davenport by familial association and Mr. Logan Ambrose was the talk of the town.

As was his new bride.

Arabella married him on a crisp autumn day before his transformation. As with their previous ceremony, they wed outdoors, with the tawny-colored hills and green pines that surrounded them on the grounds of Winterthorne. She mesmerized him in a gown of gold and cream, as resplendent as the sun, which illuminated the proceedings.

Their ceremony was presided upon by a scarred man with tanned skin. Had it not been known that he was a member of the clergy, Logan would have thought the man to be quite the imposing figure, recognizing a kindred spirit.

Truth be told, it mattered not who presided over the proceedings because Logan was more enthralled with his bride than anyone else. Though Colin, Eve, Fiona, Victoria, and Tristan were in attendance, the only person who mattered to Logan was his Bella.

From that day forward, he and Arabella were inseparable with one exception …

When Bella spent time with Victoria.

Logan insisted that Tori teach Bella what to expect from the
ton
. Who better to mentor her, after all, than the very woman who mocked an entire room packed with nobility and survived unscathed?

Of course, Victoria was happy to oblige. She and Bella had rekindled their friendship in very little time. As for Arabella, she was already strong and brave, she simply required someone to prepare her for society. A society whose rules and etiquette she remembered, but whose members she did not. On this, Victoria was the most helpful.

It was essential, since their foe remained an uncertainty. Though they suspected Lord Lawrence, it may be a ruse.

Colin and the Dowager Viscountess had been unable to uncover much about the Lord’s condition. He refused visitors and his mother was tight-lipped. Both Colin and Fiona left the Duke of Atwell’s residence with the distinct impression that there was more to the story, but with no definitive facts.

Tonight would mark a spectacle the likes of which neither Logan nor Arabella had experienced. Up until this night, they had associated with people in small crowds, at minimal functions.

This would be a grand function, both for its size and meaning. They would attend the opera. A large crowd was to be expected, of course, but what was most disconcerting was that Bella would be in attendance.

The identical image of her twin.

In the opera house where Sybil once rehearsed, once performed though in a chorus.

Many in the crowd, men especially, would recognize Arabella by sight though who would misidentify Bella remained to be seen.

Would those chasing Sybil attend this evening’s performance? If so, what would they do? How would they react?

Logan was prepared for anything. He was armed with a pistol, hidden by his jacket, and a dagger in his boot. Colin wore matching attire. Though Logan hadn’t discussed this with Tristan, he knew Victoria’s husband well enough to suspect he had similarly armed himself.

Protect our wives at all costs.

Such was their vow as the men prepared for this evening. They discussed their plans once more in the study of Logan’s townhome as they awaited their wives to come downstairs.

Sitting on leather sofas, Colin next to Logan with Tristan seated in a matching one across the table from them, they reviewed details of tonight’s event while Eve and Victoria were presently helping Arabella dress for the evening ahead.