The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 (40 page)

Arabella and Logan studied their beautiful little girl, Logan resting beside his wife in their bed, cradling their daughter in a warm blanket.

The baby had wispy, raven-colored hair, wide eyes, and chubby cheeks while her heart-shaped lips were pursed in an adorable pout.

“Look at her, Logan,” Bella held their daughter’s fingers. “She is perfect.”

Perfection.

Logan’s daughter and wife.

His life was sheer bliss. His conscience content, his heart brimming with adoration, with gratitude and acceptance.

His path, that same winding road he had chosen years ago, the same path that led him to Winterthorne as a bruised and injured soul, led him here … to this moment, with his family.

There was no place he would rather be.

After many years of contemplation and self-reproach, Logan finally understood his destiny. He was supposed to live, to transform, and find happiness within these imposing walls.

He was, now and in the future, a man truly worthy of the treasured life he had been blessed with.

“What are you thinking?” his wife asked, her lips curled into a contented smile.

“That I love you both, with everything I am, with all I ever will be,” he kissed his daughter on her forehead.

Arabella rested her head on his shoulder. “We love you, Logan.”

Their daughter, alert, studying her parents with a surprisingly attentive stare, grinned. That was all the proof he needed.

His ladies loved him.

Moreover, he adored them to no end.

For the first time in his life, Logan knew serenity. The kind that came from a wife and daughter whom he cherished with his whole heart.

He also knew a bliss that had no bounds.

Sinners could be reformed and rewarded. Logan was living proof. He would thank God every day for the beautiful life he’d been entrusted with.

L
ogan and Arabella watched as their little girl slept soundly. Who would have predicted that Winterthorne would ever be decorated in so much pink or that Logan would not have it any other way.

Daisy, named after the beautiful blooms that symbolized so much for Logan and Arabella, smiled in her sleep, causing her parents to watch in wonder as the cherished child drew tiny breaths in rapid succession.

“What does she dream of?” Bella’s tone took on a dreamy quality, as it always did when she discussed their daughter.

Logan slid his arm around his wife’s waist. Though she wore her shift and a light robe, Logan could nevertheless feel her heat radiating through the light garments. It grounded him and filled his heart with gratitude, as did their daughter, their extended families, their time together, their lives – rich and full of devotion, humor and comfort.

As time ticked by, Logan was grateful for every exquisite minute that passed.

“My guess, and this is only speculation mind you, is that our daughter dreams of Wolfie,” he whispered in Arabella’s ear, careful not to wake the babe.

Bella stifled a giggle, her eyes scanning the room for the large, gray, stuffed animal in the shape of a wolf donning two boas around his neck perched at the opposite side of the room. “He towers over the rest. I must admit that I feel sorry for all of Daisy’s other animals, for Fiona topped herself with that wolf.”

Indeed, the Dowager Viscountess had done precisely that. In a nursery overrun with fluffy creatures in various colors and sizes, none matched the tall, gray wolf with its feather boas in a strikingly bright pink mixed with the golden hue of summer sunshine.

It brought a smile to Logan’s face every time he viewed it.

“I am still surprised that Fiona decided upon the name Wolfie,” Arabella murmured. “I expected something less literal.”

After kissing his wife’s curls, Logan replied. “Fiona felt it best to keep his name simple. We discussed her decision in greater detail the last time she visited. Her precise words, and I quote, were as follows: ‘They are such complex creatures. Simplicity is best. Besides, the dear creature smiled when I called him Wolfie so, it was settled.’ ”

Arabella turned, wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck before smothering her laugh against his collar. “I am going to wake Daisy if you continue to amuse me.”

“I can amuse you in our suite, if you prefer,” Logan nipped his wife’s earlobe.

Arabella kissed his cheek, her lips soft and gentle. “That sounds heavenly.”

As they reached their suite across the hall from the nursery, Logan watched as Daisy’s nanny entered the room to check on the baby. He closed the door to their suite of rooms.

“Our nanny is almost as smitten with our daughter as we are,” he quipped.

Arabella smiled as Logan followed her into their cozy library, one of Winterthorne’s many unique facets that he adored. As had become their nightly ritual, Arabella and Logan settled on the soft velvet settee, across from the warm flames dancing in the hearth.

“Who can blame Nanny? Our daughter is precious.” Arabella placed her legs on Logan’s lap and he began to massage her bare feet.

They were cool to the touch. Why did his wife insist on walking barefoot when her feet were so cold?

It was one of the many mysteries of Bella …

He would take his time discovering every intricate facet that made his beloved Bella the woman he loved.

They had forever.

Logan planned to savor every moment.

Now and always … it had come to pass.

“Yes, our daughter is precious,” Logan continued his massage. “Just like her mother.”

Arabella offered him a luminescent smile.

He felt as if he’d been kissed by the sun, bright and mesmerizing … his wife. Full of love and a resplendent light that no one could match.

“Oh!” she sat upright and lifted a small leather bound volume from the table beside them. “You will never guess what I have uncovered.”

Her gaze danced with a mischievous glint, the amber flecks reminding him of liquid fire.

Holding the volume in her palm, Bella offered it to him. “My gift to you.”

“I thought our precious little girl sleeping across the hall was my gift,” he released her feet with reluctance.

“She is,” Bella bridged the distance between them, laying her cheek on his shoulder. “As am I. But this—”

His wife placed the small tome on his lap. “This has been my pursuit for ages. Discovering what happened between Mr. Winterton and his ladylove. At long last, I am happy to report that I have solved our Mr. Winterton mystery.”

Logan studied the hymnal before him, his fingers gently exploring the preserved leather. “This volume is in much better condition than the one in the downstairs library.”

“I dare to surmise that it was lovingly maintained,” there was a smile, a hint of wonder, in her cadence.

Logan studied the spine where “CHURCH SERVICES HYMNS”
was typeset in gold, though not as faded as its matching hymnal. The identical intricate bronze latch also appeared to be in good shape for a volume so old.

With care, Logan released the latch with a faint
click
. The tome released a musty scent, the essence of all antique volumes encompassing the impressions of ink and pages filled with characters and stories. In this case, with hymns of devotion, faith and sacrifice.

Written in pencil on the interior of the front cover was
Mr. and Mrs. Winterton
. “So, his grand love said ‘yes.’ ”

Two strangers, former inhabitants of this centuries old estate whom Logan had never met had found love with one another.

Much like he and Bella.

Why relief surged through Logan’s veins at the Winterton reveal, he knew not, but it did.

“It gets better,” Arabella placed her hand on his chest. “Turn the page.”

As he did, the spine released a soft crackle. That is when Logan saw it. A sketch. Of a man and a woman on their wedding day. She held the hymnal and one single violet.

“Mr. and Mrs. W., I presume?” Logan’s breath hitched in his throat at the sight of the sketch, a glimpse of history, one of the many secrets Winterthorne lovingly preserved. The couple were smiling, unlike most depicted in sketches. Such was society’s constraints. Show very little emotion in public. “I see the Wintertons were unconventional, as well.”

“Indeed they were. I believe the fact that you acquired Winterthorne is fitting. I like to think that the its former residents would approve.”

Logan inhaled and noted that his wife wore a different scent this evening.

Gardenia.

Another mystery to be uncovered.

“Somehow, I think the Wintertons would approve, as well. They loved and would want their estate to flourish under the protective care of those with full hearts and an abundance of love for one another.”

“I agree.” Arabella’s palm roved up his shirtfront.

Logan caught it with his free hand. “Not so fast. As it turns out, I have a gift for you.”

Bella bolted upright with a hearty giggle. “Truly? What is it?”

Her excitement was one of the many things that made his wife so incredibly exquisite.

Logan reached under his settee cushion and handed his wife a leather bound journal with a red ribbon tied in a bow. “Your very own journal. So you can chronicle whatever you wish – poetry, our lives, the what matters not, since I have every faith that you will come up with something magnificent and uniquely your own. I just thought it was time that we filled Winterthorne with our own stories and memories.”

“I love it,” she clutched the journal to her heart. Bella kissed her husband. “I love you. Now and always.”

Six words.

Twenty letters.

Infinite possibilities.

In a dark, brooding estate secluded from the outside world, Logan Ambrose had found the family he always yearned for, the love he once thought lost, and the life he never dared to hope for.

Logan Ambrose … orphan, chimney sweep, pickpocket, baker, soldier, mercenary, businessman, friend, partner, husband and father.

Out of all the titles that had been used to describe him over the course of his tortured life, only two mattered …

Husband and father.

Three words.

Sixteen letters.

Encompassing more than all of his accomplishments combined.

He once thought of his scar as a map of his sins.

Now he saw it as a map leading to his wife and daughter, his magnificent life brimming with meaning.

With Bella and their dearest Daisy, his heart had at least tripled in size, filled with love and a life he would cherish every moment of every day.

He could ask for nothing more, would ask for nothing more, because his charmed existence was pure perfection.

It was much more than he ever thought possible.

It was so much more than he deserved.

Yet, it belonged to him nevertheless.

Studying his wife, Logan caressed her cheek certain that somewhere, Charles and Anna Sutton were happy for Arabella and Logan.

Logan would always cherish them, their kindness and generosity and the treasure they created …

Arabella.

One word.

Eight letters.

A woman with grace and generosity, whose love redefined his life, who brought him happiness, and a contentment he never knew was possible.

In her, Logan uncovered his home and his heart.

It belonged with his wife and child.

Now and always.

Read other titles by Tracy Goodwin