When a Scot Ties the Knot (Castles Ever After #3)(59)

He looked at her for a moment. Then he crushed the cheroot into the nearest potted plant. “I’m staying with you.”

In that moment, Maddie wasn’t sure she cared to hear about nineteen new species of Amazonian beetles, either. Perhaps she’d rather find the nearest alcove and make that memory Logan had teased her with. But considering how much trouble he’d gone to, she had to hold up her end of the bargain.

That was the point of the evening, she reminded herself. Trading her dream for his. Logan surely hadn’t forgotten it, and she shouldn’t, either.

They found seats toward the rear of the room.

Logan suffered through the lecture admirably, boring as it must have been for him. Even Maddie’s attention wavered. She was anxious that at any moment Lord Varleigh would call on her to stand and be recognized. The firm press of Logan’s thigh against hers was reassuring. And deliciously distracting.

Her worries, however, proved to be in vain. A smattering of applause let her know that the lecture was over.

Maddie was still in her seat.

“He didna mention you,” Logan muttered. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Maybe he means to acknowledge me later.”

“But it’s over. Everyone’s wandering away.” Before she could stop him, Logan shot to his feet and called, “Lord Varleigh.”

The -people stopped wandering away.

“Yes, Captain MacKenzie? Did you have a question?”

“Just a compliment to offer, my lord.” Logan cleared his throat. “I wanted to congratulate you on the superb quality of these illustrations.”

Lord Varleigh looked him directly in the eye. “Thank you.”

Maddie felt Logan’s immediate flare of anger. He might have dressed in fine clothing and put on suave manners tonight, but he was still a warrior beneath it all, and now his battle instincts had charged to the fore.

Someone was going to get hurt.

“The bastard.”

She tugged on his sleeve, urging him to sit. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. That’s your work on the walls, and he’s stolen all the glory.”

“He deserves to have the attention tonight. He’s the one who traveled to the Amazon.”

“He got on a damned boat. That’s all. And once there, I’ve no doubt he paid a crew of native Amazonians to do all the work. He’s probably stolen from them, too. But you, Maddie . . . You took his ugly, dried--up husks of things and brought them life.” He touched her cheek. Only briefly, as though he didn’t trust himself to be gentle just now. “That’s the most remarkable thing about you, mo chridhe. The way you have of bringing things to life.”

A lump formed in her throat.

Desperate, she pulled him away from the lecture group and into a side room. A small library of some sort.

Lord Varleigh joined them. “Is there some sort of problem, Captain MacKenzie?”

“You know damned well there is.”

“Logan, please,” Maddie murmured.

In concession, Logan moderated his tone from a quiet roar to a steely growl. “You invited her here to be recognized. You offered to introduce her to Mr. Dorning. Now what kind of explanation can you offer to Miss Gracechurch for your behavior?”

Lord Varleigh straightened his waistcoat. “I should still be glad to introduce Miss Gracechurch to my colleagues. That is, provided she assures me that she will remain Miss Gracechurch.”

“What?”

“I need to know,” Varleigh said, “that there is no chance that she will shortly become Mrs. MacKenzie.”

Logan muttered an oath.

“But why should that matter, my lord?” Maddie asked.

“Miss Gracechurch, I cannot, in good conscience, recommend you for a lengthy project if you are to be wed. A wife has obligations to her husband and family, and those duties will supersede your artistic employment.”

“But that is absurd,” she said. “Surely many of your colleagues are married gentlemen, with duties to their families and wives. No one questions their scholarly dedication.”

“Perhaps,” Lord Varleigh said, sliding a condescending glance in Logan’s direction, “if were you married to a gentleman of some social or scholarly standing, that would be a different matter.”

Now it was Maddie’s turn to experience a flare of anger. Never in her life had she struck another person, but she wanted to punch Lord Varleigh in his aristocratic nose.

“Did you just insult Captain MacKenzie?” she said. “I will have you know, he is a highly intelligent man. He reads. Every evening. He even attended university.”

“Mo chridhe.” Logan gently pulled her back. He addressed Lord Varleigh. “Miss Gracechurch will be with you in a moment, my lord.”

After the man quit the room, a silence fell.

Logan began pacing back and forth in the small room. “I told you he wanted you. He probably planned this whole ball as a means of impressing you—-perhaps he even meant to propose to you. Now he’s taking his petty revenge because he’s angry that you’re here with me.”

“Now that’s absurd.”

“Is it?”

“I can’t believe that any man would care enough to go to all that trouble. Not for me.”