Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(100)

Logan took his gaze from the empty doorway and sent Andrew a glance rife with hatred. “If you laid one filthy finger on her—”

“My God,” Andrew said, shaking his head, “you can't possibly think I'm capable of seducing your wife—or any woman, for that matter—in this condition. I have more pressing matters to worry about. Besides, she wouldn't tolerate my advances. She's not like Olivia.”

“I'll kill you if I ever find you alone with her again.”

“You're a bigger fool than I am,” Andrew observed, sitting and rubbing his aching head. “I didn't think it possible, but you are. You've actually found a woman who loves you, though I can't fathom how or why, and you have no damn idea of how to react.”

Logan regarded him icily. “You're drunk, Andrew.”

“Of course I am. It's the only time I can bring myself to tell the truth.”

“I'll be damned if I'll discuss my wife with you.”

“You're damned anyway, brother—you're a Drake. Eventually you'll manage to drive away everyone who cares about you. The Drakes are solitary creatures. We destroy anyone who dares to get too close. We have contempt for the poor idiots who try to love us. It happened to your mother, and it's happening now to your wife.”

Logan stared at his half brother in stunned silence. Denial seethed inside him. “I'm not like him,” he said in a raw whisper.

“How many people have you sacrificed because of your ambition? How many have you kept at arm's length until they drifted away? You've convinced yourself that you're more comfortable alone. Life is damned safe and convenient that way, isn't it? You've been cursed with an amazing autonomy, Jimmy—just like Rochester and me.” He smiled bleakly at whatever it was he saw in Logan's eyes. “Do you want to hear something strange? She asked me to help you.”

“Help me?” Logan heard himself ask incredulously. “I'm not the one who needs help.”

“That's a debatable point,” Andrew mocked, laboring to produce a smile. “Let's talk in the morning, brother…I'm damned exhausted and drunk. In the meanwhile, you might consider going to your wife and begging her not to leave you.”

Fifteen

Logan wandered to his private suite in a daze, feeling as if his safe, comfortable world had been turned upside down. There had been too many surprises of late…the news of his own impending fatherhood, the discovery that he was Rochester's bastard, Andrew's death and subsequent reappearance. Nothing but such an onslaught would have been able to break his defenses. In the middle of it all, only one thing had remained steady and unchanging. Madeline…generous, affectionate, resilient, showing him in every way possible that she loved him.

He needed her, but he could hardly bear to admit it, even to himself. Madeline would have to content herself with what he could give, and not ask for more. Summoning his reserves of weary determination, he entered the bedroom. He found his wife sitting on the edge of the mattress, her small hand clasped to her stomach. The odd expression on her face made his heart lurch in sudden panic.

“What is it?” he asked, coming to her swiftly.

“I felt the baby move,” she said in wonder.

Startled, Logan could only stand and stare at her. His fingers twitched at his side, and suddenly he wanted badly to touch her, to feel the minute vibrations of his child moving within her. The effort of holding back caused a tremor to run through him, a barely perceptible shiver.

The softness left Madeline's face, and she rose from the bed. She went to the armoire, and it was then that he saw the valise she had pulled from the lower shelf.

“What is that for?” he asked sharply.

Her voice was taut and low. “I've decided I don't want to live here anymore.”

Incredulous anger surged through him, and he replied with jeering softness. “You don't have a choice, madam.”

“Yes, I do. Unless you physically restrain me, you have no way of keeping me here.”

“I had no idea this was so unpleasant for you,” he said, gesturing to their luxurious surroundings. “If you haven't been happy, you've given a damned convincing imitation.”

“You seem to have a way of making me happy and miserable at the same time.” Madeline pulled out a pair of gloves, an armload of linens, and a lace scarf, jamming the articles into the valise. “Obviously I've been a terrible inconvenience to you. However, once I learn to stop loving you, everything will be much easier for both of us.”

Logan strode to her and stood in front of the armoire. “Maddy,” he said gruffly, “I shouldn't have snapped at you earlier. I was worried about you. Now set that thing aside and come to bed.”

She shook her head, her eyes prickling with impatient tears. “I've finally given up, Logan. You'll never stop punishing me for having hurt you. You wait for every opportunity to show me that you can walk away without a backward glance—you've made your point often enough. I admit I've been a fool for hoping you might change. Now all I want is to get away from you and find some peace.”

Her quiet stubbornness infuriated him. “Dammit, you're not going anywhere.” He took hold of her shoulders and was shocked to feel the quick sting of her hand on his cheek. She had slapped him.