Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(20)

“Just why does my profession gall you so?” Logan had asked. “Would you prefer that I'd stayed on your land and become a farmer like my father?”

“Farming is a far more honorable occupation than performing on stage like a trained monkey.”

“But not nearly as profitable,” Logan had replied, going to collect his painting.

There had been few satisfactions in his life to compare with the knowledge that he had finally become a thorn in Rochester's side. It had been a long uphill climb, using his theater earnings to make some risky investments, some of which had paid off handsomely. Logan had educated himself about financial matters just as he had about art, though it had been considerably less interesting. The pursuit of money was unquestionably vulgar, bourgeois, but there was no other choice. The kind of life he wanted required a great deal of money, and he had steeled himself to ignore the disdain of aristocrats who had inherited their fortunes rather than earned them. Let Rochester sneer and call him a parvenu…the fact was, Logan owned the Van Dyck and any other damn painting he wanted.

Bringing his thoughts to the present, Logan rubbed the back of his neck and wandered out of the office. He headed toward the painter's shop, intending to inspect the latest work on a set of flats. The sound of voices drifted into the hallway, making him pause. One of them was unmistakably Andrew's, while the other…the feminine tone sent a ripple of sensation down his spine.

Logan felt his fingers curling until his fists were balled at his sides. He should have known that Andrew would take notice of Madeline Ridley if she were anywhere in the vicinity. It doesn't matter, he tried to tell himself, but suddenly he felt close to exploding. Following the sound of their voices to the library, he entered without knocking.

Andrew was leaning against a bookcase, talking affably while Madeline sorted through stacks of volumes on the library table. She looked very small in comparison to Andrew's height. Wisps of her golden-brown hair had come loose from their pins, falling against her face and throat. Standing before the worn books and dusty shelves, she seemed like a ray of light in the windowless room.

“Mr. Scott,” Madeline said with a smile, “I decided to begin an inventory of the library collection.”

Logan ignored her and focused a level gaze on Andrew. “I thought you were leaving.”

“I was…but then I happened upon this charming creature.” Andrew paused before adding, “She's not an actress, by the way.” It was a pointed reminder that Logan's edict had been to stay away from the Capital Theatre's actresses—not any of the other employees.

The desire to wrap his hands around Andrew's fleshy throat was very strong. “Let me make it clear. Don't go near anyone who works for me in any capacity. Do you understand?”

“Oh, I understand very well.” Andrew grinned at Logan. “Excuse me, I believe my presence is de trop.” As he made his exit, he murmured to Logan, “She's not in your usual style, is she?”

Logan didn't reply, only kept his gaze on Madeline. When Andrew had gone and all sound had faded, he spoke in a soft growl. “Go home, Miss Ridley.”

Madeline was puzzled and defensive. It seemed that once again she had unwittingly displeased him. “Mr. Scott, I didn't invite Lord Drake's attentions. He happened to see me as he passed the library, and he was Very courteous. His only intention was to assist me.”

A bright, cold flare appeared in Scott's blue eyes. “He was trying to assist you out of your clothes and into his bed. If you're too simpleminded to realize that, let me explain further. Lord Drake devours pretty young girls like you on a regular basis. You'll get nothing from him except a session of slap and tickle, and most likely a belly swollen with his bastard. If that's your desire, pursue it by all means—but you won't do so at my theater.”

Madeline flushed. “Why isn't it possible that he was merely being polite?”

“Because a girl like you doesn't inspire politeness in a man.” He put a stinging emphasis on the word.

Madeline stiffened and walked away from the library table, brushing by him as she headed to the door. “If you're saying that I've behaved in an improper manner—” She stopped with a gasp as he reached for her, his large hands seeming to burn through her sleeves. Roughly he pulled her to face him.

“I'm saying that when a man looks at you, he can't help thinking…”

He fell silent, staring at her for a long moment. Madeline swallowed, and his gaze flickered to the tiny movement. She wondered if he desired her, and what she should do to encourage him. Her heart skipped several beats as she realized that he was staring at her as if he intended to devour her just as he had accused Lord Drake of doing.

Her fingers trembled with the urge to touch his face, to explore the scratchy surface where his beard had begun to grow…the bold shape of his nose, the arches of his brows…the hard, wide mouth. She wanted to coax his lips to soften and press against hers…she wanted to lose herself in his arms.

Scott let go of her with a suddenness that nearly caused her to fall backward. His face turned blank. “Forgive me,” he said in a monotone. “My behavior was uncalled for.”

Madeline's knees were weak. There was a throbbing sensation in the pit of her stomach. She inched toward the table and gripped the side to keep herself steady. “I…” Her lips were strangely dry, and she moistened them before trying again. “I won't speak to Lord Drake again, Mr. Scott.”