Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(53)

“Good morning,” he said, his hands closing over her shoulders. He stared into her tense face, noting her pale cheeks and dark-circled eyes. She looked like she had been through hell. To his knowledge, no woman had ever worn such an expression after spending the night with him. It was hardly flattering.

Discarding false modesty, he knew he was a skilled lover. His partners had always purred with gratitude the morning after. It had been obvious that Maddy had enjoyed his lovemaking—he was too familiar with the signs of a woman's pleasure to doubt it. Why did she look so tormented?

Her lips parted and she began to say something, but he interrupted and spoke calmly to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Beecham, see to it that breakfast is prepared.”

“Yes, sir.” Understanding his desire for privacy, the housekeeper left at once.

“I won't stay—” Maddy began unhappily, and Logan silenced her with a long kiss.

She resisted at first, her body stiff in his arms, her mouth closed. Logan continued with loving determination, his lips twisting over hers until she shivered and sighed in surrender. Only when he was assured of her response did he lift his head. A touch of color had entered her cheeks, but she still wore the same stricken expression as before.

“Maddy,” he said softly, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, “what the hell is going on?”

“I told you I was going to leave.”

Logan stared at her for a long time, while her gaze dropped to the floor. “You were going to sneak away without a word to me? After what happened last night?” His voice roughened. “Dammit, I've had enough of this.” Ignoring her protests, he took her wrist in a hard grip and pulled her to the nearby parlor. Closing the door behind them, he held her against his body, his fingers digging into the braids pinned at her nape. “Maddy,” he said urgently, “it's never easy for a woman the first time. I should have been more gentle with you last night—”

“No,” she said, her eyes glittering. “You…you were very gentle.”

“I'll make it better for you next time.” Gently he nudged her chin with his knuckle. “Come upstairs with me, and I'll show you how enjoyable it can be. I'll make you forget any pain you felt—”

“Just let me go,” she choked.

“Not until you tell me what's wrong.”

Maddy twisted free of him, backing away to the door. “I can't stand it when you look at me that way, when I know that soon you'll hate me…almost as much as I hate myself.”

Perplexed, Logan considered her words. “Is it that you're ashamed at the idea of being my mistress?” It was the only explanation that made sense. The self-loathing on her face, the misery in her eyes…it must be that she thought it immoral to give herself to a man outside the bonds of marriage. Filled with tenderness, he crossed the distance between them and cupped her face in his hands. “Sweet love, would it ease your conscience if we were married?”

Startled, she looked at him with wide eyes. “You would do that for me?”

Logan smiled slightly, his heart beating fast. He hated to put himself at risk—the very word “marriage” sent a chill of apprehension down his spine—but he was no coward. It had taken him long enough to find a woman he could love. He wouldn't shrink from any commitment she required. “God help me, I told you I'd give you whatever you wanted.”

An intensely bittersweet expression wrenched her features. “I wish…” she began, and stopped as if her throat had closed.

Before either of them could continue, there was a knock at the parlor door. “Ignore it,” Logan muttered, lowering his mouth to Maddy's. But the irritating staccato persisted, and Mrs. Beecham's voice drifted to them.

“Mr. Scott…”

Logan's head jerked up, and he looked at the closed door in disbelief. The housekeeper knew better than to interrupt him at such a time. “What is it?” he snapped.

“There is a… situation.”

“Unless the house is on fire, don't bother me with it now.”

“Sir…” Mrs. Beecham persisted uncomfortably.

Logan let go of Maddy with a curse and went to the door, flinging it open. “Is there something you'd like to tell me, Mrs. Beecham?”

The housekeeper squared her shoulders and studiously avoided looking at Maddy. “There is a gentleman waiting in the entrance hall.”

“I have no appointments for today.”

“Yes, sir, but he is in an extremely agitated condition.”

“I don't care if he has an apoplectic fit on my doorstep. Tell him to come back later.”

Mrs. Beecham looked strained. “Mr. Scott, the visitor identifies himself as Lord Matthews. He claims that he is trying to find his missing daughter. It is his belief that you have her.”

“That I…” Although Logan made no conscious movement, he must have turned to look at Madeline. Her face was in his line of vision…she looked horrified…her lips silently formed the word “no.”

The same word sprang to Logan's mind. No, not again…another time that he had found happiness, only to have it crumble. He didn't comprehend what was happening, or of what significance the visitor might be. All he knew was that the look on Madeline's face forbode an awful discovery, her paleness suddenly covered with the flush of shame. God, no, he thought desperately, let this be a mistake.