Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(54)

He summoned all his abilities to make his face impassive, while underneath his emotions seethed. Some rational part of his brain analyzed the situation. If Maddy was the daughter of Lord Matthews—whoever the hell he was—then she had lied to him, not once but repeatedly. The only thing left now was to find out just how deep her deception had gone, and for what reason.

“Send him in,” Logan said softly.

As the events unfolded, it seemed to Logan as if he were in some third-rate play. He had been cast as the villain of the piece, while Maddy was the helpless ingenue…and Lord Matthews, the aggrieved father.

Matthews came into the room as if fearing what he might see. He wore the expression of a man who had entered what he thought was a respectable dwelling, only to discover that it was a house of ill repute. He was a man in his early forties with an unremarkable face, too short in the chin and round on the sides, and dark hair that had receded far back on his head.

For a moment Logan experienced a twinge of relief at the sight of the man, thinking that he looked like no relation of Maddy's. However, both father and daughter wore identical expressions of mute accusation and dread as they stared at each other. There was no doubt of Maddy's identity.

“Madeline, what have you done?” Matthews murmured.

She stood like a statue, except for the small shake of her head, as if she were trying to deny her father's presence. “I…was coming to you today.”

“You should have come to me a month ago,” Matthews retorted. Attempting to gather his self-control, he turned to Logan. “Mr. Scott, it appears that explanations are in order. You have no idea how sorely I regret meeting under these circumstances.”

“I have some idea,” Logan murmured.

“I am Lord Matthews, of Hampton Bishop. Two days ago I learned that my daughter Madeline has been missing from school for almost a month. I—” He stopped briefly, his face contorting as he glanced at Maddy. “I should have expected something like this. She is the youngest of my three children, and by far the most willful. Although she is betrothed to Lord Clifton, she had refused to accept my judgment that he is an appropriate husband for her—”

“He's an old man!” Madeline burst out, and her father turned toward her with a thunderous face.

“Refusing to accept my judgment,” Matthews resumed, his tone raw, “Madeline came up with just the sort of foolish scheme that I should have anticipated. One of her friends at school, a Miss Eleanor Sinclair, was forced under threat of expulsion to confess the details of the plot.”

“What plot?” Logan asked softly.

Disgust and condemnation shadowed Matthews's face as he glanced at his daughter. “Perhaps Madeline would care to explain.”

Logan forced himself to look at the girl who stood nearby…the innocent who had managed to give him back the hopes and dreams he had relinquished so long ago. Her face was mottled with guilty color, her eyes round with protest. Whatever she had done, she regretted it now. Or perhaps it was merely sleeping with him that she was sorry for. He wanted the truth, wanted to choke it out of her. His gaze remained locked on her as he waited.

Finally she managed to speak. “I never wanted to marry Clifton. I was desperately opposed to the match, a fact that everyone—even Clifton himself—is aware of. While I was at school, I realized that short of suicide, there was only one way to stop the wedding from taking place.” She began to stammer, but her gaze begged him to understand. “S-so I decided to r-…ruin myself.”

Logan's stomach roiled unpleasantly. He heard Lord Matthews's cold, agitated voice as if it came from far away. “Apparently you, Mr. Scott, were my daughter's chosen target. Tell me…is there any chance…have I, by the grace of God, managed to arrive in time?”

Logan waited for Maddy to reply. Tell him, damn you! he snarled inside, but she remained silent. “You're too late,” he said flatly.

Matthews rubbed his forehead and eyes as if they ached intolerably.

Logan was surrounded by a red mist as the truth sank in.

It had been a game to her. While he had been tormented with longing and love, she had been winding him around her dainty little finger, making a fool of him. He flushed with humiliation, but that was the least of the emotions that shredded his innards. Again, he thought sickly. Once again a woman had betrayed him. But this was much worse than the last time.

He glanced at Madeline, hating her for looking so pale and forlorn. She was nothing more than a high-priced broodmare whose sole purpose in life was to produce thoroughbreds. It wasn't her place to demand more than that. To her kind, marriage had nothing to do with love; it was an arrangement of economics and social advancement. And in a fit of rebellion, Madeline Matthews had used him to avoid her responsibilities.

“Why me?” he asked her, his voice a mere scrape of sound.

She moved toward him, one slender hand turned upward beseechingly. Logan stepped backward instinctively. God help him, he would crumble if she touched him.

Madeline stopped, realizing that he wanted to preserve the distance between them. Nothing about the scene seemed real—not her father's presence, not Logan's controlled expression, not her own sickening sense of loss. If only words could make everything right. If only Logan would understand that what had begun as a schoolgirl's rebellion had turned into love. She would do anything to take away the pain she knew he must be feeling. Anything to spare him one moment of suffering.