Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(55)

“Eleanor had shown me a colored print of you,” she said, staring at his beloved face. “I thought you were…dashing.” She flushed as she realized how shallow she sounded. “No, that's not the right word. I…I began to fall in love with you even then, and I wanted…” She stopped and shook her head impatiently. There was no way to put her actions in a good light.

“Flattering,” Logan said hoarsely, sounding anything but pleased.

“You don't understand how it was.” No matter what she said, he would only regard it as insult added to injury. I love you, she longed to cry out, but she hadn't the right to tell him that. And he would despise her more for saying it. She turned away as her father approached Logan.

“Mr. Scott, I'm not certain how much responsibility, if any, to ascribe to you, since you were apparently an unwitting dupe in the whole business. I suppose one could have hoped that you wouldn't have touched Madeline, but debauching innocent young girls is no less than I'd expect of a man like you.” Matthews closed his eyes wearily. “It is too much to ask for reparations, I suppose.”

“What kind of reparation would you like?” Logan asked coldly.

“I'd like her to be made suitable for Lord Clifton once again. Since that is an impossibility, I will have to settle for your silence. I, and my family, will handle the disgrace with as much discretion as possible. We will see to Madeline's future, whatever form it may take. All I ask is that you deny the rumors if you are confronted with them.”

“Gladly.” Logan didn't look at Maddy. She no longer existed to him.

“Logan, please,” she whispered. “I can't bear for things to be left like this.”

“Mrs. Beecham will see you out,” he said in a monotone. “Good day, Lord Matthews.” He walked from the room, not conscious of where he was going, only aware that he had to leave at once.

Soon he found himself in his private rooms, fumbling with the door as he locked himself in solitude. He felt as if he were moving underwater. He stood in the center of the room for a long time, not even daring to think. But Madeline's voice echoed through his mind, saying I love you, Logan…love you…

She was a better actress than he'd ever suspected. She had sounded absolutely sincere. And he had allowed himself to believe it.

His eyes ached in their sockets. Reaching up to clear away an infuriating blur, he felt an insistent trickle down his cheeks. “Christ,” he muttered, while self-hatred washed over him.

He heard a despairing groan, felt the exquisitely textured surface of a Tang-dynasty vase in his hands, and hurled it in no particular direction. His ears were assaulted by the shattering of priceless porcelain. It seemed that the sound unleashed a destructive demon within him. Barely conscious of his actions, he tore a painting from the wall, ripped the fragile creation of canvas and oil, and moved to other objects nearby, his hands demolishing works of glass, wood, and porcelain until he had sunk to his knees, his bloody fists resting on his thighs.

The muffled knocking at the door underscored the vicious pounding in his head. “Mr. Scott! Please won't you answer? Mr. Scott—”

A key grated in the lock, and Logan turned with his features twisted in fury to view the worried faces of Mrs. Beecham and Denis. “Get out,” he said hoarsely.

Shocked and frightened by what they beheld, they retreated at once, leaving him alone with the ruins of his beloved artwork. Logan dropped his head and stared at the floor. He felt something dying inside…all the potential warmth and tenderness that could have transformed his life. He would never be the same. He would never let anyone hurt him again.

Part Two

Nine

“Loagan!” Julia exclaimed in delight, standing up from the long velvet sofa. Her cheeks were slightly fuller than usual, the remaining vestiges of her pregnancy, but with Julia's active lifestyle, the added pounds would come off soon. The extra weight actually enhanced her beauty, giving her a soft and wholesome appeal that would have affected any man under the age of ninety.

As Julia welcomed him into the Leeds family's parlor, there was a flash of concern on her face, but it was quickly buried in an extravagant smile.

Since the birth of the Leedses' son, two months passed before Logan made the journey from London to the duke's luxurious Warwickshire castle. The ancient honey-colored building had been modified to make it light-filled and comfortable. It was a perfect place to display a magnificent collection of tapestries, paintings, and sculpture that Logan greatly admired. However, the duke's greatest treasures were his wife and two beautiful children…Victoria, the golden-haired daughter who had been born four years earlier, and Christopher, the latest arrival.

“You took your time coming to see the baby,” Julia reproved, gripping his hands firmly.

“I've had to attend to the small matter of running the Capital,” Logan replied, returning the pressure of her hands and letting go at once. He strode to a mahogany cradle ornamented with mountains of embroidered cream linen, and peered at the small occupant. Christopher William, the current Marquess of Savage and future Duke of Leeds, lay sleeping with a miniature thumb tucked in his mouth, his features a near-perfect replica of his father's imposing ones.

Seating herself on the velvet sofa, Julia smiled with pride. “It was thoughtful of you to send so many gifts, and especially to include one for Victoria. Most people never think of the first child in all the fuss over a new baby.”