Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(67)

“I never meant for anyone to find out whom I had slept with,” she said. “That was supposed to remain a secret.”

Logan scowled and swallowed back a stinging comment, reminding himself that now was not the time to argue. He had only one objective, and that was to inform the Matthews of what would take place in two weeks' time.

The carriage and outriders halted in front of the manor. Logan removed Madeline's lap robe and assisted her with her cloak. After fastening the soft wool at her throat, he gripped her chin in his fingers. He stared into her wide eyes, taking care not to mark her delicate skin with the pressure of his grip.

“There's something I want from you,” he murmured. “No one is to know that we're unwilling partners in this marriage. Everyone who sees us, including your parents, is to believe that the arrangement is desired on both sides. One unhappy glance from you, one hint that you're being forced into it, and I'll wring your little neck. Have I made myself clear?”

“I'm not an actor,” she replied stiffly. “I don't know how convincing I can be. If you expect me to walk into my parents' home and pretend that I'm happy—”

“That's exactly what I expect.” There was a discreet knock at the carriage door, the footman ready to assist them, but Logan ignored the sound. “You look like hell,” he said, staring at Madeline's white, strained face. “Smile. Try to relax.”

“I can't.” She gave him a glance rife with dread.

As Logan stared into her tense features, it occurred to him that she would belong to him for the rest of her life. Their blood would mingle in the veins of their child. It was paramount to the child, as well as Logan, that no one ever realize the true state of affairs between them. His pride demanded that Madeline look and behave like a woman in love, that she accept his suit with the appearance of gladness.

He cupped her face in his hands and brought his mouth to hers. He kissed her with all his considerable skill, slipping his tongue into her softness, probing and caressing until she responded helplessly. When he lifted his head, she was gasping, her face flushed.

Pulling back, Logan surveyed her dispassionately. “That's better.”

Helping her out of the carriage, he guided her along the paved circular pathway that led to the front door. The footman had already rushed ahead to knock on the cream-painted panels and announce their arrival. A welcome gust of warm air rushed out from the house's entryway.

Logan kept his arm around her in a solicitous manner that was guaranteed to shock the Matthewses. Although Madeline knew that his supportive arm was merely for show, she was grateful for it. She wondered how her parents would react to the impending news. Logan Scott lacked the all-important birthrights of aristocratic blood and family inheritances. Furthermore, they had made it clear that a professional man would never be suitable for one of their daughters, even one involved in medicine or the law. An actor was unthinkable.

Both her parents appeared in the entryway with expressions of horrified amazement. Her mother's aristocratic features were pale, her narrow mouth pinched with outrage. “Madeline, you should be with Justine!”

“There was a change of plans,” Logan replied, stepping forward with a slight bow. “An honor to make your acquaintance, Lady Matthews.”

Madeline winced as her mother gave Logan a deliberate snub, stepping backward and refusing to make any gesture of welcome.

“Mr. Scott,” Lord Matthews said, staring at the pair of them in disbelief, “perhaps we can retire to the parlor, where you may attempt to explain this situation to me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Lord Matthews turned to his daughter with a forbidding glare. “Not you, however. You may go to your room, where you will be dealt with later.”

Madeline began to stutter in protest, and Logan interrupted quietly. “Madeline will stay with us, my lord. Her presence is necessary, as the matter of her future will be discussed.”

“As I once told you, Scott, I will see to my daughter's future. You are possessed of rather amazing effrontery to come here and interfere with a situation in which you are no longer involved.”

“I'm afraid it's not that simple, my lord.” Keeping his arm around Madeline, Logan followed the Matthewses into a small parlor filled with straight-backed English furniture made of “plum-pudding” mahogany with swirling yellow and brown wood, and gold upholstery. The only painting in the room was a nondescript English landscape.

Lady Matthews seated herself and indicated for the rest of them to do the same. “Madeline, you may sit over there,” she said crisply, indicating a chair set away from the main grouping of furniture.

Logan felt Madeline stiffen. He caught her cold hand and drew her to a place beside him on a small settee. Glancing at Lady Matthews, he silently challenged her to object. Her nostrils flared, and she gave him an icy glare.

Some would have called Lady Matthews a handsome woman, but she was utterly devoid of warmth, with no softening laugh lines around her eyes or mouth. There were two faint but distinct horizontal creases on her forehead, giving her a pinched and resolute appearance. He guessed that once Lady Matthews made a decision, nothing would cause her to change her mind.

No wonder Madeline had run away from school against their wishes. No wonder she had conceived such a ridiculous plan to thwart the match they had made for her. He could only imagine what sort of man Lord Clifton was. Old, Madeline had said…and no doubt very, very respectable.