Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(71)

“You'd rather have him crippled by the sharps he owes money to? They'll send someone to break every bone in his body…and that's if he's lucky.”

“Andrew will have to face the consequences of his actions. Otherwise he'll land in debtor's prison when I'm gone. I'll thank you not to interfere in his life again.”

“Gladly.” Somewhat dazed, Logan pushed away from the table and headed to the door.

“Scott,” the old man murmured.

Logan stopped at the door without looking back. He waited until he heard Rochester speak once more, sounding reflective. “I always wondered why you chose the stage. You would have been successful in anything—you have a great deal of me in you.”

“You're right,” Logan said, his voice thick with self-hatred. He turned toward his father. To his horror, he realized that he shared more than superficial similarities with Rochester. Self-centered and manipulative, both of them, choosing to invest their time in art and business rather than take the risk of caring for someone. “Given enough time, I'll probably turn out to be a ruthless bastard just like you. And the reason I took to the stage was that I had no other choice. It was in my blood.”

“Like your mother.” Rochester studied him intently. “I'll admit, you've always resembled Elizabeth too damned closely for my comfort. I can only guess what it does to Nell to look at you.”

Logan left without replying, feeling as if the hounds of hell were chasing him.

Madeline sat on the corner of the canopied bed in her room amid piles of neatly folded clothes, surveying stacks of trunks and boxes that lined the walls. Most of her belongings were being packed and sent to Logan's London home before the ceremony. The wedding would take place in a week's time, in the drawing room of Logan's London estate. Despite the Matthewses' assertions that it would be more proper for the ceremony to be conducted in the chapel of their own estate, Logan had refused. Madeline knew that he intended to control every detail of the wedding, with no interference allowed.

“Madeline!” Her older sister Justine appeared in the doorway, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Justine had come to help with the wedding preparations. Althea had sent a warm note of congratulations, but unfortunately wouldn't be able to attend the wedding, as she was in Scotland with her husband, awaiting at any day the birth of their first child.

“He's here!” Justine exclaimed. “His carriage is coming up the drive.”

Madeline felt a pang of nerves in her stomach. Although Logan had corresponded with her parents during the past week, she had not been permitted to see the letters. She had found it difficult to eat and sleep, wondering if he would change his mind about marrying her.

“You must finish your supper,” her mother had said to her the previous evening. “If you lose any more weight, I believe your fiancé might actually attempt to upbraid us for it—and if he does, I shall certainly set him in his place.”

Madeline went to the mirror and checked her appearance, smoothing her skirts and jerking her bodice into place. In spite of her weight loss, her br**sts pushed against the material of her gown until the stitches strained to contain them.

“Do something with your hair,” Justine advised impatiently. “It looks like a bird's nest.”

Pulling the pins from her hair, Madeline brushed and braided it mechanically, and fastened a coiled knot at her nape. Justine joined her at the mirror, delicately smoothing her own golden locks, sticking a few tiny curls to her forehead and temples with touches of saliva. Admiring her own flawless reflection, Justine smiled in satisfaction.

Even in childhood, Justine had amazed people with her porcelain white-and-gold beauty and her remarkable poise. She had been the kind of little girl who never behaved badly, broke a toy, or got her shoes muddy. During her season, she had been pursued by the most eligible men in London, and even a few French noblemen, and had landed Lord Bagworth, a wealthy viscount. Justine was, and always would be, the pride of the Matthewses—whereas she, Madeline, was the shame of the family.

As Justine urged her to hurry, Madeline inserted the last pin in her hair and pinched her cheeks to impart some color. By the time they went downstairs, Logan had already been shown to the parlor, where Agnes had received him with a minimum of cordiality.

Logan stood as the two young women entered the room. He looked exceptionally large in the confines of the parlor, his shoulders broad beneath a perfectly cut black coat, his body lean and taut in a gray brocade waistcoat and charcoal trousers. His hair had been freshly cut, and a subtle glitter of mahogany showed in the dark locks.

“Mr. Scott,” Madeline said, uncertain whether or not to approach him. Logan solved the dilemma immediately, coming to her in a few strides and taking her hand. Rather than kiss the back of it, he turned her palm upward and pressed his lips into the soft hollow, making the gesture tender and intimate. It was done for the benefit of her mother and sister, of course. Even so, Madeline felt her heart jolt at the warmth of his mouth on her skin.

Logan straightened and looked down at her, surveying every detail of her appearance. A frown worked between his thick brows. “You haven't been eating,” he muttered, too softly for the others to hear.

“Neither have you,” Madeline replied. It wasn't lost on her that his body had been honed to a new spareness, with no trace of softness to conceal its raw power.