Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(75)

“Nonsense. I'm certain you must realize that Logan still loves you, Maddy. It's only that he's afraid to trust you again. I hope you'll be patient with him. I don't expect it will be easy. He's stubborn enough to try a saint, you know.” Her manner became brisk and encouraging as she continued. “I don't know if Logan has told you yet, but he has asked me to help you plan a ball, to be held no later than a month from now.”

“But why?”

“To show you off to all of London, of course.”

Madeline was dismayed, the blood draining from her face. “But everyone will be looking at me and whispering—”

“It doesn't matter what they say,” Julia assured her. “Believe me, I've been the subject of gossip and rumors for years, and now that you are married to a man as well-known as Logan, so will you. You'll become accustomed to it after a while.”

Mrs. Florence approached them and seated herself, declining Julia's offer of assistance. She looked queenly in a dark-blue gown trimmed in tiers of lace, with ropes of heavy pearls twined around her throat and wrists. They exchanged a few pleasant remarks about the service, as well as the splendor of Logan's estate.

“Actors are notoriously helpless when it comes to financial matters,” Mrs. Florence remarked, glancing at their luxurious surroundings with an inexplicable flash of pride. “It seems your husband is an exception to that rule, Maddy. You're a very fortunate woman.”

“I'm fortunate for many reasons,” Madeline replied with a forced smile that didn't deceive her two companions.

“Yes, you are,” Mrs. Florence said softly, the lines at the corners of her eyes deepening in affectionate amusement. “And this will all become easier in time, child. I promise you that.”

Madeline took a deep breath and relaxed a little. Strange, that the two were able to give her the comfort that her own mother and sister hadn't even attempted to offer. Impulsively her hand sought Mrs. Florence's. “Thank you for coming to my wedding, ma'am. Your presence has made the day easier for me.”

“I must say, I wouldn't have missed your wedding to Mr. Scott for all the world. You've opened many doors for me, child, ones I'm certain you can't even begin to guess.” Mrs. Florence seemed pleased by the younger women's puzzled expressions.

“What doors?” Julia asked, and laughed as she shook an admonishing finger at her friend. “You look like a cat who found the cream-pot. I must know why.”

“Perhaps someday,” came the placid reply. Mrs. Florence would say no more after that; she only drank a cup of tea and continued to glance around the room with obvious satisfaction.

Madeline wasn't conscious of when the guests departed, only that they seemed to drift away until there was no one left but servants efficiently whisking away all traces of the wedding…and Logan, who was disturbingly matter-of-fact about her presence in his home. Leisurely he sat at the dining table and finished a cigar, stretching out his legs. Madeline occupied a chair nearby, still dressed in her wedding attire, a pale pink gown adorned at the throat and waist with roses of a deeper shade.

Were it not for her strained nerves, she would have enjoyed sitting there with the earthy scent of his cigar drifting to her. The house was blessedly quiet now, and the ordeal of making small talk was over. However, there was another ordeal yet to come, and when or if it would happen was completely up to Logan.

His gaze moved over her with detached interest, in the same way he might regard a painting or sculpture. Madeline felt certain that Julia's assurance that he still loved her was completely untrue. No man could look at a woman he loved as if she were merely a belonging that he could pick up or set aside at will. She thought up a hundred different conversational openings and discarded each one. How odd, that the silences between them had once been so comfortable, when now they were so stiff and strained.

“A room has been prepared for you,” Logan finally said, flicking the tip of the cigar into a molded bronze dish. “Have one of the servants show you upstairs.”

“Then we won't be sharing—”

“No. We'll occupy separate rooms. As you know, I tend to come and go at unconventional hours. I won't disturb your rest if we sleep in different beds.”

And I won't disturb your privacy, Madeline thought, but held her tongue. “That is very considerate,” she murmured, standing up. Logan stood as well, every inch the courteous host.

“Naturally I reserve the right to visit you from time to time,” he remarked.

Madeline nodded with hard-won composure. “What about tonight?” she asked, her voice shaking a little.

His blue eyes held no expression as they gleamed through a thin haze of smoke. “Come to my room when you're ready for bed.”

Madeline swallowed hard. “Very well.”

Logan occupied his chair again as soon as she reached the threshold. Madeline felt his gaze on her even after she was out of sight, as if the heat of it had left a brand on the middle of her back.

The extra bedroom in Logan's private suite had been enlarged, one wall having been removed to double its size. Gleaming white and gold brocade covered the walls, while oil paintings framed in gold had been hung in artful groupings. There was a scene of children at play, and several others of women and children in domestic settings.