Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(76)

Taking pleasure in the feminine decor, Madeline wandered about the room, noting every change, including the gold clock on the fireplace mantel, the intricate lace on the cream silk counterpane, and the sewing workbox in the corner, inlaid with mother of pearl.

Although she hadn't yet rung for a maid, one appeared to help her change out of her wedding gown. Madeline sat before the dressing table in her high-necked nightgown, lost in her thoughts as the servant brushed her long golden-brown locks.

The maid said something, and Madeline looked up with a flustered smile. “What?” she asked. “I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention.”

“I asked if there was anything else you needed, Mrs. Scott.”

“Mrs. Scott,” Madeline repeated with a faltering smile. “You're the first one who's called me that.”

The housemaid returned her smile and bobbed a curtsy before leaving the room.

Madeline stared at her own ashen complexion and automatically pinched and patted her cheeks to bring color to them. Surely there was no reason to be afraid of Logan. He wouldn't harm her, if for no other reason than her carrying his child. On the other hand, he could make things very unpleasant for her. He was her husband now, and she was completely at his mercy. No one would intervene on her behalf, whether he chose to be cruel or kind.

Madeline stood and checked the long row of buttons that fastened the front of her white linen robe. Lifting her chin resolutely, she left her room.

Logan's room was only a few doors away, filled with the flickering light from the fireplace. He was half-reclining on the bed, leaning against the headboard with his hands clasped behind his dark head. He was na**d beneath the sheet, every angle of his aroused body clearly defined. The fireglow made his face gleam like freshly cast metal. Approaching the bed, Madeline stopped a few yards away as she heard the deep rumble of his voice.

“Take off your robe.”

She looked at him in confusion.

“Go on,” he murmured, his eyes glittering like those of a stalking beast.

Understanding what he wanted, Madeline tried to comply, but her fingers were stiff. Logan waited with unnatural patience, silent and watchful. Madeline fumbled with the long row of tiny buttons, freeing them from the silk loops. When the task was completed, she drew her arms from the long sleeves and let the robe drop to the floor. She was dressed only in her thin gown. Her skin seemed to burn as she realized that the light from the fire shone through the garment, illuminating every detail of her body.

“The rest,” Logan said inexorably.

She stared at his taut face and reached for the fastenings at the back of her neck. The sense of being a possession, an object on display, was overwhelming. If Logan meant to humiliate her, he was succeeding. Grasping handfuls of the delicate fabric, she began to lift it over her head and hesitated. She couldn't.

“Now,” came her husband's suddenly thick voice.

Holding her breath, Madeline obeyed in a decisive motion, lifting off the nightgown and casting it to the floor! The cold air seemed to penetrate every inch of her skin, raising goosebumps on her na**d flesh and shrinking her ni**les into hard points. Dry-mouthed, she stood before him with her hands clenched at her sides, while he stared at her.

“I…I'm cold,” she whispered desperately, longing for something, anything, that she could use to cover herself.

“So I see,” Logan replied, his gaze lingering at her br**sts. Unfolding his hands from behind his head, he turned back the sheet and gestured for her to come to him.

Madeline couldn't keep from covering herself as she walked toward him, one arm clasped across her br**sts, the other hand protecting the shadowed place between her thighs.

The gesture seemed to amuse Logan, his breath deepening audibly as she reached the bed.

“There's no need for modesty, my sweet. You'll have no secrets left before the night is through.”

Her teeth chattered as she crawled onto the mattress and lay on the smooth, slick linen. Every muscle in her body was tightly bunched. Logan's huge, warm hand slid over her hip, his touch making her flinch. Contrary to her fears, he was very gentle, almost impersonal, as he pulled her against him. He traced the lines of her body with the expertise of a sculptor, his fingertips light and gentle.

But there was a detached quality in the way he touched her, and Madeline realized that the impassioned lover she remembered from before had been replaced by a calculating stranger. He made love to her in a purely physical sense, with his emotions locked firmly away. If only she could be similarly unaffected…but she couldn't hold back a whimper of pleasure as his mouth found the aching tip of her breast, while at the same time his hand slid between her thighs. His fingers delved through a thatch of silken curls, parted the tender lips and skimmed through gathering moisture.

Madeline writhed beneath his caress, arching her breast up to the persistent tugging of his mouth while the sensations climbed higher and higher. Words trembled on the edge of her lips, and it took all her power to keep them from spilling out…I love you…love you…but he didn't want her love.

Just as the piercing ecstasy began to sweep over her, Logan pulled away. Filled with an intolerable ache, Madeline gasped out a protest and reached for him, only to find herself being pushed back to the mattress. She saw the outline of his head and shoulders above her, and for a moment she feared that he intended to leave her like this, shamed and trembling with need. “Please—” she began, her voice not sounding like her own.