Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(85)

As he shifted her on his lap, Madeline felt the hard ridge of his sex straining beneath her, and she flushed. Although his advances were hardly unwelcome, it was improper behavior for the middle of the day. One of the servants might walk in, or someone might pay a call. “Logan,” she said faintly as his mouth slid along her throat, “I…have so many things to do…”

“So do I.” He began to unfasten the front of her gown, brushing away her hands as she tried to deter him.

“What if one of the maids comes in?” Madeline asked, quivering as he slid his hand inside her bodice to fondle her breast.

“I'll tell her to leave.” He reached beneath her skirts, his fingers delving inside her linen undergarments and searching the most sensitive parts of her body. His eyes narrowed in excitement as he pulled her to straddle him, and there was a rending sound as he tore the delicate fabric of her drawers.

“Not here…let's go upstairs,” Madeline begged, turning scarlet with distress. His body was hard and powerful between her thighs, sleek muscles flexing as he positioned her to ride him.

“Here,” Logan countered, reaching down to unfasten his trousers. A short, breathless laugh escaped him as she squirmed on his lap. “Stop watching the damned door.”

“I can't help it.” She gasped as she felt him enter her, a hard pressure that slid easily within her moist depths. “Oh, we shouldn't—”

“Put your arms around me,” he said, his voice guttural. Muttering instructions, he guided her with his hands as she rode up and down his swollen length.

Madeline's eyes closed with pleasure, her hands clawing over his waistcoat and shirt, groping blindly for his solid shoulders. They strained and arched together, while Logan muffled her soft groans with his mouth. She would never have believed herself capable of it…wantonly straddling him, thrusting herself on him, discarding every scrap of propriety that had been instilled in her every day of her adult life. But Logan encouraged, demanded, that she abandon all shame in his arms. He filled her with each downward push, the current of pleasure rising higher and faster, until she shook with spasms of ecstasy. Logan's body went taut beneath her. The crescent of his teeth pressed into her shoulder, the hint of pain somehow intensifying her shivering delight.

Afterward, while Madeline collapsed against his chest, Logan smiled into her disheveled hair. “All those mornings at the Capital, when you helped me with those piles of correspondence…I wanted to do this with you.”

“This?” Madeline repeated, lifting her head to look at him drowsily. She felt disoriented, giddy, as if she had been drinking. “I had no idea.”

“If you would have looked in the right place, madam, you would have seen ample evidence.”

“Oh.” Raising herself on her elbows, she smiled at him. “In that case, I insist that you have no female secretaries.”

“You're the only woman I want,” Logan said gruffly, fighting the urge to cuddle her like a kitten and give voice to the endearments that filled his mind. His face hardened, and he heard himself add…“For now.”

Logan kept his expression blank as he watched the glow fade from her eyes. Carefully Madeline disentangled herself from him and began to straighten her clothes. Although Logan regretted the hurtful words, they had been necessary. Better to spoil the moment between them than to let her think she was important to him. He had made the mistake of trusting her once. There would not be a second time.

Thirteen

On the evening of the ball, Madeline stood before the mirror in her private dressing room while a maid fastened the row of buttons at the back of her gown.

Mrs. Beecham, wearing an elegant black dress with a snowy white apron, had come upstairs to assist in the final preparations. “Splendid,” the housekeeper exclaimed, standing back to view her. “You'll be the loveliest woman here tonight, Mrs. Scott. The master won't be able to take his eyes from you.”

Madeline smiled, though her heart was beating anxiously. “Have all the flowers been delivered? Has anyone visited the kitchens recently?”

“Everything has been taken care of,” Mrs. Beecham assured her. “The house is filled with heavenly flowers, and Cook appears to have outdone herself. The guests will think they're visiting paradise—and when you appear to greet them, Mr. Scott will be the most envied man in London.”

Nervously Madeline held a hand to her midriff. The flat surface of her stomach had swelled to a gentle curve, but her scarlet velvet gown had been designed to conceal her condition. A tightly fitted bodice followed the slender outline of her body before flowing into an array of rustling skirts. The gown was startlingly simple, its only adornment three ruby clasps that held the front of the bodice together, above which her br**sts rose in creamy white splendor.

The scarlet hue of the ball gown became her, making her skin look like porcelain and complementing the amber color of her eyes. Her golden-brown hair had been pinned at the crown of her head in heavy loops and curls, displaying the slim length of her neck.

Logan entered the room in a few strides and stopped abruptly. He was a magnificent sight in black-and-white formal wear, with a blue-gray waistcoat of richly textured silk. His eyes, the most striking shade of blue Madeline had ever seen, flickered with some disquieting emotion as he stared at her. When he spoke, his voice held a deeper timbre than usual.