Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(86)

“I hope these are to your liking.” He held out a black jeweler's box to her. Pleased and surprised by the unexpected gift, Madeline moved forward to receive it.

Smiling, Mrs. Beecham ushered the maid from the room and closed the door, leaving them in privacy.

Madeline gasped in amazement as she opened the box, discovering a ruby-and-gold necklace strung in glittering loops, and matching pendants for her ears. “How beautiful! I didn't expect…” Her gaze lifted to his. “You're very generous. Thank you, Logan.”

A touch of color burnished his high cheekbones. Taking the necklace from the box, he stood behind Madeline and fastened the heavy creation around her neck. She watched their reflection in the mirror, holding still as she felt his warm fingers brush her nape. It took Logan a long time to fasten the necklace; he fumbled with the intricate catch, his breath filtering through her carefully arranged curls.

Madeline attached the ruby pendants to her ears, enjoying their jaunty swinging as she turned her head. “What do you think of my gown?” she asked, facing Logan.

To her disappointment, he showed neither admiration nor approval. “It's cut too low.”

Madeline frowned slightly. “Julia has seen it, and she said it was perfect.”

“Only if you're planning to start a riot,” he muttered, his gaze pinned on her br**sts.

“If you don't approve, I can change into something else—”

“No, wear the bloody thing,” he said, attempting an indifferent tone and succeeding only at sounding sullen.

Madeline bit the insides of her lips to suppress a smile. Patiently she waited as Logan continued to stare at her. “You're going to catch cold, dressed like that,” he said curtly.

“The house is very warm,” she pointed out. “I'll be perfectly fine.” She saw his fingers twitch at his side, as if he were struggling to keep from touching her. “Shall we go downstairs?”

Logan responded with a surly grunt and gave her his arm, escorting her to the ballroom as if attending the lavish party were an odious duty rather than something to enjoy.

Thankfully, their guests seemed to have no reservations about taking pleasure in the event. Hundreds of people milled through the house, chattering excitedly about Logan's art collection, the sumptuous buffet tables laden with superb cuisine, the lilting music drifting from the ballroom. Massive arrangements of orchids and tiger lilies in Oriental lacquered vases filled the air with exotic perfume.

Inspired by the inescapably romantic atmosphere, couples stole away for hasty rendezvous in the mansion's many private nooks, while gossiping women clustered like flocks of animated hens. Julia had apparently selected a perfect cross section of the different worlds Logan had traversed: peers, wealthy commoners, artists, writers, and even a few politicians. It made for a lively mix—in one evening, enough scandal was being created to fill the papers and entertain the public for weeks. Gentlemen enjoyed the host's endless supply of fine liquor and cigars, and occasionally erupted into minor squabbles over the favors of an elusive female. However, no woman attracted attention more than Madeline.

She was nothing short of a revelation, chatting and smiling, drawing conversation from those around her with surprising skill. It was impossible that she could be as relaxed as she seemed. On the other hand, Logan reflected with private irony, this was what she had been trained for her entire life: to act as an accomplished society hostess. Granted, her family had not planned for their daughter to marry a man like him—but Madeline seemed to have no proper embarrassment about being the wife of an actor.

Logan felt a flicker of pride in her performance, mingled with the bitter awareness that he should have been able to offer her better than this. No matter how competent a hostess Madeline was, she would never ascend the social heights that she would have as Lord Clifton's bride. Logan didn't blame her parents for wanting a brilliant marriage for her. In fact, he felt a strange empathy with the Matthewses, especially as he watched them that night.

Madeline's parents had come to the ball with pleasant, polite facades, but underneath they must also be experiencing mingled pride and bitterness. It was obvious that Madeline was far too refined to be the wife of a man with Logan's debauched past. She was impeccably pedigreed, and she was married to a commoner. He was wealthy, to be sure, but he was no thoroughbred.

It came time for them to lead off the dancing, and Logan offered his arm to Madeline, escorting her toward the center of the room. She was more animated than he had ever seen her, her amber eyes glittering with excitement, her cheeks flushed. It was her first ball, Logan realized with a touch of surprise. Madeline had never been taken on the rounds of social events at which she would be introduced to eligible men.

“I've never really danced with a man before,” she said breathlessly, tilting her head to look up at him as he settled one hand at her waist and clasped her fingers with the other. “I had lessons at school. An instructor came once a week. I learned with another girl as a partner, and we took turns leading.”

Logan smiled at the revelation. “Why don't I lead?” he suggested dryly and nodded to the musicians. They began a lovely waltz, the melody sweeping them across the floor before Madeline realized what was happening. Logan danced as superbly as he did everything else, knowing how to display his partner to her best advantage, expertly guiding her so there was no opportunity for her to hesitate or stumble.