Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(87)

Madeline knew that she danced stiffly at first. She concentrated intently on following him, on not making a misstep, until Logan laughed at her absorbed expression.

“Relax,” he murmured.

“I can't—I'm too busy dancing.”

“Look up at me.”

Obeying, Madeline discovered that everything became much easier. She no longer knew or cared where he was leading her, only that his blue eyes were warm and his arms were strong. He was so powerful, his thighs brushing hers, the muscles of his shoulder hard beneath her fingers. The room dissolved in a giddy rush, and her hand tightened convulsively on his. She knew a moment of exhilaration, and her entire being was consumed with the wish that tonight would last forever.

Other couples joined in the waltz, eager to display their own facility, until the floor became crowded. As the piece concluded and a quadrille began, Logan took Madeline aside and regarded her with a faint smile. “My compliments to your instructor, madam.”

“That was wonderful,” she exclaimed, reluctant to release his hand. “Please couldn't we—”

“Would you like to—” Logan said at the same time, but they were both interrupted by a coterie of eager men of varying ages, all of whom besieged Madeline for dances. Madeline threw Logan a glance of consternation.

“It would be selfish of me to monopolize you, Mrs. Scott,” Logan said, stepping back with a forced smile as his wife was led to the floor and drawn into the quadrille pattern. It was unfashionable for a man to pay too much attention to his wife. Furthermore, it was his duty as host to dance with some of the other women present.

Logan had always enjoyed the company of women, their complexity, their intriguing variety of shapes, scents, movements…but somehow they were all lacking now. All he wanted was Madeline. His wife's sensuous appeal in that damned scarlet dress was causing him to unravel. He had never before experienced the taste of jealousy, and suddenly he was wallowing in it. If one more friend offered him meaningful congratulations, he would commit murder. Every man in the place wanted her. They were all leering at her, at her face and figure, and most of all her half-covered br**sts.

Grimly Logan recalled why he had never entertained at his home before now. There was no polite way a host could make his guests leave when he wished, and no means of escaping them. If this were someone else's ball he was attending, he would have left by now. He wanted to be alone somewhere, anywhere, with Madeline. Torrid fantasies seethed in his mind. He thought of pulling up her velvet skirts and having her on one of the long tables, of undressing her in the middle of the ballroom floor and watching their reflection in the massive column-framed mirrors.

His lurid thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of his comanager. Having briefly separated herself from her husband's company, Julia came to Logan and tapped him on the shoulder. She looked as pleased as a mother hen over the progress of her chick. “Congratulations,” she said brightly. “You were fortunate to acquire a wife like Madeline.”

“So I've been told,” he growled. “A hundred times, at least.”

Julia smiled, following his gaze to Madeline, who stood several yards away in a circle of admirers. “She has a quality that you and I lack, Logan. She likes people. She takes a genuine interest in them, and they can't help responding to her.”

“I like people,” Logan muttered defensively, making Julia laugh.

“Only if you think they can be of some use to you.”

A reluctant smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Why is it that you've always been able to see me exactly for what I am, Julia?”

“I would never make that claim,” she countered, her turquoise eyes gleaming with amusement. “After all these years you still manage to surprise me. Your behavior where Madeline is concerned, for example. It betrays a deeply buried romantic streak I hadn't suspected.”

“Romantic,” Logan scoffed, having always prided himself on being a cynic.

“Deny it all you like,” Julia said. “It's only a matter of time until you admit that Madeline has wrapped you around her little finger.”

“Only a hundred years or so.” He scowled as she walked away. His attention returned to his distant wife, who was still surrounded by a group of admirers. Logan began to stride in her direction when he was beset by a few of the partners in his investment trust. Fidgeting inwardly, he smiled at their effusive compliments and traded a few opinions on subjects of masculine interest.

To Logan's relief, rescue arrived in the form of Andrew, Lord Drake. Clapping a hand on one of Logan's tense shoulders, Andrew greeted him heartily and dragged him away from the group on the pretext of asking advice on an art acquisition.

“Good God, how do you stand those dullards?” Andrew asked sotto voce. “All that talk about interest rates and dividends is as exciting as a visit to the morgue.”

“Those ‘dullards,’ as you call them, are some of the most brilliant financial minds in England,” Logan said dryly. “You'd do well to spend time with them.” As he spoke, his glance returned to Madeline. She stood in the light cast by a chandelier, her pale shoulders like velvet, her piled-up hair containing every shade from gold to maple brown.

Following his gaze, Andrew grinned. “For shame, Jimmy. I thought you above such bourgeois behavior as lusting after your own wife…but as they say, blood will tell.”