Because You're Mine (Capital Theatre #2)(91)

Rather than mock or belittle her, Logan listened with apparent seriousness. “You're not being treated like a child,” he replied, “but as someone whose well-being I value above all else.”

“I feel as if I'm in prison,” she said sullenly. “I want to go somewhere, do something…”

“Such as?”

Madeline sighed and picked up a brush, dragging it vigorously through her long, loose hair. “Since the ball, no one has come to the house. I have no friends except for Julia, and she's always busy at the theater, as you are. And even though we receive a dozen invitations every day, we never accept any of them.”

As Logan stared at her small, tense face, a frown settled on his own brow. He recognized that this was more or less what he had expected. His years of carefully maintained seclusion were coming to an end. Madeline was a young, vibrant woman who needed to be active in society, to have friends, to experience the varied amusements London offered.

“I understand,” he said, taking the brush from her and setting it aside. He sank to his haunches beside her, bringing their faces to the same level. “I've no desire to keep you like a bird in a golden cage, sweet. I'll see what I can do to enliven your days a bit.” His mouth quirked with a teasing smile. “I assume you have no complaints about the nights.”

“No,” she said, blushing and returning his smile, lifting her mouth willingly for his kiss.

True to his word, Logan began to escort Madeline to art exhibitions, auctions, suppers, and musical evenings. When they attended plays at Drury Lane or the Royal Opera House, they sat in an elegant private box. To Madeline's delight, they accepted invitations to weekend parties in the country, where she was able to meet other young matrons with whom she had much in common. She knew that Logan didn't relish such occasions, as he was constantly an object of attention, speculation, and excitement. The fact that he was willing to sacrifice his treasured privacy for her sake was both puzzling and flattering.

Madeline knew that many women envied her having Logan as a husband. He was charming, intelligent, generous, and dashing in a way that other husbands were not. She enjoyed being married to him, took pleasure in his companionship, his ready sense of humor, and of course his skilled lovemaking.

However, no matter how close or comfortable their relationship seemed, Madeline was aware that it was a far cry from the way it could be. Logan never looked at her now as he had once before, never kissed her with feverish love and longing. He maintained a small, crucial distance between them. It was clear that he did not trust her, and he intended they would never be emotionally intimate. Madeline tried to contain her own feelings for him, knowing that her love would only be thrown back in her face, no matter how much he might have wanted it.

As Julia had predicted, Madeline's appetite returned, and she gained back the weight she had lost, as well as a few more pounds. Any private anxiety she might have had about whether or not Logan approved of her altered figure was quickly allayed.

“You may as well sleep here from now on,” he said one evening after he had carried her to his bed and made love to her. Sweeping a hand over her na**d hip, he added gruffly, “It's more convenient than sending for you every time I want you—or having to dash to your room when your legs cramp.”

Stirring in his arms, Madeline smiled sleepily. “I wouldn't want to bother you. I know how you like to sleep alone.”

“You don't take up that much room,” he observed, his hand drifting to her stomach. “Yet.”

Madeline turned on her side. “Soon I'll be wide enough to cover half the bed. Oh, how I wish I were taller! Women of my height don't carry children well—they look like ducks.”

Logan drew her back against his long body. “Madam,” he said, his voice warm and tickling in her ear, “I've spent every night demonstrating how desirable you are. By now I hardly think you have reason to doubt your attractiveness.”

“You've acquired a taste for women with large stomachs?” Madeline asked skeptically, and felt him smile against her neck.

“Only one in particular.” Logan pushed her to her back. “Now I suppose you'll want me to prove it. Again.”

She turned away from him with feigned reluctance. “If it's no trouble—”

“I insist,” he murmured, turning her over once more, and he covered her mouth with his.

He was an unpredictable man, sometimes indulging and teasing her, sometimes treating her with a maddening coolness. Most evenings after a theater performance, he rushed home to be with her, though when he strode through the door it was without the least appearance of haste. He was so adept at concealing his feelings that Madeline wondered if he loved her at all, or if he regarded her more as an amusing pet. There were times, however, when she had reason to hope.

Three afternoons a week Madeline sat for the portrait Logan had commissioned. The artist, Mr. Orsini, was a talented and pleasant man, without the wild temperament that she had expected of an artist.

“Your wife is one of the greatest beauties I have painted,” Orsini informed Logan, who had come to watch a sitting in progress.

“Mr. Orsini,” Madeline protested from where she was posing, “you mustn't embarrass me—”

“She has an unusual quality,” Orsini continued earnestly. “Sensuousness mingled with purity. A bewitching child-woman.”