A Match Made in Bed (Spinster Heiresses #2)(69)

She had no questions for Logan? No concern?

Two musket shots sounded. Elliot had not wasted time. Their echo reverberated in the air. She prayed Soren wasn’t far.

“You knew he was here all along,” Cassandra said.

“Did I?” Such false innocence.

“You did,” Cassandra answered stoutly. “Did you bring him food? Let him know you cared?” Logan was all legs and arms. He could use a few good meals.

“Are you questioning me?”

Cassandra had heard the silky tone before. She’d heard it from the lady patronesses at Almack’s and from the mothers of other debutantes. It was the tone people used when they wanted to let her know she was not good enough.

Well, they were wrong.

And she was Logan’s stepmother.

“I most certainly am questioning you,” Cassandra returned coolly in a tone that would have made any of those patronesses proud. “Did you not see how worried my husband was at learning of his child’s disappearance? How could you have not have said something?”

“The boy appears unscathed. Any worry on my part would have been misplaced.” She walked away.

“Well—” Cassandra started, flummoxed by the woman’s cavalier attitude. She turned to Logan, and discovered him gone. She whirled around the room and then heard the door to the hallway quietly shut on her side of the suite. She ran through Soren’s door out into the hall, but the wolf cub had once again vanished.

How could he have moved so quickly? Then again, Arabella was not there, either. It was as if Pentreath had swallowed them whole.

She held up the book. The title mocked her. “Who is receiving the education, Miss Edgeworth?” she muttered.

At that moment, she heard the dogs barking and Soren’s voice. He had returned. She quickly dropped the book in her room and went to meet her husband to tell him the story of finding Logan.

The house was big. It took her several minutes to make her way downstairs and out into the great hall. The front door was open and Elliot was standing there. She hurried to the door. Soren was dismounting a good-sized chestnut. He was hatless and his hair windblown. He’d not been gone that long but it seemed as if he’d been put through an eternity. One of the men riding with him took the reins of his horse.

He looked to Elliot. “He’s been found—?”

Before he could say another word, a blur raced past Cassandra and out the door, straight for Soren. Logan was still barefoot; however, he’d made an attempt to dress by putting on a shirt and jacket. He leaped at his father with the same athleticism he’d used to attack her, except this time, he wanted his father’s arms.

Soren caught him. He hugged him as if he’d never let him go. Logan’s skinny arms and legs were just as tightly holding his father. His dark head buried itself in the crook of Soren’s neck.

Cassandra was touched by the unconstrained show of affection.

Her father had never welcomed her in that way. There had been a time, long ago, when she’d wanted to run to him, so thankful he had returned from wherever he was. She’d not liked being left behind with the servants . . . and none of them had referred to her as a wild thing.

Soren spoke to Logan softly in that language the boy had used upstairs. Cassandra assumed it was his native tongue.

The words buoyed the child, who lifted his head. He’d been crying. He was a proud lad and she could only imagine what it took to break him. She empathized with him all the more.

Soren saw her and smiled, the expression both relieved and proud. He carried his son to her, stopping to ask Elliot, “Where did you find him?”

“Your lady found him, my lord.”

“Truly?” Soren moved on to Cassandra. “You found him?”

She smiled, conscious that they had a growing audience. As word spread, hunters from wherever they had been came racing up. Some were on horseback. Some ran. Servants poked their head out from doorways, interested in what was going on. Even Mrs. Branwell stood to one side.

The one person who wasn’t there was Arabella.

She could feel Logan’s watchful gaze upon her. The set of his mouth was far too solemn for such a young boy, and she thought about how she’d felt when her mother had died.

The world had not been her friend.

“Is there someplace more private for introductions?” Cassandra suggested.

“Ah, yes, quite right,” Soren agreed, finally noticing how much attention surrounded them. He told Elliot, “Have Cook prepare a tray. We will be in the library.”

A library? Cassandra practically danced as he led her down the hall to a good-sized wood-paneled room. Windows as big as doorways overlooked at back portico with a balustrade, and graceful stairs led down into the garden.

But there wasn’t a book. Just as it had been at Mayfield, there were bookshelves, but no books. Her heart fell.

Ledgers were stacked on a huge desk in the middle of the room. This was obviously where Soren managed the daily affairs of Pentreath. There were also several groupings of old but comfortable-looking chairs. They would be excellent places to enjoy a cozy read, if there had been a book to enjoy.

He carried Logan over to a table and chairs located close to the desk. “My lady,” he said, using his free hand to pull out a chair for Cassandra. “A gentleman always sees to the niceties, Logan,” he instructed his son. He could have used both hands. Logan was not about to let go.