Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(33)

“You’re far finer than I deserve. I realize you could have any of the young bucks about Town. And yet, I cannot resist stealing you for myself. I would be honored to call you my own, Miss Hadley.”

The shadow just beyond his shoulder took shape then, moving slightly closer to the light spilling out from the drawing room.

Cast in shadow, Logan’s face was even more inscrutable than usual. Only his eyes gleamed like twin torches of light.

“Cleo, my pet. Did you hear me? I’m asking you to be my wife.” He released a chuckle that sounded like a coughing duck. “Have I overwhelmed you, my dear?”

She shook her head before recovering her voice. “You’ve knocked me speechless, my lord.”

Again, that dying, hacking laugh.

And still Logan’s shadow watched, unmoving from a distance. Did he think she would not? She had told him. She had warned him.

Still, she had not imagined it would be this hard. Especially with her stepfather’s words hanging over her head. Nor had she imagined she would have a witness—especially not in the form of McKinney.

She moistened her lips. “I’m flattered and humbled by your offer.”

Blast him. She could feel the censure radiating off him. She’d done nothing—was about to do nothing for which she should feel any shame. Remember Bess. Think of the others.

She released a gust of air, unaware she’d been holding it inside. “I’d be delighted to marry you.”

Even though the shadow did not move, she felt as though he had. Something passed over him—through him. A reaction of some kind. A ripple of emotion that reached out to wrap around her. Or perhaps she just imagined it.

Perhaps the reaction was simply hers alone.

Thrumgoodie grasped her hand and pressed cold, dry lips to the back of it. Her flesh puckered with goose bumps at the contact. “You’ve made me the very happiest of men. I cannot wait to proclaim from the rooftops that you’ve agreed to be mine.”

A lump clogged her throat. She looked down at the earl’s genuinely delighted face. He gazed at her expectantly and she realized she needed to say something. “Nor can I,” she murmured, disconcerted at the total emptiness she felt at finally reaching this moment.

Shouldn’t she feel something? Triumph at the very least? Possibly relief? She’d have marriage, security, limitless funds to rescue her siblings from Roger. They’d never have to know wretched poverty again.

Nothing. She reached inside herself and poked around, prodded carefully in all the places that should feel.

And still nothing. She felt only a yawning void inside.

Lifting her gaze from Thrumgoodie, she searched for Logan’s shadowy figure. Only he was gone.

His shadow no longer watched her, assessing in silence. He was gone. Her gaze scanned the parted French doors, searching for a glimpse of him. Her emptiness only seemed to stretch wider, yawn all the deeper until breathing suddenly became difficult, impossible with her too-tight chest.

And that wasn’t right. This sensation wasn’t part of the plan. Not part of the plan at all.

“Come, my pet. Let’s share the news with everyone.”

Thrumgoodie clutched her hand and leaned against her side as they made their way back into the drawing room.

Libba was rising from her seat before the pianoforte, her face flushed from her energetic play.

The earl waved an arm unsteadily in the air. “Attention, everyone!”

All heads swung in their direction. Cleo searched the half dozen faces present, seeking only one. Even Hamilton’s intent stare meant nothing. The anger glittering in his gaze did not even rattle her. She sought only for a glimpse of Logan, wondering where he had gone.

“The lovely Miss Hadley has obliged to make me the happiest of men by becoming my wife.”

A smattering of applause broke out through the room. Several mocking glances were exchanged between guests, no doubt forming their own snide opinions on the matter of her marriage to Thrumgoodie. Libba clapped fiercely, the only one who seemed genuinely pleased. Hamilton glowered at her, and a shiver skated down her spine. She looked away, unable to bear the hostility of his gaze.

Again, she scanned the room, needing, irrationally, to see his face. Even as logic insinuated itself, reminding her that she’d brought this about, that she’d chosen Thrumgoodie . . . it failed to matter. She needed to see Logan with the same compulsion of one who couldn’t look away from a terrible accident. She had to see . . . had to know . . .

She shook her head and turned her attention to the well-wishers surrounding her. Libba was at the forefront of the group, chattering on about the church and dress patterns and the wedding breakfast. The words were dizzying, the velocity carrying all the speed of gunfire.

Hamilton seized her hand and leaned close. Pressing his cheek to hers, he spoke into her ear, his voice low and furious, “Congratulations . . . cousin.”

This latter word was uttered with such venom that she suddenly couldn’t stomach his touch. She wrenched her hand free and took a step back. He stared at her with such open enmity that she glanced around, certain everyone else could see it, too.

Only no one looked at him. Everyone focused either on her or the earl, exclaiming their well wishes.

Hamilton drifted away, fading to the back of the group, but his stare remained fixated on her, a scalding imprint that she couldn’t ignore no matter how hard she tried.