Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(63)

Eager to see Logan again, she hopped from the bed and made short work of dressing herself. Accustomed to doing such things for herself—and her many siblings—she arranged her hair in a loose chignon. Satisfied that she was presentable enough to emerge and face the world, she stepped from the room into the chilly corridor with a buoyancy of spirit she hadn’t felt in years. Perhaps ever.

Striding down the corridor, she passed a servant who looked decidedly nervous when she caught sight of Cleo. The woman’s gaze skittered from Cleo down to her feet. Cleo hoped she didn’t look that intimidating. Certainly in time the household staff would warm to her.

Still focused on her feet, the maid practically raced the last few steps to get past Cleo. Frowning at her odd behavior, Cleo continued down the hall.

The sound of low voices reached her ears just as she rounded the corner. Everything slowed then.

As if she were moving underwater, she stilled, her feet sliding to a stop on the worn-thin runner. Her gaze fastened on her husband standing practically nose-to-nose with the maid, Mary. Each of his large hands gripped her shoulders.

The girl was weeping. Again. With Logan’s hands on her, the sight did nothing to stir Cleo’s pity. Tears were often used in order to manipulate. If that was Mary’s game, it was working. Logan’s face was sympathetic, perhaps even apologetic as he murmured words to her. Words of comfort? Regret? She couldn’t hear. Perhaps he was making promises to her? Promises that their relationship wouldn’t change simply because he’d married.

An ugly feeling swept over her. Anger but something else, something more. A myriad of emotions too deep and complicated to sort.

Mary stroked Logan’s cheek as if she had every right to touch another woman’s husband. And Logan allowed it. Allowed her fingers to caress his face so tenderly.

Cold rage washed over her. Humiliation so deep and aching she wanted to lash out. At him. At her. He was what she had been running from, after all—the very man she’d wanted to protect herself from. Someone who took what he wanted and then stomped all over her as she were dirt to be trod upon.

He was the type of pain she’d wished to avoid. And still he had found her. The moment she trusted him. The moment she gave herself to him, it had happened. He crushed her.

She pressed the back of her hand to her feverish cheek and inhaled. She’d never be so foolish again. He could have whatever village girl he wanted. He could have every single one of them for all she cared.

But he’d never have her again.

As if to solidify this decision, Cleo held her ground, forcing herself to watch as Mary stood on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.

Despite her vow not to care, she gasped—too loudly to remain undetected.

Logan jerked and pushed Mary’s lush figure away. He whirled around, his gaze zeroing in on Cleo, his gray eyes alert as a hawk, intent and alive in that way that always curled her toes and melted her resolve. Now it only left a sour taste in her mouth.

Mary brightened, her tears vanishing as she settled her hands on her curvaceous hips and swayed where she stood, her eyes flashing with triumph as she assessed Cleo.

Logan took a step in her direction, reaching for her. “Cleo—”

She shook her head and stepped back swiftly. “No.”

It was just a word but she put everything into it, conveyed all her anger, all her hurt and disappointment with the single utterance.

His eyes flickered with something, an emotion she couldn’t identify, and she knew he understood. Whatever they’d had, however close they’d come to something special . . . it was lost.

Turning, she raced back to her bedchamber. He was there, after her before she could consider a better place to flee. Not that any part of this castle belonged to her. Not that she could escape him or his world.

He caught the door before she could slam it shut. She hurried to the center of the room, hoping to put distance between them. Whirling around, she faced him, feeling as wild and desperate as a cornered animal.

He held up two hands in the air as though to placate her. “It isn’t what it looks like—”

“Said the husband to the wife,” she mocked bitterly.

“Cleo—”

“No.” She swiped a hand through the air. “And you claimed you didn’t want everyone to think our union was contentious?” She laughed harshly, dizzy from her furious thoughts. “What an idiot I am! You can’t even wait a day before you begin your dalliances. And after last night?” She squared her shoulders. “I want my own room. Either this one or another. I care not. I refuse to share a bed with you again.”

His face tightened with frustration . . . and something else she’d never seen before. Something that made her feel a stab of discomfort. As though something were slipping away here, dying for good.

“Cleo, it doesn’t have to be—”

“What? As long as I turn a blind eye to your dalliances we can continue our farce of a marriage? I can continue repeating last night with no shame or regret?” She motioned to the bed, her face heating as she recalled everything she’d done last night. The memory mortified her.

“It wasn’t like that . . . Mary is an old friend—”

“Stop!” She held up both hands and squeezed her eyes in a tight blink. “Please spare me the details. I don’t want to hear about your sordid history.”