Because You're Mine

  As the grieving widower, he was supposed to be drunk. It wasn't easy to portray intoxication well. Most actors tended to overplay it or, worse, underplay it. It was one of the few pieces of stagecraft that required a great deal of technique in order to seem natural. Forcing himself to concentrate, Logan captured the slur, the expansive gestures, and the off-balance walk of a man who had been drinking for a long time.

  He sat in a large oak chair, before a box set resembling a library. Clearing his mind of all else, he began a lengthy monologue, revealing the biting irony and quiet despair of his character.

  Somewhere in the midst of the monologue, Logan felt rather than saw Madeline come up behind him, her small hands resting on the back of his chair. As the play dictated, she leaned over him and spoke during the pauses of his monologue, her sweet voice falling against his ears.

  Logan didn't move. He was feverishly aware of her body just behind him, her scent, the feel of her breath on his skin. He began to sweat profusely. One of Madeline's long golden-brown curls fell over his shoulder, tickling his neck. An aching pressure gathered in his groin. He was rock-hard, his entire being consumed with lust and yearning.

  Logan couldn't stand it any longer. He broke in midsentence, just as Charles had…only he wasn't laughing.

  The theater was silent. Logan tried to collect himself, aware that the cast and crew were watching. Perhaps they thought he had forgotten a line, although that had never happened before. He hoped to God no one suspected the truth—that he was completely undone by one naive girl. Setting his jaw hard, he took several deep, even breaths.

  “Mr. Scott,” came Madeline's hesitant voice from behind him, “if you would like me to tell you the line—”

  “I know the bloody line,” he said, his back stiff. God help him, if he glanced at her even once, he was afraid of what he might do.

  Julia spoke from the audience seat. “Is there a problem, Mr. Scott?”

  Logan responded with a murderous glare, longing to strangle his comanager for putting him in this situation. Julia was genuinely puzzled, staring back at him with knitted brows. She pondered his simmering discomfort, her gaze flickering from him to Madeline, who continued to stand right behind him. Then she seemed to understand. They had been friends for a long time, he and Julia. She knew him too well.

  “Shall we break for a few minutes?” she asked briskly.

  “No,” Logan muttered. “Let's finish the damned scene.” He swiped at his forehead and resumed the monologue once more, starting somewhere in the middle. Madeline followed along, a note of uncertainty in her voice.

  Without regard to technique, characterization, or any of the nuances of acting, Logan muddled through the rest of the scene. Julia let the performance pass without comment, speculation causing her fair brow to crease.

  The second the scene ended, Julia called for a twenty-minute break. The theater company dispersed at once, heading to the greenroom in search of refreshment or to the dressing rooms. Logan remained in his chair onstage, keeping his back to Madeline until he sensed that she had left.

  Slowly Julia made her way to the edge of the stage, rubbing the small of her back. “Logan,” she said quietly, “I have no desire to interfere—”

  “Then don't.” He walked downstage to within a few feet of her, staring into her upturned face.

  Julia made certain no one was close enough to overhear before she continued, choosing her words with obvious care. “I suspected there was an attraction between you and Maddy, but she's not the kind of girl you've ever been interested in before, and I certainly never dreamed—”

  “What is your point, Your Grace?”

  She looked stung by his abruptness. “I happen to like Maddy. I hope you won't take advantage of her. You and I both know she would never recover from an affair with you. She's not nearly hardened enough.”

  Logan felt his face turn to stone. “What I do—or don't do—with her is my business.”

  “Maddy's welfare is also my concern. And I seem to recall your hard-and-fast rule that you never become personally involved with anyone in the company—”

  “She's your employee, not mine. I didn't hire her, and therefore I'm free to do whatever the hell I want with her.”

  “Logan,” she warned in frustration, watching as he strode away.

  Madeline wandered through the greenroom, summoning a wan smile in response to the other actors' praise for her efforts.

  “What's the matter with Mr. Scott?” she overheard someone asking. “He's been acting strange lately.”

  “Who knows?” came another's reply. “I just hope it isn't that bloody fever that's going around. All the company needs is for Mr. Scott to be under the hatches.”

  The rest of the conversation was lost on Madeline as she headed to the practice rooms. She needed to find a place to think. What had happened onstage? She had thought everything was going well. She had even felt a sort of connection with Mr. Scott. But he had turned wooden, his performance strangely mechanical, as if he could hardly bear her presence. She felt close to weeping…she wanted to hide somewhere.

  She heard rapid footsteps behind her. Someone caught her arm in a biting grip and ushered her into the nearest practice room. Madeline stumbled a little, twisting to stare at her captor with wide eyes as he closed the door. “Mr. Scott…”

  His face was in shadow, the outline of his head framed by shafts of light coming in from the window. His breathing was rough and unsteady. She stepped back, but he caught her with startling suddenness, his hands closing on either side of her head. It seemed that he tried to say something, then gave up with a muffled sound and kissed her.

  His mouth was startlingly hot, almost clumsy with urgency. He explored her as if he couldn't get enough, trying to assuage a hunger that would never be satisfied. Madeline trembled in surprise, meeting his aggression with a surrender that only inflamed him more.

  His hand raked down her back, nearly tearing the fabric of her costume. Madeline couldn't help molding herself to him, craving more, her legs parting at the hard intrusion of his thigh. She wrapped her arms around him, clasping the taut muscles of his back. This was what she had wanted, what she had dreamed of, and it was even sweeter than she had imagined. His mouth was tender and erotic, his body hard against hers, filling herewith delicious, giddy weakness.

  His lips broke from hers, and he gasped harshly against her ear. Taking a fistful of her long hair, he pushed it aside and pressed his lips against her throat. He found a sensitive place on the side of her neck, kissing, gently biting until she whimpered in pleasure. She was desperately empty inside; she wanted something…something…

  He shoved at the sleeves of her gown and shift, the material tightening until stitches popped and her naked breast was revealed. Madeline caught her breath as she felt him cup the soft weight, brushing the tip with his fingers, pulling gently until the point was taut and aching. She leaned against him, her body shaking uncontrollably.

  “Sweet,” he whispered, holding her tightly. “Sweet. Don't be afraid.” He arched her over his solid arm, and she felt his lips slide over her breast until they closed over the aroused nipple. He brought it to an even harder peak with swirling touches of his tongue, seeming to know exactly how to pleasure her.

  Suddenly Mr. Scott lifted his mouth from her breast and let go of her. Stunned by the abrupt release, Madeline stared at him in astonished silence. Her hands came up to cover her nakedness, and she turned away from him, fumbling with her gown. Her fingers trembled violently, making the task impossible. She struggled with her clothes until she felt his hands on her once more, carefully pulling her sleeves and bodice back into place.

  As soon as she was safely covered, Mr. Scott retreated to the other side of the small room. He dragged his hand through his hair, letting out an explosive sigh. After a long time, he spoke while facing away from her. “Maddy, I didn't mean to…approach you that way. It's just that I…” He stopped with a grim laugh. “I can't seem to stop myse
lf.”

  She gripped her hands together. “Mr. Scott,” she said with difficulty, “I'm not sorry that you kissed me.”

  He turned at the words, his eyes like blue fire. He came to her in three strides, taking her face in his hands. “Maddy,” he whispered. His lips came to the curve of her cheek, and he smoothed her hair back from her face, his fingers curling in the silken locks. “I wish to hell I didn't want you so badly.”

  Her heart gave a leap of pleasure at the words. “Mr. Scott—”

  “Listen to me, Maddy.” He let go of her and drew back. “I'm not going to make love to you, regardless of how much I desire you. You would hate me afterward, and I would probably hate myself.”

  “I could never hate you.”

  He smiled sardonically. “No? Not even after I've robbed you of your innocence? Any involvement with me would change you, and not for the better.”

  “I'm willing to take that risk.”

  “You don't understand.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “I use women for physical pleasure, nothing more. Once I've learned all a partner has to offer, it's not long before I become bored and move on to the next one. You wouldn't last long in my bedroom.”

  “Haven't you ever been in love?” Madeline asked, staring at his set face.

  “Once. It didn't work.”

  “Why—”

  “You don't need to know about my past, any more than I need to know about yours.”

  Madeline didn't argue, knowing that he was probably right. The more she knew about him, the more difficult it would be to leave him when the time came. Like so many other women, she had been ensnared by Logan Scott's potent mixture of masculinity and mystery. For her own protection, she had to keep her heart safe. Suddenly Mrs. Florence's sage advice came to mind…Whatever you do, you mustn't act lovestruck. Simply make it clear that you're available and willing…that you're offering pleasure with no responsibility.

  “Mr. Scott,” she said quietly, “if you're attracted to me, I don't see why we shouldn't act upon it. All I want is one night with you.”

  His expression didn't change, but she sensed that she had surprised him. “Why?” he asked softly. “A girl like you…why would you lower yourself to that?” As he waited for a reply, he slid his fingers beneath her chin and forced her face upward. There was a flicker in his eyes, a new alertness that made her uneasy. Her lashes lowered in an effort to hide her thoughts.

  “I believe I would enjoy it,” she said. “Isn't that reason enough?”

  There was a brief, baffled silence. “Look at me,” he murmured. Slowly she obeyed. He searched her eyes and shook his head as if he were dismissing a not-so-entertaining puzzle. “You're a poor actress, Maddy. I'd like to know what it is you're after, but I have other issues to deal with, especially the fact that nearly a quarter of my company has fallen ill. As soon as the Capital is back to rights again, I want you to leave the theater. I'll get you another job, a better one.”

  “I want to stay here.”

  He appeared to be unmoved. “Believe me, it's best for both of us.”

  Madeline swallowed hard while a sickening tide of disappointment swept over her. What now? Her offer had been made and rejected. The sound of his refusal rang in her ears until she burned with mortified anger. Her hands clenched in her skirts, crushing the gossamer material.

  How foolish she had been! She had wasted so much time spinning fantasies about him, about things that would never happen. Now she was left with nothing except the knowledge that soon her absence from school would be discovered by her family.

  For a fraction of a second, she considered explaining the situation to Mr. Scott and throwing herself on his mercy. No…he would have no sympathy for her. Marry Clifton and consider yourself well off, she could almost hear him saying cynically. In truth, she was hardly fit to do anything else.

  Clenching her fists, Madeline went to the door with determined strides. She would not spend the rest of her days as a possession of Lord Clifton's. “Very well,” she said, pausing at the door. “I'll leave the Capital whenever you wish. You needn't bother to find another situation for me. I'm perfectly capable of finding something on my own.” She left before he could reply.

  Logan wandered to the door and braced his hand on the upper panels. He pressed his forehead to the cool wood and let out a muffled groan.

  One night with you…he would have given up his entire fortune for it. He had never known anything as exquisite as the feel of her in his arms, and the fearless vulnerability that welcomed and drew him near until he felt close to shattering. But he couldn't allow that, couldn't let someone tear out what was left of his heart.

  She would be gone soon. He waited for a feeling of relief that did not come.

  Wrenching open the door, he went to his office, ignoring the curious stares of the people he passed. He closed himself inside the small room and rummaged in his desk until he found a bottle of Highland whiskey. He sat at his desk and took a swig right from the bottle, letting the subtle flavors of smoke and peat linger on his tongue. Another swallow, and his throat was filled with the warming glow. But it failed to melt the block of ice in his chest.

  Logan drank leisurely, resting his feet on the edge of the desk and contemplating the tips of his polished leather shoes. At this point in his life, when he was saturated with success, he had thought himself invulnerable. It was amusing, really, that one small female had been able to wreak such havoc on him.

  Perhaps it was because Maddy was unique in his experience. She was certainly a far cry from the women of society's upper circles, who made certain Logan knew they were his superiors even as they slipped him discreet notes to arrange romantic rendezvous.

  And there were the creatures he detested most of all…the pedigreed daughters of the upper classes, whose only purpose in life was to marry and reproduce more of their kind. He wasn't good enough for them. He had no family or title, and money alone wasn't sufficient.

  Had he desired to court one of those privileged young ladies, he would have been informed by her family that she had far more desirable prospects. Just the sight of a chaperoned, white-gowned virgin at a ball or soirée was enough to remind Logan that no matter how great his achievements, there were some things he could never have. He would never be fully accepted. Outside the theater, there was no place he really belonged.

  Madeline Ridley seemed equally out of place. She was too warm and unaffected to be a society miss, too idealistic to be a courtesan. She was clearly meant to be someone's wife, but he couldn't imagine a man who would be worthy of her. She needed someone who would take care not to crush her spirit, who would be able to love her as completely as she would love him.

  All of the things Logan could never do. He was ill-equipped for such a relationship, having been taught at an early age to despise the words “home” and “family.” He had survived only by becoming as callous as the man who had sired him.

  Years of beatings and abuse had toughened him and made him a supremely good liar. His father, Paul Jennings, had always committed his acts of violence in the midst of a drunken rage…but afterward he had resisted facing the results of what he had done. Logan had been required to pretend that all was forgotten, maintaining the fiction that everyone in the Jennings household was happy and well. The sight of one tear, one wince of pain or resentful glance, had been enough to incur a second beating worse than the first. Unwittingly, his father had been a superb acting teacher.

  Once, after a particularly brutal beating, Logan had gone for three days with a broken arm, denying that he felt any pain until Andrew had finally dragged him to the estate mansion and seen that the arm was splinted and bound. “How did it happen, boy?” the earl had asked him, his keen eyes fastened on Logan's battered face. Logan had refused to answer, knowing that if he even hinted at the truth, Paul Jennings would probably kill him.

  Years later, Logan had wondered why his mother had never offered him any consolation, no maternal kisses to soothe the hurts. He
had come to the conclusion that his mother had been too desperately determined to keep the peace in her house to spare him much attention. He had long since ceased to want softness from a woman…he didn't need comfort or caring. Women were to be enjoyed and discarded, but never to be trusted. Never to be needed.

  Now that things had finally been settled with Madeline, all he had to do was ignore her until Arlyss was well again. He had no doubt that Julia would protest the girl's dismissal, but he could deal with that. Besides, Julia would soon be occupied with a newborn baby, and all thoughts of Madeline Ridley would fade. Soon it would be as if she had never been there at all.

  Logan felt the bracing effects of the whiskey settle in his bones, making him comfortably numb. Just as he preferred. Carefully he replaced the bottle of whiskey in the drawer and closed it.

  Five

  Madeline went to bed early, deciding to forgo her nightly conversation with Mrs. Florence. The pain of rejection was too fresh. Perhaps she would be able to talk about it tomorrow, or the next day, when she was able to compose herself.

  Staring into the darkness, Madeline considered not returning to the Capital. The idea of facing Mr. Scott again was unbearable. Unfortunately she had promised the duchess that she would help with rehearsals until Miss Barry was well again. She couldn't break a promise, but to stand opposite Mr. Scott on stage and look into his eyes…Madeline winced in acute embarrassment. She didn't know if she could do it.

  Just one or two days—surely Miss Barry would be well by then. She would steel herself not to blush or stammer in front of Mr. Scott. She would be cool and utterly self-possessed.

  Madeline turned and twisted in the bedclothes all night, trying in vain to escape her thoughts. In the morning she awoke exhausted and apprehensive, wondering if she had ever dreaded a day in her life as she did this one. No doubt she wasn't the first woman to fail at seducing a man—but how many of them were required to face him the very next day and pretend nothing had happened?