“I-I suppose. Yes. I do,” she answered, guessing that was the answer that would most appease Jack. She couldn’t explain her complicated relationship with Logan to him.
He nodded as though satisfied. “I’m assuming he intends to salvage your reputation and—”
“Yes, he’s offered.”
He waved an arm widely. “Then where is he?”
“I insisted he call on you tomorrow. After you and I had spoken.”
He grunted and tugged his jacket down his barrel frame. “Very well. A Scottish lord isn’t what I’d hoped for you, but it’s something at least.”
Her lips twisted. Of course, she couldn’t forget her father’s mission was to see his daughters well wed. She and Marguerite might not have scored the best matches in his estimation, but at least Grier had not disappointed him.
He clapped his hands. “Come now. I’ve a surprise for you.”
He took her elbow and guided her to the drawing room. She followed, curious to meet the mysterious “she” he’d referred to.
He pushed open one of the double doors with a flourish. Immediately, Cleo’s gaze landed on the female knitting quietly on the sofa, her expression soft and serene, but with a lingering sadness.
She wore a drab dress of wool. It did nothing to compliment her rather pudgy shape—or the bland brown hair pulled back into an equally bland bun.
“Cleo, allow me to present Annalise.”
The young woman hastily dropped her needlework and rose to her feet, her expression hopeful and anxious as she gazed at Cleo. A faint awareness tingled at the back of her neck, tightening her skin as she stared at the girl. She almost felt as though she knew her . . . that perhaps they’d met before.
Annalise took a few steps in Cleo’s direction. As she did so, Cleo saw she moved with a slight limp. Annalise trained her large brown eyes on Cleo. Brown like the rest of her except that they were large and lovely, framed with remarkably long lashes. They were quite her best feature—extraordinary really.
“Hello,” Cleo greeted, looking to her father, uncertain who this stranger was and why he seemed so excited to have her here.
“Hello,” Annalise returned. “I’ve heard a great deal about you from Jack.” She wrung her small hands together in front of her.
Jack’s smile broadened. “I told Annalise all about you . . . how quickly you acclimated to Town life and had beaus courting you left and right.” He waved a hand like he was swatting flies.
Cleo stifled a snort. It hadn’t exactly happened like that. “Er, yes. And will you be in Town long?” She looked helplessly at Jack, unsure what to say to this strange girl and beginning to become annoyed that he wasn’t enlightening her as to her identity.
“I should think so,” Jack declared, smiling. “She has the bedchamber next to yours.”
Cleo looked from Jack to the girl, a sinking suspicion beginning to take hold. If possible, the girl’s hopeful expression only intensified, leaving Cleo with no doubt.
She was staring at her sister.
Chapter Nineteen
Another half sister.
Brushing her hair in long vigorous strokes, Cleo marveled at her father’s ability to produce offspring—and solely female offspring at that. Jack had certainly sown his oats across the country.
She set her brush down and stared at herself. “Four?” she asked her reflection, unperturbed that she was talking to herself.
That brought the total count to four. Jack had fathered four daughters, to date, with women he had not bothered to wed. Initially, this only angered her and fed her belief that men were takers, slaking their lusts with no thought to those it affected.
But then her anger dissipated with the knowledge that she had another sister. Her heart softened as she thought about Annalise. Just a few years younger than herself, she didn’t have any other family. No siblings. Her mother was gone. She’d thought herself alone and worked long hours as a seamstress apprentice when Jack’s man had located her. Now Annalise had Jack and Cleo. And although they were occupied with their new lives, she had Grier and Marguerite, too.
The callow girl was going to need all the help she could get navigating the ton. She looked so innocent with those brown eyes so full of hope and faith in all the promises Jack made. Wealth. The sparkling world of the ton. A gentleman husband. A titled man—the sort that would never have glanced at her before—was now hers to have.
Cleo shook her head, hoping Annalise wasn’t expecting all of that. Disillusionment only awaited her. The ton might let her in the door because of Jack’s money, but they’d never see her truly as one of them. In their eyes, she’d always be a bastard, one step from the gutters.
She wouldn’t be embraced. The wolves would circle, ready to use her, ready to tear her apart and take all that innocence she possessed and squash it underfoot.
Cleo contemplated this as she gazed at her reflection, wondering if she shouldn’t warn her . . . shouldn’t ask Jack to let her off the hook. Set her up in a nice cottage in some village where she might make genuine friends . . . perhaps one day meet a nice man who cared for her.
But something told her that Annalise wouldn’t agree to that. From their brief exchange, she could see that the girl bought into the fairy tale. She wanted everything Jack promised. She wanted her prince and her happily ever after. Jack had convinced her it could be hers.
Sighing, Cleo rose from her vanity table, hoping that her new sister didn’t end up hurt too badly.
Hopefully, Marguerite would help her find her way since she wouldn’t be here to do so.
Cleo didn’t imagine Logan wanted to remain long in London. He had family and duties awaiting him in Scotland. And honestly, she didn’t want to remain here either. There’d be a scandal, and she’d rather not be here to serve as fodder for it—even if it meant living with him on some faraway mountaintop.
Not that the prospect didn’t alarm her. She was placing herself totally in his hands, away from all that was familiar—Jack, Marguerite. Even Town had become something known.
She would be isolated from everything she knew. It was bad enough when she left her mother and siblings . . . but now she’d have no one. No one but Logan. At least until her siblings joined her. Then they’d have each other. That would have to be enough. She’d make it so.
When Logan arrived the following day, he was immediately led to the garden, where Jack Hadley sat at a small table taking his breakfast beneath a large maple tree.
He’d rather expected Cleo to be absent, but until that moment he hadn’t realized how much he longed for the sight of her. He’d only been away from her for a day, but he’d thought of little else.
Jack motioned to the vacant seat across from him. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, thank you.” He lowered himself across from the man who went by the moniker “King of the London Underworld.” Logan had no misconception that much of his wealth had been earned through criminal and unsavory practices. It occurred to him that a little fear might be in order when dealing with the man. Only he wasn’t afraid. In his mind, fear had to do with regret. And he regretted nothing he’d done with Cleo. He’d change nothing that had happened.
Jack took a healthy bite of kipper and leveled his keen-eyed gaze on Logan, assessing for some moments before announcing, “So. You’ve compromised my daughter.”
Logan didn’t so much as blink an eye. This interview was important if he was to gain Hadley’s blessing. He did not intend to show weakness.
With his gaze trained on Hadley, he answered, “It appears so.”
Hadley chewed some more.
Logan continued. “I seek her hand.”
“She mentioned that. And why is it I should sanction such a union?”
For a moment, he considered reminding the man that her reputation was unsalvageable, but he stopped himself. That wasn’t why
she should marry him. That wasn’t why he wanted to marry her.
Settling for the truth, he declared, “I want her. I wanted her before I ruined her at Hamilton’s. And the reason she’s ruined is because I can’t seem to stay away from her.”
“And not because of her fat dowry.”
He winced. “Initially, it drew me. I have responsibilities . . . a crumbling estate, siblings to provide for.” He leaned forward. “But I see your daughter. I—” he paused. “I like her. I appreciate her. More than any fop about Town ever will.”
Hadley held his stare for a long moment before slowly nodding. “You have my blessing.” He waved his fork in a small circle. “She’s in the salon with her sister. I’m sure she’ll want to see you so that you may begin making plans. I recommend a hasty wedding . . . it should help stop the worst of the gossip. Perhaps we should journey north to your home and perform the ceremony there? Once we cross the border, there will be no need for a license or posting of banns. And you’re a Scotsman, after all. No one shall think it too unseemly.”
He wouldn’t argue leaving London and returning home with Cleo sooner rather than later. “Very well,” he agreed, standing and feeling an inordinate amount of relief. He didn’t realize until that moment how anxious he’d been for Hadley’s blessing. Now nothing stood in his way from making Cleo his own. Well, nothing except the female herself.
Logan wasn’t so dense as to not realize that he still had his work ahead of him. It was going to take time to put Cleo’s long-held fears to rest. It wouldn’t happen overnight.
But once they married, they would have all the time in the world. Eventually, she’d trust him—and herself.
Then she’d be his.
Cleo was browsing through fashion plates with Annalise when Logan found them in the salon. She stood anxiously at the sight of him, struck anew with the astonishment that she had agreed to marry this man.
He stood tall and handsome, his body strong and lean. He was beyond beautiful. Beyond anything she had let herself dream for herself. Somehow she thought she could control this situation . . . control him. She admitted this to herself with not a small dose of shame.
Annalise cleared her throat softly, and Cleo remembered her presence. She moved back and guided Annalise forward by the elbow. “Lord McKinney, allow me to introduce my sister, Miss Annalise Hadley.”
Annalise blinked those large brown eyes, clearly unaccustomed to the surname in reference to herself. She’d get used to it.
“Miss Hadley.” He bowed slightly, ever courteous even with surprise reflected in his gray eyes. He’d met Marguerite, and he knew about Grier, but, of course, he’d never heard of a third sister.
Annalise performed a clumsy curtsy, her plump frame wobbling. “Please call me Annalise.” She looked quickly at Cleo, verifying if this was acceptable.
The inquiry in her sister’s gaze brought back the question of how Logan’s conversation had fared with Jack. Whether Annalise and he adopted the use of each other’s Christian names largely depended on whether he was about to become her brother-in-law.
Logan leveled his gaze on her. “Jack recommended that we wed in Scotland.”
A breath of relief escaped her, followed fast with panic. I’m really going to marry this man.
He continued, “I suggest we leave tomorrow.”
She stared. It was really happening. So soon. And not a grand church wedding, it would seem. But then she didn’t really want that. A bunch of people who didn’t really like her crammed inside a church, hungry to watch the spectacle of her marriage, hoping for a bit of gossip to carry with them to the next soiree.
Her mother wouldn’t have likely attended. Even if her ham-fisted, controlling stepfather allowed her to, she wouldn’t have felt comfortable in such elevated company. So why not travel to Scotland and marry in his domain?
“Very well.” She glanced at her sister. “Shall we begin packing?”
Annalise nodded, her brown eyes dancing with excitement at the prospect.
An uncomfortable silence stretched. Logan looked as though he wanted to say something more, but a fleeting look at Annalise prevented that.
Annalise must have read the look. She cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me.” She likely thought they wanted the moment alone to kiss and hold each other and whisper sweet words. Cleo grimaced at such a wildly romantic notion . . . but a notion she suspected her half sister harbored.
She slipped from the room and left them alone. They stood with the tea cart between them.
What did one say to the man you were to marry with an understanding in place that there likely would never be intimacy between them? Cleo motioned to the pot. “Would you like some tea?”
“No.” He circled the cart, an intent light in his gray eyes.
“Could I ring for something stronger? Coffee?” She resisted the impulse to back up. She had vowed to trust him and that meant not retreating at his approach.
He stopped in front of her and cupped her cheek, his rasping palm holding her face.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, the reminder burning on her tongue that their marriage wasn’t about intimacy. No touching. No spontaneous caressing.
“Sealing our bargain,” he whispered the moment before his lips claimed hers.
She tried to protest but he smothered the sound. It wasn’t the type of kiss she thought one might give for sealing a bargain. It was hot and consuming, rough and thorough. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, sweeping inside and lighting her afire.
She grabbed his shoulders, prepared to push him away but instead she ended up clinging to him.
He finally ended the kiss, and this only galled her. He ended it. Where was her willpower? She was supposed to be in control, but so far he seemed to be the one in control.
Staring up at him, she realized what a fool she’d been to think she could ever control this man.
He gazed down at her with desire gleaming in his eyes. Her heart stuttered wildly inside her chest. He brushed a thumb over her kiss-bruised lips.
“You can’t do this,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“What?”
She moistened her lips and his gaze followed the motion of her tongue. Her belly tightened and she forced hard resolve into her voice. “You can’t just kiss me whenever you feel like it.”
He smiled slowly and her stomach flipped at the curve of those well-formed lips. “The occasion called for it.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No more. I can’t do this if you continue to kiss me and touch me every time I turn around.” As she uttered these words the desire ebbed from his eyes, replaced with cold aloofness. He didn’t miss her meaning. He understood.
“That’s the way it’s to be then? I can’t so much as touch you without your express welcome? Will you send me an embossed invitation? Is that how I shall know?” he bit out.
He was angry, but she preferred that to his heated gazes and roaming lips and hands. “I-I-I explained—”
“Yes, I suppose you did. I just did not fully understand until this moment that I was never to so much as put a finger on my wife. Forgive me. Now I comprehend.”
My wife. Just those words from his lips sent a bolt of panic through her.
“We’re not married,” she retorted.
“Indeed. Not yet.”
“I don’t understand your . . .” she groped for the right word and gave up, reminding him instead what it was he really sought. “You need an heiress. I’m that. You claimed no need for an heir.”
One dark eyebrow lifted. “Indeed. I only need the funds that you bring.” He looked her up and down, his expression so cold it chilled her heart. “I don’t need you.”
She flinched even as awareness swam through her that she had incited this.
Turning from her, he stalked across the room.
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She watched, a new type of panic rising in her . . . panic that he’d change his mind and didn’t want to marry her at all. Blast it! When had she become such a contrary creature?
“Wait!” she cried. “I still need to speak to you about a matter.”
At the door, he turned to look at her. “What might that be?”
“I need your promise.”
“Another one?”
She nodded, her misery more than she could understand. She was getting her wish. She’d be saving her family and he wouldn’t demand a place in her bed. What more did she require?
“I need your promise that I can use funds to help my family . . . a-and that my siblings can reside with us if need be.”
Something flickered in his gaze, a hint of the softness he’d shown her in the library when he comforted her about Bess. Then it was gone. “Of course.”
She released a sigh. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Be ready to leave in the morning.”
Inexplicable relief rippled through her, easing the tension from her shoulders. He hadn’t changed his mind. She’d reached her goal and accomplished exactly what she’d set out to do.
So why did she feel so empty inside?
Chapter Twenty
At the first sight of McKinney Castle, Cleo felt a mixture of awe and fear. Appropriate, when she considered it. Those were much the same emotions she felt around Logan.
As they trodded along the well-worn road, she peered out the carriage window at what was to become her home—and, hopefully, home to several of her siblings, too. She bit her lip. She still needed to broach the specifics of collecting them with her husband-to-be. Not that they had done much discussing on the journey north. Most of her time had been spent in the company of Jack, Annalise, Marguerite, and her husband, Ash Courtland.
They’d all accompanied her, insisting on attending her wedding. Wedding. The word made her stomach twist. She wondered how soon the ceremony would occur now that they had arrived. Apparently the local village had its own church with a Reverend Smythe presiding. And there were Logan’s siblings. With the exception of his sister, Fiona, they were all here, and Logan had expressed his wish for them to witness the occasion.