The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 (22 page)

“You are so handsome,” she was certain they were the last words he expected her to utter.

She was right.

Logan’s lips twitched. “No one has ever—”

“Seen you the way I do? I most certainly hope not, for my vision of you belongs to me.” She caressed the scar across his cheek with her fingertips. With a wry grin she added, “Perhaps we shall have a matching set?”

“Of scars?” he arched is dark brow. “No, I think your cheek will heal.”

“You are no Dr. Forsythe,” she quipped.

“Thank God for that,” Logan nipped her earlobe before muttering. “The poor man was terrified of you when you tried to kill me. Had you done so to him, I have no doubt he would have swooned. Then where would we be?”

Arabella sighed. “Where, indeed?”

“I have an idea,” Logan nipped her ear again, before whispering, “how about my suite of rooms?”

“How would we manage that?” another nip, this one on her neck, causing Arabella’s core to throb for him. “Between the servants and your guests, one of whom happens to be my employer—”

“Former employer.” Another nip. “You resigned your post.”

“It wasn’t me,” Arabella’s breath caught in her throat as Logan’s mouth descended lower, right above the fabric at her bodice.

He was driving her mad, desire raging within her, as he insisted, “Our guests are likely in their rooms by now or, more likely, are keeping each other company. The Dowager Viscountess likes to talk, you know.”

Laughing, Arabella teased, “Of that, I am well aware.”

“You and I can bypass the servants,” Logan straightened, gathering his jacket and vest before heading towards a shelf next to his desk. He removed an old, faded book, reaching in and pressing something against the shelf. In response, there was a faint
click
as the wall opened. “Did you know that Winterthorne has secret tunnels? One leads directly from here to my suite.”

He scribbled something on a piece of paper and left it upon his desk. Afterwards, offering her his hand, Logan led Arabella into a draughty tunnel before closing the wall behind them. She squinted, adjusting to the darkness.

“This is incredible,” her tone was airy while her awe was evident. “Like something straight out of a gothic novel. Winterthorne does hold its secrets. What a gripping story it would tell.”

“Follow me,” Logan instructed, having apparently memorized the maze so that no candle or sconce was necessary.

Arabella held on to his waist, following him step for step. The floor was stone, his boots and her slippers echoing against the solid rock.

“Can anyone hear us?” she whispered.

“No, with the exception of the entrances, the walls are stone. These tunnels are fortified.” Logan rounded on her, causing Arabella to bump into his solid mass. “I wonder if this is how Mr. Winterton snuck his lady love in without anyone suspecting.”

He laced his fingers through Arabella’s as she sighed. “That would be romantic, would it not?”

Another
click
, this one a tad louder followed by a creak as the wall opened.

“I do hope we don’t wind up in the servants’ quarters since this would be quite a challenge to explain,” she followed him into his suite of rooms.

Logan sauntered to the door of his bedchamber and turned the lock. “See, I told you.”

“I must admit that I am impressed.” She smiled, studying his suite. The bedchamber was accentuated in browns and burgundy with dark wood and worn leather chairs in front of the hearth. Two doors jutted on either side.

Peering through the open doors, she noted one was a changing room while the other was a sitting area with more books lining the walls. It resembled the library downstairs though it was smaller, offering a cozy appeal.

In the bedchamber, the drapes were open, allowing light to cascade past a rather tall pine. It cast shadows along the walls, forcing a portion of the room into a muted hue, like that at dusk.

Dark and mysterious.

Much like the man who resided within.

“Now that you’ve led me here, pray tell, how shall I make my escape afterwards, without anyone being the wiser?” She leaned against one of the sturdy four posters in the center of the room.

Logan placed his palms on her waist. “I left a note on my desk in the library explaining that we had taken a walk,” he slid his fingers up her ribcage, past her bodice, proceeding up to the curve of her neck, heightening her yearning for him until it reached a crescendo.

She leaned against his length, “When you caress me like that, I forget everything else.”

Capturing her lips, Logan looped his forefinger under the silken fabric at her neck, then traced a path to her bodice. Arabella’s breath hitched in her throat.

What was rapture for her, was divine torture for him.

Logan’s hunger for her had reached the painful stage, but he made the conscious decision to escort Bella to his bedchamber, to treat her like a respectable lady … like his wife. To make love to her with devotion and respect.

Arabella was no trollop.

He would ensure this time, she would experience the slow, sensual, love that was brimming in his heart. She would feel it in his every kiss, his every caress. Yes, there would be no doubt in her mind that he cherished her.

It would sustain them through the danger that lurked in the shadows, hunting them, threatening their future.

“You are so beautiful,” he had told her so on many occasions. She remembered none of them, of course. Hence, he would voice everything he felt for so long, repeat the promises he had once made, utter the adoration he had suppressed for so many years. “I will love you until the end of time if you allow me.”

“Now and always,” her voice was raspy, her breathing labored. “I love you, Logan.”

After unbuttoning his shirt, Arabella left it open as she explored his chest with her fingertips, causing his manhood to throb for her.

Still, Logan remained steadfast.

He would proceed with gentle kisses and soft caresses. It was his solemn vow as Arabella’s tongue trailed down his neck to his chest.

A violent shudder wracked his body.

Arabella met his gaze, “You once promised to give me anything I desired. You cited a poem, if I recall correctly.
For you, my love, I shall hang the moon. For you, my love, I shall paint the brightest sunset
…”

“Our vows.” He cleared his throat, swallowing hard against the lump of emotion that formed there. “You promised the same to me.”

What is this feeling?

The ache that surged from his very core every time she remembered their vows. Where did it come from? The fact that he never thought he would hear the words again? The fact that he’d believed for years that she never meant the words in the first place?

“I don’t need moons, or sunsets. I don’t need jewels. All I desire is you.” Arabella turned, pulling her honeyed waves and curls over her shoulder before holding on to a massive four-poster in front of her. “Grant me my dearest wish, and undress me, please.”

Logan’s fingers fumbled with the buttons at the back of her gown. Once the garment was open, he pressed his lips against the back of her neck. He placed his cheek against her soft flesh, inhaling a ragged breath.

Was love supposed to do this? Cause him to … what? Slice through the armor that had sheltered him from anguish and heartache for so long? Cause his guard to fall? Cause him pain, because for the first time in years he allowed himself to feel what he had been missing.

To love.

To feel loved in return.

Arabella leaned against his length, threading her fingers with his, pulling his hands around her waist.

“Loving me isn’t supposed to hurt,” her voice was shaky. “If you don’t want—”

“No. I do. That is why it is so painful.” He bent down, resting his cheek against her hair. Inhaling her scent. The intimate act causing his body to stiffen. “I am so fearful you will change your mind.”

“I never changed my mind,” she turned, tears staining her rosy cheeks. “We lost so much time. And why? Not because I changed my mind. I know that. So do you.”

Logan kissed her tears, the salt lingering on his tongue. Yes, I do. Yet, feelings I haven’t allowed myself are surfacing …”

“Love me,” Arabella whispered. “Just love me, as I love you.”

“Now and always?” tipping his head to the side, Logan studied Bella’s reaction. It was another vow, one they pledged to one another years prior.

Her eyes, amber in the muted sunlight, shone bright with understanding. “Then, now, and always.” She kissed him, her heartfelt admission, filling his heart with joy.

Joy.

He had no idea that he was capable of such an emotion, but Bella brought it out in him, infused him with it.

As he made love to her, he swore to always love her and always protect her. Yes, no matter the danger, he would guard this woman until the end of time.

Because she tamed the restlessness within him.

The appropriate question was no longer to ask what he was feeling. No, the more suitable question would be
what am I not feeling?
He no longer felt like an outcast, was no longer weighted with guilt, was no longer burdened with a disquiet that caused him to walk the grounds at night, to prowl the halls at all hours.

Arabella shattered the barriers he had erected, fulfilling him. He had found what he had been missing for so long …

Arabella.

God help Sybil or anyone else who threatened harm to Bella, for Logan wouldn’t hesitate to kill them.

No one would prevent their happiness this time. It was his oath, fortified with all the love in his heart, as Bella fell asleep, sated and safe in his arms. Listening to her gentle, rhythmic breathing, Logan considered their options.

Two choices.

Both were precarious, though one was guaranteed to ensure that Sybil made her grand re-entry into society. The other offered no such guarantee.

No matter the choice, both depended upon the same stipulations: that Sybil loved wealth and Logan possessed it in abundance.

Yes, Sybil’s greed would be her downfall.

As soon as Bella awakened, she and Logan would discuss their options. Of course, Colin must be summoned since news from his investigation would play a large part in their future plans. As would Victoria’s knowledge of Arabella and her most recent life, before Sybil’s dangerous game of deception.

Games …

Arabella said her sister enjoyed amusing diversions, concocting schemes and plotting misdeeds.

Good.

Logan itched to turn the tables on her. Yes, he planned to concoct the ruse of a lifetime and ensure that this would be the last game Sybil ever played with their lives.

Logan despised intrigues, after all. Though he played them well, he preferred strategy over pretend, preferred outfoxing his opponent with skill and cunning.

He would use Sybil’s hubris against her. Allow her to think she had won. Allow her to revel in her victory over Arabella.

This would permit them to tackle any unforeseen events. After all, Arabella had only regained a small portion of her memories. Sybil’s game may have evolved; her intent may be something of which they remain unaware.

Regardless, Logan would draw it from Sybil … cause her to reveal her true intentions.

Then he would strike.

The problem with amusements such as those that Sybil enjoyed is that they can be turned against you when one least expects it.

If all went as planned, Arabella and he would share their lives together as husband and wife while her sister suffered the ramifications of her actions.

Games can be deadly, after all.

Sybil counted on it. Though she didn’t realize that it would be her life that would wind up in jeopardy. She didn’t know that Logan was fated to find Arabella on his grounds during an unseasonably cold night.

Logan’s chest constricted.

If he hadn’t been roaming the grounds, Arabella would have frozen to death or may have been caught, perhaps even tortured.

Rage rumbled through his veins, like thunder rolling during a violent downpour.

Damn Sybil Sutton.

If Logan’s plan succeeded, Arabella would be safe and Sybil … well, she would be the one fighting for her life.

Perhaps Sybil’s new role would be that of victim?

Turnabout is fair play in fickle games.

It was past time Sybil learned that lesson.

He would ensure that she would never forget it.