The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 (23 page)

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rabella’s eyes fluttered open, her cheek resting upon a soft pillow. Stretching, she turned to meet Logan’s intense stare. “You have been watching me?”

“I had a beautiful view therefore you cannot fault me.”

She smiled. “You sound besotted, Mr. Ambrose.”

“I am,” he winked at her, sliding his arm around her abdomen then to her back. “Hopelessly so, in fact.”

“Good. I like that,” Arabella snuggled closer to his warmth. “Especially since I am equally besotted.”

“Anyone I know?” he murmured.

“You and he are well acquainted, though I believe I know you both best.”

Logan kissed her hair. It had become a habit. One that caused her lips to curl into a grin every time.

“Of that, I have no doubt, my love.”

“My love?” she toyed with a springy curl of his chest hair. “I like the sound of that. So much so that I wish we could lie here forever.”

Logan splayed his palm against her lower back, tugging her until their bodies melded together, his warmth radiating against hers. “What if I suggested that we can?”

“I would insist that you are mad,” her teasing tone belied her statement. “You have an estate complete with guests and staff, my darling. We cannot hide forever, no matter how tempted I may be.”

“Victoria won’t dare say a word, Fiona will pretend to be blind, and my staff is discreet. Besides, you and I are marrying posthaste.” Logan announced, as if it had been decided.

For her, it was a foregone conclusion years ago.

“I thought we already were.” Bella smiled.

Logan caressed her cheek. “In my heart, we are. However, we must make this official. It is the only way for our scheme to succeed.” His fingertips trailed down her neck, to her shoulder then to her arm.

His eyes followed the path he traced, memorizing every birthmark, every smooth patch of flesh. Her skin was softer than silk, like nothing he could have imagined.

Logan couldn’t explore Bella enough.

“I assumed there were two choices open for us – me to reassume my identity or to pretend to be Sybil. Am I to understand that we are proceeding with the first option?” Arabella wrapped her leg around his. The intimate gesture caused his core to radiate with desire.

Focus.

Logan reminded himself to focus as his blood rushed to his manhood. “We must establish your true identity. Victoria is a witness as to who you are, as am I. Our marriage license will serve as proof also.”

“So why is your brow furrowed?” Arabella smoothed it with the pads of her fingers.

“Because we must convince whoever Sybil wronged and we must offer her to them instead.”

Studying Arabella, Logan wondered if she was capable of hurting her sister if such an act was necessary.

Not without guilt, of that he was certain.

“Can’t we have her arrested?” Arabella quizzed.

“That would be my first choice, as well,” Logan recognized that this was a long shot. “There is one concern. Once we are seen in public, once it is announced that you are married to one of the wealthiest men in Northamptonshire, Sybil will want what you have.”

Arabella released a jagged sigh. “You believe she will attempt to switch places with me?”

“It is a strong possibility,” Logan sighed into her soft honey-colored curls as he traced her shoulder with his forefinger, his idle fingertip trailing to the back of her arm. He noted a line of jagged flesh spanning her arm just above her elbow. “How did you acquire this scar?”

“I—” Arabella bolted upright.

“Bella?” Logan leaned against his elbow, his pulse racing with alarm.

Arabella rounded on him, clutching the sheets against her bosom. “Sybil doesn’t know about the scar. It occurred at Ainsley. I fell climbing a tree – one of our students was frightened and required assistance getting down. A branch cut me. I was under the care of a physician … a Dr. Mayberry? No, that isn’t it. Dr. Dan – Danbury. Yes, I am certain of it.”

“If Sybil was intimate with her predator, he would know she doesn’t possess such a scar.” Logan was thinking aloud. “It is further proof as to your identity. Not much, but it may bide us some time, some goodwill. We must first discover who is hunting your sister and why.”

Bella studied him.

She recognized that Logan remained deep in thought by his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Contemplating what they must do next, she presumed.

However, she had a say, as well.

In addition, Bella recognized that Logan had been correct in his earlier assessments.

“We must marry,” Bella laced her fingers with his. “Based upon what I know, what I have remembered, nothing will draw my sister out like the promise of prosperity. A fortune is all she has ever wanted.”

Sybil’s greed …

There it was, that spark of light before Arabella’s eyes, whenever a memory was coming to the forefront.

Like looking into the sun for too long, the truth was blinding, causing spots of recognition.

A blur, that of the moon, opaque and muted filled Bella’s mind. She was viewing it through narrowed eyes, after pretending to be unconscious once her sister’s attack had subsided.

Sybil was muttering to herself, her back to Arabella. “I had no choice. It is her or me and I will always choose myself.”

She grunted and Arabella discerned the scraping of something dragging along the ground. She managed to focus her sight long enough to see her sister dragging a large, dark case down the alley.

“The currency was in his mattress. As were the jewels.” Sybil groaned. “Why did he awaken at that precise moment? With a damn knife, of all things. And why must this case be so bloody heavy?”

“My sister stole from someone, a man. I heard her speaking to herself; at least I think she was alone. I don’t recall hearing anyone else as she dragged a large case behind her when she left me for dead.” Arabella studied Logan. “She has resources. From the way it appeared, quite a bit. She may not require yours.”

“No, but she will need your identity. It all rests upon that, doesn’t it?” Logan bolted upright. “As long as we ensure she can’t hide as you, Sybil won’t be safe. She knows it as much as we do.”

If their assumptions as to Sybil’s motives were correct, of course. “What is our next move?”

“We reclaim your identity and we move our party to London, make as much of a grand spectacle as possible. Logan Ambrose, master of Winterthorne, and his new bride.” Logan kissed her hair. “We will be the talk of the
haut ton
and, in doing so, garner your sister’s attention.”

Arabella grimaced. “In addition to those who are tracking Sybil Sutton.”

“Yes,” Logan straightened his shoulders, as if preparing to do battle. “Do you think the man she stole the money from is still alive?”

“Sybil mentioned that he had a knife in his mattress,” Arabella closed her eyes. “That’s all I remember. The knife was bloody. Though Sybil had blood on her hands, I don’t recall seeing a wound on her.”

“That could be something in our favor.”

A quizzical expression swept across Arabella’s features.

Logan clarified, “Your sister was within close proximity to his bed. The man was trusting enough that she had access to the contents of the mattress. Odds are that they were intimate.”

“No scar,” Arabella smiled. “You are brilliant.”

“I’m not known for my good looks,” Logan arched a black brow.

Crushing her lips against his, Arabella kissed him with all the adoration in her heart. “To me, you are both brilliant and handsome. We stand a chance, Logan. We could make this work.”

By the grace of God, they could survive the evil that infected them because of Sybil’s machinations.

If not, they could hide. Together. It wasn’t Arabella’s first choice, but she would do anything to ensure that she and Logan both survived.

Tucking that last-ditch option in the back of her mind, she allowed herself one more moment in Logan’s arms.

Lying in his embrace, she dared not imagine a lifetime of these moments. To do so would be sheer torture.

Instead, she would concentrate on their survival.

Fight for their lives.

Yes, Arabella was strong. She survived her sister and God only knows what else. Logan was also a survivor.

His friend’s journal proved it.

There was a passage Arabella did not mention to Logan. His general made a realization upon his death – that the cause he once considered just was anything but.

His words, his choppy script, were seared upon her brain:

Survival is of vital importance – the good must survive. Logan saved my life, Colin saved his. They both saved me. It is the repetitive nature of survival until … someone doesn’t persevere. But the good, those who risk everything to save others, must live.

Yes, she and Logan must live. Arabella would do anything to ensure Logan’s safety and her own.

People evolve. She was proof of it for she was no longer the same person she once was. Even her sister wouldn’t keep Arabella from safeguarding Logan’s survival and their future together.

After all Sybil put them through, the hell they endured, it was the least they deserved.

Could Arabella harm her sister?

She once would have answered “no” but not now, never again. Logan’s life, her life, were all that mattered now.

The good must live.

And Sybil was anything but.

God help her and God help Arabella, for she was now willing to do anything to survive.

Logan and Arabella joined their guests at dinner to find a packed table. Colin had returned, with his brother, Tristan, in tow.

“I called for reinforcements while you were out walking,” Lady Victoria announced with a wry grin, her auburn curls piled atop her head while her sapphire and cream striped gown matched her eyes to perfection.

The Dowager Viscountess added, “You both must be famished from such exertion.”

Victoria’s eyes widened while the room fell silent with the exception of a cough, though whether it came from Tristan or Colin, Logan was uncertain.

Steeling his shoulders, Logan escorted Arabella to her chair, noting the adorable pink tinge that swept her cheeks at Fiona’s statement.

Upon holding the chair for Arabella, Logan took his seat beside Colin. “Bella remembered something concerning her sister and currency in a mattress.”

“That is more than I have uncovered,” Colin placed his fork on his plate. “Everyone is tight-lipped about what happened. My investigators have unearthed no hard evidence.”

“However, there is gossip,” Tristan added, wiping his mouth with a pristine white linen napkin.

“Gossip?” Logan scoffed.

“Never underestimate the power of rumors, my dear,” Fiona shot Logan a wry grin.

Victoria paused in slicing her meat. “You aren’t aware of the underground gossip rag, are you?” She studied Logan.

No, he was not.

Winterthorne had no such things.

He preferred to stay clear of them to be honest.

“How are you aware?” Logan asked through narrowed eyes.

Victoria winked at him. “I prefer to remain informed. Earlier this year, a story was printed about a nobleman who kept currency and jewels hidden in his mattress.”

“You cannot be serious?” Colin’s voice rose an octave. “Who would be so daft?”

“Where have you been? Residing in a cave?” Victoria glanced from Colin to Logan. “Honestly, I don’t know which of you is more reclusive. At any rate, London was buzzing about this bit of gossip and many tried to discern who this mystery noble may be.”

“That is proof of nothing, Victoria,” Colin took a bite of lamb.

“Ah, but it is, brother dear,” Tristan paused in the course of elaborating. All in attendance appeared captivated by his announcement and the promise of more salacious news to come. “While you, Logan, and your investigators have been chasing your tails, the
Ton Tattler
struck again. In the latest edition, it recounts that Lord Lawrence, the seventh Duke of Atwell, fell ill at his London townhome and has not been seen in public since last week. The timing aligns with Sybil’s attack on Arabella, does it not?”