Because You're Mine (30 page)

Logan set his notes aside on a nearby set piece. His hands slid to Madeline's thickening waist, and his gaze traveled over her soft amber-hued gown. “You look like a drop of honey,” he murmured, urging her up to her toes. “Give me a taste.”

Madeline blushed and glanced around the empty stage, wondering if their embrace would be witnessed by a stray employee or two.

Logan laughed. “No one is going to object, madam,” he mocked, and lowered his head. He stole a kiss from her, and then another, his mouth warm and searching.

Smiling and breathless, Madeline drew away from him. “Are you almost finished here?”

“Yes.” Logan pulled her back against him and fondled her hips. “I'll require only five more minutes. Why don't you wait for me in my office? We'll have a private meeting there—with the door closed.”

“I don't feel like working,” she said provocatively, making him grin.

“You won't be, madam.” Patting her familiarly on the buttocks, he gave her a gentle push toward the wing.

As Madeline departed, Logan picked up his notes and returned his attention to the final points of choreography. A rueful smile pulled at his lips as he found it difficult to pick up his former train of thought. The only thing on his mind was to get to his office as quickly as possible and seduce his wife. Forcing himself to concentrate, he scribbled a few sentences, using the set piece as a makeshift table.

As he worked, he was aware of a shadowy figure moving through the rows of seats along the side of the theater, gradually approaching the proscenium. “Who is that?” he asked, squinting in the stage light, unable to recognize the intruder. There was no reply. Suspecting that the stranger was a curiosity-seeker who had barged into the theater, Logan sighed shortly. “The Capital is closed to the public. There will be a performance tonight if you wish to return later.”

The visitor moved closer, seeming hesitant to leave the shadows.

Logan straightened and continued to stare at the stranger's dark outline. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded abruptly.

The man answered in a drunken, familiar voice that sent Logan's world reeling. “Don't say you've already forgotten me…brother.”

Andrew emerged from the shadows, his face bloated and brilliant with hatred, cheeks burning with a high flush. Logan stared at him uncomprehendingly. He wasn't aware of moving until he felt the edge of the set piece pressing hard against his spine and realized he had staggered backward a step or two. His lips formed Andrew's name, and for an insane moment he thought he was seeing a ghost…until he saw the pistol in Andrew's hand.

“I thought you were dead,” Logan said hoarsely, trying to gather his wits.

“You must be disappointed,” Andrew replied. “All set to take my place, were you?”

“No, I…” Logan shook his head, inhaling a few deep breaths to restore himself. “Damn you, Andrew, what in God's name happened? Everyone thinks you drowned during that bloody water-party—”

“That's what I wanted them to think. I had to do something. I had sharks from a gambling-hell following my every footstep, with every intention of ending my miserable life if I couldn't repay my debts. I had to have some time…had to fool them, until I could get my hands on some money.”

“You put me through hell,” Logan snapped, his shock fading.

“It didn't last long, did it?” Andrew asked softly. “You recovered sufficiently to announce to the world that you're my half brother. A fact that no one bothered to tell me.”

“I didn't know about it until recently.” Logan's gaze fell to the gun in Andrew's wavering hand. “You're drunk, Andrew. Put that damn thing aside, and we'll talk.”

“I intend to use it,” came the unsteady reply. “On you, or myself…perhaps both of us. My life isn't worth a shilling. And only think how your career would benefit. You would become the greatest legend in theater history.”

Logan showed no reaction, but his heart beat unpleasantly fast. Andrew had always been an unpredictable drunk. He could very well carry out his threat.

“I've never ended someone's life before,” Andrew muttered, shaking like a tree in a storm—only the storm wasn't from outside; it was his own inner upheaval. “But you deserve it, Jimmy.”

“Why?”

Andrew's mouth twisted in a spasm of bitterness. “I always knew what to expect from you. Even though the rest of the world was filled with liars, I could depend on you. Now it turns out you're the worst of them all. Keeping Rochester's dirty secret, stepping into my shoes when you thought I was gone…well, you can't have what's mine. I'll kill you first.”

As Andrew spoke, he ventured closer, waving the gun agitatedly. Rapidly Logan considered making a grab for the weapon and forcing it from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Madeline standing in the nearby wing, and his heart skipped several beats.
Dammit
, he thought in sudden terror.
Leave, Maddy. Get out of here
! But she didn't move. It was incomprehensible that she would place herself in such danger. She could be hit by a stray shot…she could unwittingly provoke Andrew into a fit of deadly rage. Logan broke out into a sweat, not daring to look at her.

“I don't want anything of yours,” Logan said to Andrew, finding it hard to speak. “All I want is to help you.” His throat felt as if it had been lined with barrel stays. He realized that Madeline was moving, walking noiselessly behind the set piece and flats for God knew what purpose. Locked in agony, he waited for her to stumble, to bump into something. Pregnancy had made her clumsy of late.

“Help me?” Andrew scoffed, swaying before him. “What a fine show of brotherly concern…I could almost believe you.”

“Put down the damned pistol and talk to me,” Logan said curtly.

“God, I despise you.” Andrew's hand shook as he trained the gun at Logan's midriff. “I never realized before how much like my father you are. Superior bastards with your filthy secrets, manipulating everyone around you—”

“I never treated you that way.”

Andrew shook his head in torment. “Jimmy…how could we not have known? All those years…”

“Andrew, wait,” Logan said, the blood draining from his face as his half brother cocked the pistol. “Andrew—”

There was a startling crack as the nearby flat collapsed, the hinged pieces snapping downward as if pushed by an unseen hand. Without any anchoring braces, the reinforced timber frame fell on Andrew before he had time to react. The gun went off with an ear-splitting explosion, a wayward bullet instantly burying itself in the side of the proscenium.

Madeline stood in the space where the flat had been, staring at the results of her efforts.

Logan gazed at her, frozen for a few seconds, registering that she was all right. He bent to shove the collapsed flat aside and crouched on the floor to grab his dazed half brother by the collar. Andrew reeked of wine, gin, and countless other distillations. His dazed eyes opened to stare into Logan's downturned face. As Logan had expected, the flat hadn't been heavy enough to hurt him. “What happened—” Andrew began.

Logan clipped him on the jaw, knocking him out cold. Subsiding peacefully onto the stage boards, Andrew began to snore.

Madeline hurried over to them. “Is he all right?”

Logan stood slowly. He resorted to the tactic of counting to ten, but it did nothing to stem the flood of panicked rage. He was afraid to touch her, afraid he might throttle her.

“What the hell was going through your mind?” he heard himself ask raggedly. “Did you give a thought to the safety of our child?”

“No, I…” Her bewildered gaze met his. “All I could think about was you.”

“I can damn well look after myself,” he roared, unable to keep from snatching her shoulders and shaking her. “By God, madam, you've finally managed to make me insane! I'm going to relive the past minute every day from now on until I'm a raving lunatic.”

“I could hardly stand by and watch him shoot you. There's no need to be angry. No one was hurt, and everything's all right now.” Her gaze traveled to Andrew's slumbering form. “For the most part.”

“Everything is
not
all right,” Logan said savagely, letting go of her. His heart still thundered in his chest. Half of him wanted to continue shaking her until her teeth rattled, while the other half wanted to crush her against him and cover every inch of her with violent kisses. The thought that she could have been hurt, even killed, filled him with sheer panic. He fought to shut away the tide of emotion, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists in the effort.

Madeline stared at him in obvious bewilderment. “I don't understand.”

“Then let me explain,” he replied, his voice turning ugly. “Your only value to me is the child you're carrying. All I've asked of you is to take care of him—and you're too damned impulsive and reckless to do even that.”

Madeline's face drained of blood. She looked blank except for a stricken expression in her eyes. “I…” She was strangely out of breath. “I'm sorry if you find me so lacking.”

They were interrupted by the company members who came rushing to the scene, having heard the gunshot as they worked in other parts of the theater.

“Mr. Scott—”

“What happened?”

“Who is that, and why—”

“Some bastard tried to shoot Mr. Scott!”

Logan crouched by Andrew once more. “It was an accident. No harm was done. Gather up Lord Drake and have him sent to my home, in my carriage. And be careful with him. He's ill.”

“stinking bloody soused is what he is,” some-one muttered as they obeyed his directives.

Logan threw a hard glance at Madeline. “He'll stay in our guest quarters. Do you have any objections?”

She shook her head briefly, her face suddenly infused with scarlet. “Why bother to ask? You've made it clear that my opinion means nothing to you.”

She sounded and looked different than he had ever seen her. Without thinking, he placed a hand on her back to guide her from the stage, and she jerked away from him. It was the first time she had ever rejected his touch.

“I don't need your help,” Madeline said stiffly. “All I need from you is the one thing you're determined never to give.” She walked away before he could reply, her spine rigid with an anger that disconcerted him. Had he ever seen her angry before? Damn her for making him feel somehow that he was in the wrong, when she was the one who had put herself in danger!

There was silence between them on the way home. Once there, Andrew slept soundly as the servants assisted Logan in assuring that he was clean and comfortable in the guest quarters. After sharing a hasty supper with Madeline, Logan prepared to return to the Capital for the scheduled performance that evening.

“Will you be all right?” he asked her tersely. “I can send for one of your family or friends to keep you company while I'm gone—”

“I'll be fine,” she replied, not meeting his eyes. “The servants will be here if I require anything, and I don't expect Lord Drake will awaken before tomorrow.”

“If he does, don't go near him.”

“Very well. When will you notify Lord Rochester that his son is still alive?”

“I'll let Andrew make that decision when he's able.” He stared at her assessingly. “Go to bed early. You've had a shock today. You need to rest.”

“You needn't be concerned,” Madeline said coolly, determined to match his brusqueness with her own. “The baby is fine.”

Scowling, he left without another word.

Madeline tried to summon her usual patience, remembering the wrong she had done him, her vow to earn his love slowly over time…but instead she experienced a new burst of anger. It seemed that her love and patience had gotten her nowhere. If this was how Logan wanted things between them, so be it! She was tired of being a martyr, tired of waiting and hoping. Clenching her fists, she went upstairs for a lengthy bath, hoping to soak away her tension in the hot, scented water.

Before retiring, Madeline went to her bedroom window and pushed the velvet curtain aside to glance out at the formal garden and the guest quarters in the other wing of the house. There was a light in the window of Lord Drake's room, and a flicker of movement within.

Lord Drake was awake, she surmised with a frown. No doubt he was guilt-ridden, drunk, and in pain. Madeline thought of ignoring the light in the window and letting him suffer alone. After what he had done that day, threatening her husband's life, he didn't deserve compassion. Moreover, Logan's edict to stay away from him still rang in her ears.

On the other hand, she wasn't a child or a servant to be ordered about. She was an adult, with the right to follow the promptings of her own conscience. Troubled, she rang for her maid and went to her armoire.

The maid appeared in a minute or two. “Yes, Mrs. Scott?” she asked, seeming perplexed by the sight of Madeline pulling a day gown from the armoire.

“Please help me change.” Madeline said. “I believe Lord Drake is awake. If so, I would like to speak with him.”

“But Mrs. Scott, the master told everyone—”

“Yes, he made his wishes clear. But there's no need to worry. I will be perfectly safe, as I intend to have someone accompany me to his quarters.

“Yes, Mrs. Scott,” the maid said doubtfully. “Though I don't think the master will be happy once he hears of this.”

As it was, Madeline was escorted to the guest quarters by a footman, Mrs. Beecham, and the butler, all of whom made their disapproval quite clear. “There's no need for such a crowd,” Madeline protested, but they were determined to protect her from a man they considered dangerous.

Lord Drake was rummaging through the cabinets of a mahogany sideboard in the guest parlor when they arrived. Swaying unsteadily, blinking like a child who had been awakened too soon, he stared at the four of them, his bloodshot gaze fastening on Madeline's small face.

She was amazed by the contrast between his usual appearance and the way he looked now. The mocking, carefree degenerate had been replaced by a stranger with matted hair and a sickly gray complexion. He had dressed himself in the fresh clothes that had been set out for him: a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a vest that had been tailored for Logan's leaner frame. Buttons and fabric strained to contain his bloated waistline.