The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 (14 page)

“Escort these men from my property,” Logan ordered. “Lock the gate and stand watch around the perimeter. You know what to do if they, or anyone like them, ever wish to gain access to this property again.”

“Yes, sir,” the group barked in unison. Like the soldiers they once were.

In truth, they were mercenaries.

Like Logan.

Like Colin.

Loyal to the men with whom they once served.

Part of that loyalty pact meant that no one would utter any names. Of course these intruders would easily learn who owned Winterthorne, but not who visited. The identity of Colin’s family would remain safe.

It was now time for Logan to protect Sybil, for she was being tracked by men intent on finding her and doing God knows what else. Men who carry weapons and make open threats. Men who would kill her in a heartbeat.

Logan grimaced. Sybil Sutton was the last woman he ever thought he would shelter. Now he was duty bound.

But it was more than that, wasn’t it?

Yes, Logan Ambrose
wanted
to protect her.

He had seen a different side to her last night and the night before. A passionate one that made his blood rush to his temples in waves of heat every time he contemplated her kisses, her caresses. She also possessed a vulnerability he never expected to find.

Sybil was helpless.

And for some inexplicable reason that tugged at his heart, he wanted nothing more than to care for her.

Damn it to hell.

What was this feeling?

Why did Sybil affect him so?

Though Logan knew not why, he did realize one thing – protect her, he would.

His infallible intuition predicted it would be perilous on several fronts. From those who hunted her and from Sybil herself because, when he was with her last night, Logan yearned for nothing more than to allow her into his tortured soul, to open his guarded heart to her.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Logan contemplated his current predicament. He was indeed at risk and, for the very first time, he had been presented with a threat he knew not how to combat. Uncertainty, like a violent storm unleashing its fury, lashed against his heart, battering it until he was breathless.

Did he want to fight his attraction to Sybil?

As soon as Colin and Eve had departed, Logan would take a walk. Yes, a long walk, to clear his head.

The notion that he and Sybil would ever be anything more than enemies was ludicrous. Certainly, he had lost control of his faculties. At the very least, he must be transferring his feelings for Bella to her sister.

No, this he refused to tolerate.

He may not have full control of his life, what with Sybil presently residing under his roof, but he could … he would regain control of his emotions.

There was no question about it.

The long walk would do him good. He must take time away from her enigmatic presence, clear his mind and allow his senses to stop reeling.

Sybil was not to be sentimentalized and, besides which, Logan was no romantic.

It was time he faced the truth.

They were both damaged.

So, why did his heart lurch in protest?

The slight reaction reminded Logan that he was indeed in danger. Colin’s influence had softened him.

Too much so.

Where was the mercenary he’d once been when Logan needed him most?

The fire roared in the grate as Logan lounged on the sofa in his library with his hound lying on the Aubusson rug at his feet. The same fiercely protective dog that accepted very few strangers though he had no qualms about keeping Sybil company in the kitchen on her first night at Winterthorne. Nor did Adolphus mind playing with her outside in the gardens at the back of Winterthorne again this afternoon.

At least Sybil heeded Logan’s warning about where to go, where was safest. And, of course, she did so under guard and under Logan’s watchful eyes.

Though he had every intention of avoiding Sybil today, he still studied her from his office windows, watching as Sybil petted the usually stoic canine who rolled onto his back for her as if on command.

Some guard dog
, Logan scoffed as he noted that even Adolphus was taken in by Sybil, by her infectious smile and laughter that rang through the autumn air like tinkling church bells. How was this woman capable of projecting such innocence and vulnerability, such warmth?

It was something he mulled over through most of the day. Her resemblance to Arabella in temperament – in her kindness and radiance. Though, Logan could not compare their kisses, for he never kissed Arabella with such passion as he shared with Sybil. He respected Bella too much to compromise her reputation.

So much had changed. Someone else had debased her. Adding insult to injury, her malicious sister possessed under amnesia the same traits he loved in Bella.

Logan was certain he was being punished with these perpetual reminders of the woman he would never have. Of the love he once felt for her. Of the love he fears he still feels for Bella, though he was unwilling to concede that point.

Not now, for the wounds had reopened with Sybil’s presence. Logan knew not how to heal himself, his heartache.

Returning his attention to the yellowed page he had been reading by the dim light of the remaining sconces, Logan counted as the clock tolled twelve, though it mattered not. He often spent his nights in Winterthorne’s library.

What appeared daunting by day with rich wood paneling and packs of wolves prowling about the interior in various positions – perched atop the tall shelves, carved in mahogany as if frozen in the process of stalking their prey, their likenesses etched in stone – at night became his sanctuary.

Besieged with ghosts.

Phantoms forged within every volume, occupying each page. On these shelves sat stories of hope and redemption, tragedies and triumphs. Countless tales evoking more characters than one could possibly imagine.

Some concealing pasts more sordid than his.

Here, he allowed himself to believe that anything was possible because, on the pages encased within the thousands of tomes lining the shelves, it was.

Logan sensed Sybil’s arrival long before Adolphus ran to her, whimpering until Sybil knelt beside him and scratched behind his ears.

Traitor
, Logan thought as the dog rolled yet again onto his back. The hound glanced towards his master seeking approval.

In turn, Logan arched his brow, causing the canine to stand. The dog shook his head before prancing out of the room, as if by wagging his tail he had regained his dignity and tough reputation.

Sybil stood, “My apologies. I didn’t think anyone else would be awake.”

Her eyes were puffy, as if she’d been crying. Even amongst the dim shadows dancing upon the walls, Logan could discern the subtle difference to her smooth visage.

He motioned to the sofa and Sybil crossed the room to join him. This was the first time he had seen her since this morning, since he spent the day avoiding her, since she chose to dine in her room. The Dowager Viscountess kept her company through dinner and later reported to Logan that Sybil was emotional and having difficulties coming to terms with recent revelations.

Fiona made him swear to be nice to the young woman though, upon seeing her in this light, with her eyes wan and her visage ashen, he needed no such instructions.

Sybil was suffering from remorse, an emotion with which Logan was all too familiar.

It consumed you, nibbling on your conscience, feasting on your soul, leaving nothing but the carcass of guilt and the heavy burden of shame in its wake.

“I missed you at dinner,” he offered in an effort to lift her spirits.

A wry grin tugged at her lips. “I doubt it, especially since you have avoided me all day, but I appreciate you saying so nevertheless. And thank you for watching over me this afternoon. I know you were at the windows ensuring Adolphus was safe. He is your dog, after all.”

“I was keeping an eye on you, as well,” Logan winked at her. “I am thawing towards you.”

Her eyes widened. “Heaven forbid.”

“Hell may have frozen over,” he quipped.

Sybil laughed, though there was no happiness in her cadence on this evening. “What are you reading?”

“A poem,” he offered the book to her.

“No, you read. It is your turn,” Sybil tucked her knees underneath her, placing her head on the back of the sofa cushion as she hugged her shawl tighter over her chest.

“
Ask thee—
” Logan paused, his pulse pounding with the might of a thousand mallets.

He had learned to read, with the help of Arabella. Until, upon her rebuff, he continued to improve on his own. It was by sheer will or, perhaps, stubbornness, that he became somewhat proficient at it. Though he sometimes whispered the words to himself, he never read aloud to another.

With the exception of this poem.

This he had read to Arabella years ago.

It represented an intimate moment that he would never forget. Sitting on the back stoop of her parents’ bakery, the air thick with the scent of dough and sweets. The sky accentuated in rich streaks of violet, orange and blue. Like brushstrokes on a canvas, the colors melded together into the most brilliant sunset he had ever witnessed.

There, beneath that brilliant sky, Arabella had asked him to read aloud and he obliged with this poem. As he did so, her wide smile illuminated the drab alley even more than the vivid colors splashing across the horizon.

Though born into poverty with few prospects, at that precise moment, he felt like the luckiest man in England. To bring about such a smile from Arabella Sutton.

His Bella.

Now her likeness, in the form of her identical twin sister, asked him to read aloud the very poem that meant the world to him. To share something so special with another. To exhibit his soul, to display his weaknesses.

He would never have considered it until now.

But why? Because Sybil reminded him so much of Bella. The woman he once loved. The woman he still loved, as unrequited as it may be. His vision blurred, phantoms of his past stalking him, reminding him of what was never to be.

Sybil placed her hand atop his. She was warm, emanating strength with a gentle squeeze.

It was enough to fortify his courage.

“
Ask thee, my love, of breath and bone; of shadows’ haunting cries when I am ’lone. Ask thee, my love, of heart and pain; of souls burdened with heavy shame. Ask thee, my love, of winter gales; for without you my heart wails.’
”

“How haunting and utterly romantic,” Sybil sighed. “It evokes such a strong response in me, makes me feel such a deluge of emotion. Like the letter we read last night. I do wonder what the recipient’s answer was to Mr. Winterton. Did she return the letter to him? Did she rebuff him? Did they spend the rest of their days together?”

Closing the volume with care, Logan always treated books as if they were treasures because in his mind, they were.

His gems.

Unique and breathtaking.

“Do you think she said ‘yes?’ ” Sybil still held his hand in hers, caressing his knuckles with her fingertips.

Logan wondered if it was intentional.

For Sybil, it was.

Logan had been her one comfort after learning the truth, or at least a portion of the truth about her identity.

With the arrival of the unknown group during breakfast, unease had overtaken her, steering her into the endless abyss of a vacant memory. Try as she might, Sybil failed to remember anything about those she wronged, about those who wanted her dead.

She closed her eyes and felt lost, like the boy on the raft whose tale Logan’s maid had recounted. Sybil was adrift, with nothing but miles of briny sea, with no destination in sight.

Like her tears earlier. Salty, unrelenting … pummeling her already heavy soul.

Her one constant, her guiding star, had been Logan. He held her while she cried last night, was tender with her when he had every reason not to be. Then there was the matter of the kisses they shared. Those passionate, possessive kisses, that caused her body to awaken in response. In the hours that followed, her limbs were listless, her essence uneasy.