Because You're Mine

by Lisa Kleypas

  “They were quite pleased at the prospect of having such an accomplished gentleman in the family,” Madeline lied coolly.

  Rochester's sharp gaze rested on her, and he seemed to detect the falsehood, but he smiled in grudging admiration. “My son is fortunate in his choice of a wife.”

  “Your son?” Madeline repeated. “I was under the impression that you had declined to acknowledge him.”

  “That is something I intend to discuss with him.”

  Before Madeline could question him further, they heard someone approaching, and they turned in unison. Logan's face was emotionless as he came to stand beside Madeline, his cold blue eyes fastened on the elderly man.

  Logan seemed to have benefitted from the long night's sleep. His hair was still damp from a fresh washing, his face gleamed from a shave, and he was dressed in a white shirt, dark trousers, and a patterned green-and-gray vest. In spite of his well-groomed appearance, there were shadows beneath his eyes and a pallor beneath his tan.

  He spoke to Rochester in a dry monotone. “I can't imagine what brings you here.”

  “You're all I have left,” Rochester said simply.

  A venomous smile touched Logan's mouth. “I hope to hell you're not suggesting that I serve as a second-rate replacement for Andrew?”

  The elderly man flinched visibly. “I made many mistakes with Andrew—I won't deny it. Perhaps I wasn't an ideal parent—”

  'Perhaps?” Logan repeated with a harsh laugh.

  “—but I did have hopes for Andrew. Plans for him. I…”Rochester swallowed hard and finished with difficulty. “…I did love him, no matter what you may think.”

  “You might have told him,” Logan muttered.

  Rochester shook his head as if the conversation were becoming too painful, yet he was driven to continue. “I had high expectations for Andrew. His mother was a woman of refinement, with a delicate nature and the bluest of blood. I chose her to ensure that my son would have impeccable lineage.”

  “Unlike your first one,” Logan said.

  “Yes,” Rochester admitted readily. “You didn't fit in with my plans. I convinced myself that it was best if I set you aside and started afresh. I intended that my son—the legitimate one—should have the best of everything. I gave him a fortune, the best schools, entry to the highest social circles. There was no reason Andrew shouldn't have been a great success…but he failed miserably at everything he attempted. No discipline, no ambition, no talent, no interest in anything but drinking and gambling. Whereas you…” He cracked an ironic laugh. “I gave you nothing. Your bloodlines are those of a mongrel. Yet somehow you managed to amass a fortune and establish a place for yourself in society. You've even managed to marry the kind of woman Andrew should have had.”

  Logan regarded him sardonically. “Tell me what you want, Rochester; then leave.”

  “Very well. I want to end the war between us.”

  “There is no war,” Logan said flatly. “Now that Andrew is gone, I don't give a damn about what happens to you. You'll have nothing to do with me, my wife, or my children. As far as I'm concerned, you don't exist.”

  The earl seemed unsurprised by Logan's coldness. “That is, of course, your decision. But there is much I could do for your family if you would allow it. To begin with, I could use my influence to have you created a peer, especially in light of the property and land you have amassed. And although there are a few restrictions on what I am able to bequeath to illegitimate issue, there is still a generous patrimony I can leave you.”

  “I don't want a shilling of your money. It should have been Andrew's.”

  “Then don't accept it for yourself. However, you might consider your children's interests. I want to make them my heirs. Would you deny them their birthright?”

  “I won't take—” Logan began, but the earl interrupted.

  “I've never asked you for anything until now. All I want is for you to consider what I've said. You needn't give me an answer right away. These days it seems I have nothing to do but wait.”

  “You'll wait a long time,” Logan said grimly.

  Rochester smiled in bitter understanding. “Of course. I'm aware of how stubborn you are.”

  Logan was silent, watching with a granite-hard face as Rochester bid them good-bye and took his leave.

  Unfortunately, either Rochester or one of his associates must have confided the secret of Logan's parentage to someone, for in the space of a few days, the news was all over London. Their home was beseiged with callers and letters, all inquiring if it was true, while the Capital was also inundated.

  Logan's performances, always heavily attended, became so popular that there were wild fights over tickets outside the theater. It seemed that the public was fascinated by the romantic notion of a celebrated commoner discovering that he was actually the by-blow of a wealthy aristocrat. The peerage was also shocked and enthralled with every detail of the scandalous story.

  Logan had become the most talked-about figure in London, a position he neither wanted nor enjoyed. He grieved over Andrew's death, working himself to exhaustion each day, then taking solace in Madeline's arms at night. His lovemaking was different than before—gentle and prolonged, as if he wanted to lose himself, stay inside her forever. He wasn't satisfied until he had brought them both to piercing ecstasy that left them limp and satiated.

  “If never expected to feel such things,” Madeline whispered to him one evening. “I didn't know I would find such pleasure in the marriage bed.”

  Logan laughed quietly, smoothing his large hand over her body. “Neither did I. With my former penchant for women of experience, I never expected to be so captivated by an innocent.”

  “I'm not an innocent,” Madeline said, her breath catching as he settled between her thighs. “After all we've done—”

  “There's much more you have to learn, sweet,” he said, positioning himself and sliding gently inside her.

  “There couldn't be,” she protested, gasping as he filled her completely.

  “Then we'll continue with your next lesson,” Logan murmured with a smile, proceeding to make love to her until she was consumed in a blaze of passion.

  Visiting the theater after the day's rehearsal had concluded, Madeline found Logan alone onstage, making notes as he paced through some blocking that had been arranged earlier. At first he was too absorbed to notice her standing in the wings, but soon he turned to look at her. A smile flickered in his blue eyes. “Come here,” he said, and Madeline complied gladly.

  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 throu
gh 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.”