The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4

by Tracy Goodwin

  Because Sybil could sense others’ weaknesses and manipulate them. Like marionettes, she could bring about events by moving this person forward, whilst moving another back.

  Cold, heartless, downright ruthless and immoral – Sybil Sutton was all those qualities and more.

  Logan knew people like that.

  Hell, at one time, some categorized him as such. Though it was during a time of war, where allegiances turned and alliances crumbled like coarse granules of sand slipping through one’s fingers.

  Although he had changed, he could become that person once again. Easily step foot into his mercenary boots one final time. He could be as calculating as Sybil Sutton.

  No, more so.

  Because the true Logan Ambrose knew how to exploit people, knew how to play one side against the other.

  Logan was an expert at it, in fact.

  He had to be. His desperate desire for survival left him no other alternatives. Hence, he could predict what would cause such a woman like Sybil to come out from the shadows, show herself after shaping such an impeccable exit.

  He would sculpt her demise.

  Scanning the room, he realized with a pang of relief that Victoria and Fiona had exited in silence. Though he was too preoccupied to notice at the time, too busy considering the options and conceiving a plan. Careful to leave the couple in privacy, the door to the library was shut and he was alone with Arabella.

  “There is one way we can win her game,” Logan whispered.

  Arabella shivered. Perhaps now wasn’t the most ideal time to present her with such a dangerous endeavor. Especially since it meant revealing his past to her. A past that might disgust her, that might cause her to run from him.

  His gut clenched.

  No matter how he wanted to keep his past from the woman in his arms, he knew he didn’t have the luxury of silence. Given their current predicament, they possessed little time to spare. So, he trusted that Arabella was strong enough to handle what he was about to propose as fear punctured his heart with needles of self-doubt, pricks of pain, stabs of panic.

  What if Arabella didn’t love him enough to stand by him?

  For her to survive Sybil’s plan, it was a chance Logan must take.

  He kissed the top of Bella’s head, inhaling the scent, her scent, that filled his heart with such rapture that he thought it might burst.

  Because he didn’t deserve her.

  Because he feared losing her.

  “I love you,” his voice was a ragged whisper slicing through the heavy silence that hovered within the room. Not even the tick-tock of the clock could be heard above his rapid pulse pounding against his temples.

  He glanced towards the wall.

  The clock had stopped.

  Time truly stood still.

  Was it an omen?

  The hour was 2:50 – it would forever be etched in his soul for one of two reasons: the hour during which he lost the love of his life for a second time. Or, the hour in which Arabella forgave the man he had become and expressed faith in her love for him, in the man he was now.

  “I love you,” he repeated. Because it might be the last time he said the words aloud to her. And the last time he may ever hear those words from Arabella. “Please, say you love me.”

  Arabella must have sensed his change in tone, for she met his gaze at once. “I love you. Now and always.”

  “Oh, how I wish I could be certain of that,” he expelled a deep breath, caressing her jawline idly with his thumbs. “I fear that will no longer be the case when you hear the truth about my life or what I am capable of.”

  “Why confide in me?”

  A simple question that required a complicated answer. “Because I think that channeling a part of myself I’ve long since buried might be the only way to save you. And because you deserve to know the truth.”

  “I know you fought in the first Sikh War. You and Colin,” her amber gaze was over bright with a mixture of concern and … was it guilt?

  No that couldn’t be right.

  “Though you and I have discussed your scars, we didn’t discuss the war, nor your involvement though it matters not,” Arabella assured him.

  “It matters a great deal for that wasn’t the extent of my involvement,” he omitted Colin from this confession. No need to subject his friend to censure. “It was precarious. The war, the differences between the two sides, and the similarities. Allegiances were paper thin, crumbling to dust before our eyes.”

  “I understand—”

  “You never asked how I acquired my wealth.” Logan wondered why it hadn’t dawned on her. Or why she never gathered the courage to do so.

  Arabella averted her gaze.

  “Meet my eyes,” Logan tipped her chin. “Why did you never ask me?”

  “Logan, I have been prowling this library for days in the hopes of prodding my memories.” Arabella paused, as if her statement carried some weight, as if he would understand and piece together her meaning.

  He tried, failing miserably. “I don’t understand.”

  What was he missing?

  “It was on one of the upper shelves, third shelf to the right to be exact,” Arabella studied him for several long silent seconds.

  To what did she refer?

  Arabella sighed, walking to where she had stood prior to his arrival and picking up a leather-bound volume. It wasn’t until now that he placed what it was, who the author was …

  It was a journal that once belonged to his benefactor, his superior. His general, his friend. A man Logan respected long after his death. A man who possessed a moral compass, a soul, and was honorable despite the vile conditions they endured.

  Logan had read a portion of the man’s journal once. That was all he could tolerate. It chronicled his friend’s time in India, his actions, his guilt, his self-reflections and self-recriminations. His general’s feelings mirrored Logan’s own, making it too painful to read. So he placed it upon a high shelf, hoping never to see it again.

  Yet, Arabella knew of it. She had read it.

  Christ, how much did she know?

  Logan leaned against his desk, shoving his hair away from his face.

  As if reading his thoughts, Arabella stood beside him. She opened the journal.

  “Please don’t read that aloud,” he beseeched her.

  Resting her head against his shoulder, she rifled through the pages. “I may not remember a vast majority of my life, but I do recall history. This war, in particular. Ever since Eve and the Dowager Viscountess mentioned that you and Colin served during the war, I wondered in what capacity. Because of this journal, I now know.”

  “How much?” Logan clenched his jaw so tight that a pain radiated from his teeth straight through to his jaw bone.

  “That you served in the British East India Company. That you fought bloody battles. That you and Colin ascended the ranks until you both became highly-valued mercenaries, as did your general. That your general, or dare I say former general, trusted and respected you both. He considered you his friends at a time when trust and friendship was a rare commodity.”

  Arabella traced the spine of the journal with her forefinger. “I am well aware that sides turned against one another and that some soldiers turned against their own people. I am aware that you were unable to stop much of this brutality.”

  Logan inhaled a raspy breath. It was as if there wasn’t enough air in the room, his lungs constricting with Arabella’s every word. Though true, they fractured what little peace he found in the isolated estate he had hidden within for years. “We trained many, before they turned. We were responsible. Even if indirectly, the fault lies with us.”

  “Your ranking officer, your friend, described in great detail what he referred to as death by elephant. It was enough to make me realize that you went through hell. But, I also read that you saved lives. In some instances, you risked your life to save others only to fail. That is how you and Colin amassed your wealth, is it not? It is in his last entry
. That he was leaving his wealth to you and to Colin. The only men he trusted.”

  Standing slack-jawed, Logan’s throat tightened until it turned dry like ash. How could Arabella be nonchalant about a topic that caused Logan’s skin to crawl? Like hundreds of spiders, weaving a web across his back, his skin prickled from the memories and the emotions they conjured.

  “Your friend, the man you risked your life in an attempt to save, was grateful to the end,” Bella assured him. “He referred to you as a ‘noble mercenary.’ ”

  Logan scoffed, placing his left hand in his trouser pocket. “Noble mercenaries don’t exist, especially not where I am concerned. Colin, perhaps, but not me. There were many others I did not save. Many I killed. Not generals, but—”

  “I’m not naïve, Logan,” Arabella placed the journal on his desk and turned towards him.

  It was his turn to avoid her gaze.

  Arabella walked directly in front of him. “Look at me,” her tone brooked no argument.

  He complied at once.

  “You were willing to accept me, to offer me protection, when you thought I was Sybil,” she stared at him, her arched brows and pursed lips all but daring him to argue with her.

  He was intelligent enough to know that was the one thing he should not do. Instead, he remained silent while Arabella continued.

  “A man like that,” she placed her hands on his chest, flat against his fine, cornflower blue vest and matching cravat, over his heart. “The man I know you to be deserves the same acceptance that you offered me. So does the lost soul described in that journal. Your friend wrote his last passage to you. Because he knew you to be an honorable man and he understood that you would be riddled with guilt. He mentioned that Colin expressed his emotions in letters to Eve, he noted his own journal, and worried that you would not express all you were repressing. He feared for you, feared that the guilt would destroy you unless you spoke of it, of what you were forced to endure and the fact that my rejection sent you into the brutality in the first place.”

  Logan’s eyes snapped to hers, holding her gaze, now blue with tawny flecks.

  She must have sensed his surprise for her eyes widened. “You never read to the last page?”

  No, Logan had not.

  The pain, the recollections, were too much to tolerate. He shook his head, swallowing hard, silently cursing himself for keeping the journal in the first place.

  “Don’t blame yourself or the journal. I suspected the truth about your motivations ever since I remembered my true identity. Even though it was Sybil who rebuffed you and not me, it still doesn’t change the facts. You immersed yourself in that world of bloodlust, of violence, of corruption because you thought yourself unworthy of love and devotion, when nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “There was no need for me to chronicle events in a journal or letters,” Logan admitted, his voice now barely audible. “My scars tell the tale, do they not? They brand me.”

  She cupped his face in her hands. “I love you for who you are, all of you. For the many layers that comprise the complicated man you are today.”

  “I’m a dangerous man, Arabella—”

  “Good, because we are going to face other dangerous men, and I want my life to rest in your formidable hands.” She offered him a wry grin. “Of course, I will be facing those dangerous men with you because we are in this together and because I will be by your side. Always.”

  Logan captured her lips with his. In this kiss, he wanted Bella to know just how much he loved her, how much he wanted her. Arabella caressed his tongue with hers, causing a jolt to pulsate through his veins.

  Her kisses, commanding with an urgency that heightened his senses, sent a molten heat coursing through his veins.

  He longed to get lost in her. It was an insatiable hunger, one he was certain would never abate. However, now it was more pressing, more urgent, than ever before.

  Now, before he unveiled his grand scheme.

  Though his plan was the only chance open to them, given Sybil’s elaborate and successful attempt and switching identities with her sister, it would be dangerous.

  He knew it.

  So did Arabella.

  She yearned to rid herself of the chill of dread seeping into her soul, threatening to overpower her. Her desire for Logan, for the heat that emanated from his broad form, his passionate kisses, and commanding embrace … that is what she would hold on to for now.

  It would prepare her for the peril to come.

  As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Logan lifted her off her feet, setting her upon his desk. Arabella moaned as she fumbled with his jacket, tossing it to the floor before unbuttoning his vest and removing it, dropping it beside the coat.

  She threaded her fingers through his long locks as Logan withdrew his tongue then trailed a path of kisses over her jaw and down her neck to the bruises on her neck.

  Arabella sensed what she and Logan must do – confront those who hunted her, those who hurt her, those who wanted her dead. The thought, the mere supposition, caused her heartbeat to quicken, sent her pulse racing.

  God, how she wanted to forget.

  Forget that her sister fed Arabella to these unknown monsters. Forget that Sybil claimed a life that wasn’t hers, that she stole Arabella’s past and future. That she deprived Arabella of Logan for so many years.

  So much suffering.

  So much betrayal.

  So much savage brutality from her own twin.

  However, on one endeavor, Sybil remained unsuccessful … keeping Arabella and Logan apart. Though it may have taken years, they had found each other again. And Logan was the one person Arabella wanted with a passion she was certain she’d never experienced before.

  To lose herself in Logan. In his love, in his devotion, in his desire for her. To affirm that on this, Sybil did not prevail. That Arabella’s love for Logan survived, reciprocated after the erosion of time and the miles of distance that once separated them.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  Logan met her gaze. His deep-set onyx eyes, long raven hair, and angular cheekbones, square jaw, and broad build painted a brooding and imposing picture. Perhaps for many. Not for Arabella. No, to her, this man was breathtaking, exuding a gentleness beneath his rugged façade.

  This man, who had experienced horrors many would find unfathomable, was described in journals by a friend and fellow officer as possessing a fierce loyalty and quiet resolve. This man, who recited poetry to her in the most romantic way possible. This man, a series of contradictions. Only she knew him for the truly astounding man he was. Complicated, yes, but extraordinary nonetheless.

  “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.