by Julia Keaton
Ansley swaggered up to her, and she wondered why she’d ever allowed him to court her, vainglorious fool that he was. He caught her hand and kissed it. “Miss Stevens, I hadn’t expected to see you tonight. It is an unexpected pleasure, I do say.”
Never see again was what he’d meant to say. No doubt her presence dredged up uncomfortable memories for him. Strange that he should seek her out, but no doubt he thought she would pursue him and it was in his best interests to strike first.
“Yes, Mr. Ansley, a pleasure always to see you.” She forced a smile to her lips and withdrew her hand from his pawing.
“Perhaps you would honor me with a dance? They are about to begin.”
From the midst of the gaily colored crowd, Logan strode forth, clothed in solid black save for his white silk shirt and cravat. He looked like an approaching storm, radiating a force that took her breath away, his face hard and unforgiving, as apart from the crowd as a king from a peasant.
Winter nodded at Mr. Ansley, distracted, all her concentration focused on Logan’s approach. Damn him. She trembled inside, her vitals gone sluggish.
Logan stopped before her and took her hand, bowing low over it before placing a hot kiss to the lace covered back. “Good evening, Miss Stevens.” He straightened, and added as an afterthought, “and to you, Mr. Ansley.”
Ansley appeared insulted but said nothing to indicate that this was the case, merely returned the greeting. Suddenly, Michael Ansley looked on her in a whole new light, his face determined. She couldn’t have done better if she’d planned it.
Winter smiled inside, genuinely pleased. To Logan, she coldly said, “Good evening, Lord Remington.”
So many words lay unspoken between them, tension crackled, building. He wanted to say something to her, but propriety wouldn’t allow it. She hoped he suffered endless remorse and guilt for what he’d done to her. It was a mean thought that failed to satisfy her mind-set.
The strains of the first dance started drifting in the air, and couples began crowding onto the dance floor.
“Would you care to dance?” Logan asked, watching her steadily.
“I’m afraid I have already promised Mr. Ansley the first dance.”
Ansley looked inordinately smug at Logan’s set down. “If you will allow me.” He held up his arm and escorted her to the floor.
It was a country dance, and during the length of it, she smiled at every dull word he said, her gaze sneaking repeatedly to where Logan awaited like a thunder cloud on the sidelines, his gaze never leaving her.
When the dance ended, Ansley returned her to her mother, passing Logan by with a smug smile pasted on his face. Logan did nothing but glare at them and remained silent. Perhaps he feared her ridicule, another public set down, though she didn’t think he was a man to worry over such matters any more. He seemed to know he could command her obedience with a single touch. She only wondered what he was about.
Ansley departed, chest puffed and swaggering to woo other ladies in attendance. As he left, Logan approached, but before he could reach her, Winter escaped with another dance partner. She had no wish to be alone with him. She wasn’t sure she could control herself—and that was as alien to her as the chaos of feeling he aroused. Whatever he wanted to say would need to wait until she was ready for him. She would not be a loser in this—she would never be able to hold her head up around him again if that happened.
In the motions of the dance, she saw Logan had joined with his own partner. They continued on that way through several dances, each taunting the other.
She’d thought to make him jealous, but the sight of him holding another woman in his arms destroyed all thought of revenge. She’d been bitten by the green eyed devil, and he was deliberately provoking her. Winter tried not to think about the fact that she’d begun this pettiness with her own actions. She was no longer a child to follow her every whim—she should have known better than to tangle with an obvious master in the game of love.
Heart sick and drained, Winter was ready to leave. She was tired, more so than she’d ever been in her life. Declining her next dance offer, she turned to find her mother so that they could go.
A shadow fell across her path, blocking her passage. She looked up and saw it was Logan, his dark solemnity seeming an outcast among the brilliance of his surroundings. In that, he was like her—not part of the crowd, but separate. She’d never recognized their common ground. Had he been seeking out a kindred spirit so long ago when she’d spurned him?
She felt wretched for her actions, and vowed to apologize to him. Just not now, when he looked at her with such darkness in his eyes. Logan said nothing, just stared at her a moment, his jaw muscle working. He took her arm and led her to the dance floor. Winter didn’t even think to fight him—her mind had gone blank at his audacity.
He swept her into the waltz before she could deny him, and once they were on the floor, there was no chance to escape without drawing undo attention to her struggles. Logan led her across the floor, the strains of music and his body guiding her despite her protests.
Determinedly, Winter held her body rigid. He wouldn’t allow her to remain aloof, however. He wrapped a possessive hand around her waist, moving her just a little too close for propriety’s sake. Winter was indignant, but she couldn’t risk openly fighting him.
He raked a heated glance down her body as they began the dance, and she felt her skin flush in response to his lengthy caress. Irritated, she favored him with a cold smile, which he disregarded in typical male fashion.
“You look lovely in the gown I sent you. I’m surprised you dared to wear it,” he said, his voice deep and husky, teasing her nerves.
Winter had no interest in talking to him, and so remained silent. She wanted to be through the dance as quickly as possible. When he repeated his statement, she knew there was no avoiding it. He was not a man who could be ignored, no matter how hard she might try.
Sighing a resigned breath, she said, “Why should I not? You made me your whore. Why should I not enjoy the fruits of my labors?”
His hand tightened around her own. “And you would never consent to being a man’s ... mistress? Your mother did not say anything to you?”
“She did not. Are you suggesting I be your whore?”
“I would never suggest something so crude.”
“Nor would I accept such an arrangement,” she said, determined to put the thought of pleasuring him to her heart’s content out of her mind. A lady would never think of such things, let alone seriously entertain them.
“You did before.” His hands tightened on her.
“You are fortunate, my lord, that my hands are occupied, for I would slap you otherwise.”
He tsked at her, his lips hitched in that charming half smile that aggravated her so much ... and made her heart flutter and her insides seem to melt into warm syrup. “Such violence. I would much prefer keep your hands busy caressing my body rather than my face.”
A wash of heat engulfed her at his words. He was worse than the devil himself in his persuasions. “Please, remember yourself.” She looked anxiously around to see if any of the other dancers were close enough to have heard his remarks. No one reacted as if they had, but on the sidelines, she caught a glimpse of her mother, watching her worriedly.
“Ah, but you leave me no recourse but to pursue you in this manner, my ice princess.”
“Stop calling me that. I am not your ... your anything.”
“Wouldn’t you like to be?”
Would she? In her heart, she knew that she would. But he was too different from her, and men like Logan Cordell could never be happily bound to one woman. He’d wanted only to use her, to humiliate her, to bend her to his will and break her spirit. Didn’t he?
“No,” she said finally, resolute and hating that circumstances couldn’t be different. She wanted very much to believe what her heart told her, what her body begged to understand, but she couldn’t. He had never shown any indication of caring for her
beyond the physical. Most of all, he’d never proclaimed his love of her.
It occurred to her that he’d returned the painting to her early, rather than risk her exposure to public censure, but she dismissed it. She wouldn’t have been at risk to start with if not for him.
His face hardened, the teasing light gone from his eyes, his smile wiped away. The music of the waltz faded away, and the dance ended. Logan bowed low over her hand and returned her to her mother without another word, leaving her staring after him like a moonstruck fool.
What had she done to change him so? She’d thought him only teasing, not of serious intent.
Winter begged off the next dance and slipped away from her mother while her back was turned.
She wanted to know Logan’s true feelings, and she was determined to find out his plans if it killed her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Winter found him in the library, standing before the mantel, a golden glow of fire light limning his features. On a desk beside him stood an empty brandy glass, and she knew from the slight smell of liquor that he’d been drinking. He spared a cold glance at her over his shoulder at her entrance, then turned back to stare into the fire, his stance rigid.
“Why have you followed me?” he asked, his tone lifeless.
She moved into the room, closing the door behind her before coming forth. “I had not thought our discussion over.”
“There is nothing more to say. You made your opinions quite ... clear.”
“Please, hear me. I have wanted to say this overlong. I realize I was wrong, all those years ago. I am sorry for causing you hurt. I should never have said what I did.”
“Indeed. Why would you believe I care anything about the past?”
“I-I only assumed the ... reason behind your motivations—”
He laughed, a harsh mirthless sound that chilled her blood. “After everything, you still do not understand.”
“I do,” she whispered in earnest. “Why do you hate me so?” Her voice broke with emotion.
He faced her, face emotionless, and closed the distance that separated them until they nearly touched. “I do not hate you … nothing could be further from the truth. It is you who hate me.”
He was so cold, so lifeless, her heart broke to think she’d caused this reversal in him, that she might not ever see his other side again. She shook her head. She’d been such a fool to believe she could make him understand, to think that she could ever know his mind. “You are mistaken. I see my own folly now in following you. I should not have risked it. I have said my piece and will go.”
She had thought she could reach him. Even though it killed her inside, this must be their parting. Bitter as it was, it was all she would get from him.
Logan grasped her shoulders, stopping her. “Have you no feelings for me? Not even the heat of hatred? I have given you all you desire and more.”
Winter glared at him. How could he say that? He’d given her nothing, not what she’d truly wanted—the only thing she had ever wanted.... She would never beg him for his love. Her pride was too great to stoop so low when it would affect no change. “What did you expect? Nothing can come of this, my lord. Nothing.”
His gaze burned into her, seeing her words for the lies they were. “You are tethered to me, as I am you. Whether you wish it or no.”
“There is naught between us,” she whispered, hoping desperately that he could not tell that she lied.
He missed nothing, however. “There is ... and I will prove it.”
He closed his arms around her, trapping her in his embrace when she would have fled. She didn’t want to feel this way. It would make it that much harder to let him go, as she knew she must.
Tears pooled in her eyes, blurring her vision as he tipped her face up for his kiss. He paused, studying her with an unfathomable expression, almost tender but angry at the same time. She wanted to flee that look, before she crumbled.
“Please,” she whispered, turning her face away, “don’t make me feel.”
“But I want you to.” Cupping her cheek in his hand, he tilted her face so he could look at her. He kissed her softly and brushed her tears away with his thumb. “Your tears are precious to me. Never hide them.”
He bent then and touched his lips to hers, a soft teasing kiss that stoked the fire warming in her breast. The temptation was more than she could take, more than she could resist.
This would be her last chance with him, to capture a piece of him inside her ... and she would take it.
Logan continued kissing her, stroking his callused palm over her collarbone, around the back of her neck, his fingers smoothing over her skin. His other hand rested below her breast, teasing her maddeningly with his nearness. He would be her undoing. Winter didn’t want his tenderness—she wanted his fire to burn her sensibility away, to make what she needed to do easier. His gentleness would only make it that much harder to say good-bye—and she had no choice but to leave him in the end. She had nothing to offer him, no dowry, and he would never accept her as his wife when he did not love her.
Winter began kissing him in earnest, rubbing her body against him, reveling in the friction of their heat as they touched. His shaft hardened against her belly, and she ran her tongue over his closed lips in a daring move.
He pulled back, releasing her, confusion marring his forehead as his black brows drew down. “What are you doing?”
Winter hugged him to her, nestling her body against the shell of his as she stroked her hands over the small of his back.
“I want you. I’m cold, Logan ... so cold.” She rubbed against him again, pleased to feel his rock hardness and hear his ragged breathing as he strove to resist her. “I need you, Logan. Please,” she begged.
“You know not what you ask. I cannot.”
“You want to, as much as I do. Admit it.” He was going to fight her on this? Where was this honor before? When she’d been an innocent and untouched by such feelings?
His body was rigid, his shoulders tense, and she knew he was waging a battle inside to resist taking what he’d been offered and had so long pursued.
Winter reached for his waistcoat, confident as she’d never been before, and tugged at it, the buttons tight and resistant to her fumbling fingers. Frustrated when she could make no headway, she took two handfuls and ripped it open with a strong tug. Buttons popped off and scattered across the floor.
Logan groaned, her impulse driving him over the edge, and he crushed her to him, the battle lost.
Winter thrilled at her victory. He kissed her, desire and hunger roughening his caress. He ran his hands down her back and cupped her buttocks, squeezing her cheeks as he pulled her flush against his erection.
Her skirts muffled the sensation, and she moaned in frustration, tugging at the binding cloth to lift it out of her way.
Logan pushed her back, until her hips bumped into the desk. He lifted her up until she sat on it, knocking the empty brandy glass to the carpeted floor. He stepped between her legs, pushing her skirt high up on her thighs.
Winter smiled devilishly and freed his hair until it hung about his shoulders in a dark cloud. She loved how he looked, so wild and dangerous, like he would eat her alive. She pulled his shirt from his breeches, running her hands underneath to feel the ridges of his stomach, around to the hard muscles of his back.
She tilted her head back as Logan nibbled down her jaw line, down the column of her arched throat. His tongue played in the hollow at the base before he descended to the valley of her breasts. Her gown impeded his progress, and he slipped his hands around her back to the tiny buttons trapping her in the gown. With a triumphant grunt, he ripped the back open and her gown fell off her shoulders, her breasts spilling out the top in abundance as the tiny buttons joined his own on the floor.