by Karen Ranney
She didn’t know what she would do then.
When she returned to the townhouse with Bruce she always grabbed a little snack for him and a cup of tea for herself, taking them to her bedroom. On this particular day, however, she was greeted by the sight of her aunt sitting at the enormous oak table.
Her aunt never sat in the kitchen. Her aunt was rarely in the kitchen, since she always met with the housekeeper and the cook in the small sitting room off her bedroom.
None of the maids were in the room, which was strange, but understandable since her aunt was here. Even the cook had absented herself. Eleanor couldn’t help but wonder where she’d gone.
The kitchen was large, painted white, and had two wide windows facing east that allowed sunlight to flood into the room. A selection of vegetables was sitting at one end of the table, alongside a cutting board and two wicked-looking knives.
Had Deborah banished everyone in the act of preparing for dinner?
Bruce wisely moved to sit behind her.
Eleanor didn’t know whether to address her aunt directly or simply stand there like a penitent. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind that Deborah had been waiting for her to return from the park. Or that she hadn’t wanted a witness to this meeting.
That meant only one thing. She knew about Logan.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Eleanor.”
“Have you?” she asked.
“I’ve been made privy to something shocking.”
She remained silent.
“You might say that it’s proof you’re deceptive in nature.”
She’d never lied about meeting Logan, but she’d never discussed it, either.
Her aunt reached into her pocket and withdrew a letter that she waved in the air.
“Logan McKnight wrote you, Eleanor. Your housekeeper forwarded the letter. What do you have to say to that?”
“You have no right to open my mail.”
“I have every right. You live here, under my roof. It’s not Scotland, Eleanor, when you were able to dictate our lives.”
Confused, she stared at her aunt. “What do you mean, dictate your lives? I did no such thing.”
“Of course you did,” Deborah said, her laughter holding a brittle edge. “We all felt it, every day. I couldn’t paint a room without your approval. I couldn’t buy new furniture without your okay. I couldn’t lift a finger to change anything about that ghastly barn of a house. I wouldn’t be surprised if stress about it all drove William to his death.”
Eleanor didn’t understand. She never said a word to any member of her family about what they could or couldn’t do.
“You should never have inherited Hearthmere. Leaving it to you was idiotic.”
Her aunt could say anything she wanted about her, but Eleanor wasn’t going to allow her father to be impugned.
“Hearthmere wasn’t entailed, Aunt Deborah. My father had every right to leave it to anyone he wished.”
“It should have been to his brother,” Deborah said. “And in turn, to Jeremy. He wouldn’t have to spend so much time trying to find his way in the world if your father had done what was right.”
Jeremy would’ve been a terrible steward for Hearthmere. He would’ve drained the estate dry and been uncaring about the staff or the horses. The idea of Jeremy managing Hearthmere was ludicrous, but Deborah evidently believed that justice had not been done for her son.
Eleanor held out her hand. “May I have my letter?”
For a moment she didn’t think Deborah was going to surrender it to her. Finally, she did so, throwing it across the table.
Eleanor grabbed it and without reading put it into her pocket.
“You’re engaged to an earl, a peer. Your life will substantially change for the better, but you’re not the only one whose life will be altered. Have you not considered that?” Despite her reddened cheeks, Deborah’s voice was calm.
When Eleanor didn’t speak, her aunt continued. “Hamilton’s business ventures will be enhanced once people know that he’s related to the Earl of Wescott. Your cousin will have avenues open to him. The relationship will even help Daphne and her husband. Are you so selfish that you would choose this relationship over your family?”
“It isn’t a relationship, Aunt Deborah. Logan and I are friends.”
“Of course it’s more than that. A member of Parliament sent a letter to an engaged woman. It’s a physical representation of a scandal. Do you think that other people aren’t interested in what Logan McKnight does? Have you not seen the articles about him in the newspaper?”
Eleanor nodded.
“If anyone gets wind of this, Eleanor, your engagement is over.”
“There’s nothing for anyone to hear. We’re only friends.”
“Will Michael think that?”
She doubted it. Michael would think the worst.
“Your fiancé doesn’t like Mr. McKnight. He made that point abundantly clear to Hamilton.”
“Are you going to tell Michael about the letter?”
“Of course not. I, for one, do not want anything to damage your engagement. I wish I could say you felt the same.”
Eleanor didn’t respond. What could she say?
“Do you feel something for this man?”
When she didn’t speak her aunt continued. “If you do, I urge you to rid yourself of your feelings. You have a perfectly acceptable relationship with Michael.”
She must have had some reaction to her aunt’s words because Deborah stood and walked toward her.
“Don’t be so foolish to think that you must marry for love. I did that once and look how terrible it turned out.”
“My uncle?”
“Of course your uncle. It’s difficult to remain blissfully in love if you don’t have two coins to rub together. The man could never manage money. Not that he had any. Don’t be a fool. Marry for money. Marry for prestige. Marry for a title. You’ll be a countess, for the love of God.” She sent Eleanor a withering look. “Marry for the sake of your family.”
Eleanor doubted if there was anything in the letter that hinted at a scandal. Meeting Logan in the park, however, was different. She’d never heard Deborah scream, but it was not beyond the realm of possibility if her aunt learned about that.
Eleanor didn’t say another word as she turned and left the room, hoping Deborah wouldn’t call her back. She didn’t, leaving Eleanor to wonder what was going to happen now. She entered her bedroom, closing the door behind her. Bruce immediately jumped up on the end of her bed, curled into a ball, and sighed deeply.
She pulled the letter out of her pocket and read it, hearing Logan’s voice in the words he’d written. Just as she’d thought, there was nothing untoward about the letter, nothing hinting that they’d kissed.
A wiser woman would send word to Logan that she couldn’t meet him anymore. She had his address. She could easily dispatch a footman to his residence or send her own driver there.
When she said as much to Bruce, he looked interested for a few minutes before directing his attention to his paws.
Her father would have counseled her on honor. He would have said what he’d said so many times: a man is defined by his word. Was it any different with women? It shouldn’t be. She’d agreed to marry Michael. She’d given her word.
Her future loomed in front of her like an enormous wall. She couldn’t see over it or around it. Nor could she tunnel beneath it. It was simply there and she had to accept that it was too late to change anything.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning Eleanor woke early, made Bruce’s food, and took the bowl to the small yard in the back of the house. After he finished eating, she grabbed a Chelsea bun from the kitchen and ate it as she took Bruce to the park.
The whole time she was wondering if Deborah had told Hamilton about the letter. Eleanor fervently hoped her aunt wouldn’t say anything to Daphne. Her cousin wasn’t known for her ability to keep a secret.
She had no doubt
about Hamilton’s reaction. He hadn’t quit complaining about Logan since the dinner party. According to Hamilton, Logan had been excessively rude, impolite to Michael, and inconsiderate of other viewpoints. She hadn’t defended Logan, but it had been difficult to remain silent.
Surprisingly, Logan was already at the park, sitting on the bench beneath the giant oak where they met most often. He sat with one arm along the back of the bench, staring off into the distance. The canopy of branches, barer every day, heralded the oncoming winter. Only intrepid walkers showed up in the cold. She’d always come to the park in all seasons. It had been the one place she could escape her aunt. Now Queen’s Park was not simply a refuge. It was where she and Logan talked and spent time together.
Time seemed to be accelerating, her wedding looming larger each day. Deborah and Daphne were busier than ever planning the ceremony, the parties before and after, and every conceivable celebration of Eleanor’s ascent to countess.
She approached Logan slowly, not wanting to disturb his reverie. Bruce, however, had other ideas, racing to the bench, jumping on it and then on Logan. At first he laughed, and then he corrected Bruce in that calm voice of his.
“Down, boy. Don’t get so excited that you forget your manners. You’re going to be a countess’s dog. You mustn’t forget that.”
She tried to push back the spear of pain his comment caused and greeted him.
“I think he grows at night. When I wake in the morning I half expect him to be another few inches taller.”
“Pretty soon he’ll be the same size as his mother.”
They were talking as if they were strangers again, not two people who’d met every day for weeks, exchanging thoughts and experiences, being direct and honest in a way she’d never experienced with another person.
Had something happened?
She came and sat on the bench, making room for Bruce to sit between them. She carefully gathered her skirt to one side, put her feet together and then her hands, staring at the profusion of leaves blowing across the grass. London never felt as cold as Scotland in the winter. However, she was a Highlander and had grown up tolerating Scottish weather.
Perhaps they could talk about the seasons. Or she could ask about Mr. Disraeli. Or perhaps she should simply remain silent. Yet she’d never been meek and reserved with Logan. She was not going to begin now.
She turned her head to look at him. He was watching her, his eyes giving nothing away.
“Why are you here so early?”
“Because I had a curious need to see you,” he said.
Bruce chose that moment to jump off the bench and attack some errant leaves blowing across the path.
“Why?”
“Damned if I know. I think it has something to do with setting the mood for my day. I find that everything goes better when I’m able to share a little of it with you. Those days when I can’t be here I find myself resenting the press of my business, the same work that used to thrill me, that fascinated me so much that I gave it my life.”
“Don’t say things like that, Logan. I never know how to respond.”
“But don’t you understand, dear girl? You don’t have to say anything at all.”
He hadn’t kissed her after that first day. They had taken care to be proper and cautious around each other but that thrumming awareness was always there, at least on her part.
Now he was saying he felt it, too.
“This is the very last place I should be yet I find myself unable to stay away.”
She should say something, anything, but not one word came to mind. She should stand and leave. Or the best thing would be to say goodbye to him. Their paths had unexpectedly crossed, but he’d been right from the first. London was large enough that they wouldn’t necessarily see each other again.
Her marriage would happen and his career would prosper. Perhaps one day she’d read that he’d married. Or that he’d been elected to an even more important position. Perhaps he’d see the announcement of her first child. Their futures were planned by circumstances and people around them.
“What do you want me to say, Logan?”
“Nothing. You might as well offer an apology for dawn or sunset. You are yourself. I have somehow become attuned to Eleanor Craig to the point that you’re important to me. To my days. To my dreams.”
He studied her, an intense regard that had her wanting to squirm. It was like he had never seen her before or wanted to imprint the sight of her in his mind.
“Should I tell you to run away, Eleanor? That way you would be safe.”
“I’ve always felt safe with you,” she said.
“Ah, but if I told you what I wanted to do, it would frighten you. Perhaps you should escape like the devil himself was on your heels.”
Her stomach felt like it was bobbing up and down. Her hands were shaking and her feet felt strangely cold. Nothing was right on this beautiful morning. Yet everything was. He was saying things he shouldn’t say, but she didn’t silence him. She didn’t lean over and press her fingers against his lips. She didn’t demand that he stop speaking. Nor did she monitor her own words.
“I doubt you could do anything that would scare me, Logan. I know you to be a gentleman.”
“Ah, but you don’t know my baser self, Eleanor. Or what I’m capable of doing. I want to take you back to Scotland. I want to keep you in my bed for a month or so.”
She could feel her cheeks warm even in the cold air.
He smiled. “Do you know how wide your eyes are? You’re shocked, I can tell. But you’re too well mannered to get up and run. Perhaps I should urge you to.”
“If I’m shocked it doesn’t mean I’m frightened,” she said. “Nothing you could say would make me fear you.”
He stretched out his hand and she put hers in it. “I never want you to be afraid of me, Eleanor.”
“How could I be?” She smiled back at him. “Besides, I’m a Scot. I can ride any horse at Hearthmere, even the stallion that worries Mr. Contino. A Highland storm doesn’t scare me and I’ve walked through a blizzard.”
If she was really fearless she would tell him that if he abducted her she would go willingly, to Scotland or anywhere he chose. Let him show her what passion was. She already knew desire. Every time they met she fought back the urge to kiss him. Every day she wanted to walk into his embrace, stroke his arms, or wind her hands around his neck.
She needed to touch him with a desperation that was almost physical.
She dreamed of him, passionate dreams that had her waking breathless in the middle of the night. The longing she felt dissipated so slowly that sometimes she and Bruce crept down the back stairs before dawn, standing on the lawn to let the cold night chill her skin.
Perhaps she and Logan were reaping what they sowed. The attraction had been there from the beginning. They should have fought it. Or, if that wasn’t possible, they should have been strong enough to stop meeting, knowing that each day would only strengthen the yearning.
She stood and walked some distance away, Bruce following. She hadn’t trained him today so he probably thought this was some new lesson.
The crunch of leaves was a warning. Logan’s arms encircled her and she leaned back against him, closing her eyes.
Please let me remember this moment. Please don’t let me forget this.
“Eleanor.”
Kiss me. Could she say that? Could she be brave enough to demand that of him?
This odyssey was ending. She felt rather than knew it. How could it continue? It was only good fortune that people were unaware of these meetings in the park. They’d been lucky, but she was a fool to think that they could escape detection forever.
She turned in his arms, put her hands flat on his chest, and met his eyes.
“These moments make the rest of my day bearable. I sometimes find myself awake at night, wishing I could push the hours forward until I see you again.”
She shouldn’t be saying these things, but how could she keep s
ilent? This was Logan and the words belonged to him. Yet even as she spoke she felt the burden of her conscience. Nothing could come of this. They didn’t have a future together.
“Eleanor.”
How softly he said her name. How beautiful it sounded when he said it.
She leaned close and rested her forehead against his chest, wishing that circumstances were different. She’d beg him to take her away. They would be lovers and friends not just for a short time, but the rest of their lives.
His arms tightened around her, his chin resting on her head. She was content to stay this way forever, uncaring about a passing carriage or a horseback rider. Let the world stare. Let them whisper among themselves. Who are they? Why are they embracing in public? What is their story?
Perhaps they would think that she and Logan were star-crossed lovers, except that they’d only kissed. She’d imagined more and perhaps he had as well.
She pulled back a little, her courage bright and formidable. “Kiss me.”
“Eleanor.”
His honor was holding them both at bay. She didn’t want him to be honorable. She wanted him to tuck his decency into his pocket for a few minutes. Ignore the training of a lifetime, give her what she needed.
“Kiss me.”
She didn’t need to urge him a third time.
The world disappeared and there was only Logan. Logan, steady and firm, pushing back reality and gifting her with bliss. She held on to him as her head spun, as her blood warmed, and sparks of sensation traveled outward from deep inside.
His lips were firm but soft. His breath was heated. When he tilted his head slightly, her mouth opened beneath his. She’d never known a kiss like this, intrusive yet welcoming, sensual and familiar.
Bruce barked, the sound bringing her back to sanity. Logan stepped back first, keeping his hands on her upper arms to steady her.
The puppy circled them, no doubt because he wanted his liver treats and they were lax in their training. She bent, retrieved the end of his lead, but instead of giving him a command, she turned and headed toward the gate.
She glanced back once to find Logan watching her. She wanted to return to his side and beg him to spirit her away. Or kiss her again until she forgot everything but him.
