Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, hope took flight. What, however, did he wish for? He once would have craved a family such as this. Until he ceased believing that his dreams could ever be fulfilled.
His close relationship with Colin and his family was enough. Colin was his dearest friend, had been for years. They met during the war and had been partners ever since. After Colin married Eve a few years ago, Logan had been welcomed into their family, though he always watched from the fringes. That was one of the reasons he purchased Winterthorne … because, though his estate was secluded, it was situated on the outskirts of Northamptonshire allowing proximity to Colin, Eve, Fiona and their daughter, Abigail.
The Dowager Viscountess seemed to understand Logan’s shock, seemed to sense his inner turmoil, for she approached him and kissed his cheek.
“Rest assured, you are family, dear boy, and I plan to hear all about your latest antics, though I shall first proceed with Nanny and Abigail to our rooms,” Fiona held out her hand to the little girl who first ran over to her and hugged the statue before taking her great-grandmother’s hand.
“Oh, look, Abigail has grown accustomed to embracing the imposing wolf,” Eve’s voice rose an octave, her sarcasm deeply embedded in a singsong voice. She shot Colin a sly look that made her husband laugh in response.
Logan admired what Colin and Eve shared. The love. The mutual respect. The ability to communicate without saying a word. Each knew the other and was able to understand what the other was thinking or feeling at any given moment.
Theirs was a love unlike any Logan had ever encountered. Though Logan learned a long time ago never to travel the path of envy, every now and then he found himself wishing he’d been allowed just a sliver of that same happiness.
But that was impossible.
His chance had come and gone. Instead, he had taken a different route. One that led to blood, and death. One that led to Colin, his closest friend and business partner. In truth, Colin was like a brother to him. So, Logan chose to revel in Colin’s bliss because no one deserved it more.
After instructing his footman to show his guests upstairs, Logan led Colin and Eve into his library. It was his favorite room. The aroma of wood polish and leather gave the room an inviting feel, as did the mahogany and leather furnishings while massive shelves lined the lofty walls, brimming from floor to ceiling with books.
The collection, amassed over many years by each of the estate’s previous owners, was nothing if not impressive. In fact, Logan had insisted the library’s contents be included in his purchase of Winterthorne. Though some might consider his request odd, that was simply because they were not privy to the truth.
It was something Logan chose to keep hidden, a truth so powerful that it both shamed him and produced the most pride:
Logan was once incapable of reading.
Until someone took pity on him and taught the orphan boy caked in mud to read.
Arabella.
Yes, Bella had taught him to read.
And to love.
At one point in time, Arabella declared her undying love for Logan. Until Sybil caused her to reconsider. Though Logan possessed no proof, he was certain that it was Sybil’s intrusion that changed Arabella’s mind about him.
The mere thought of the latter made his skin crawl.
“Who is this mystery woman?” Colin asked as he escorted Eve to a sofa in the middle of the room. “There is a woman, is there not?”
“Isn’t there always a woman involved?” Logan mused, reclining in a chaise in the middle of the small seating area while Colin settled beside Eve.
Husband and wife couldn’t be more different in their features and countenance. Colin was rugged and tanned with dark hair and piercing blue eyes while his wife was fair and blonde with green eyes the soft color of spring moss. Complete opposites, their marriage was based upon love and mutual respect. Opposites who proved that love unifies even the most unlikely of couples.
At present, said couple was waiting in silence for Logan to elaborate. He was quick to oblige. “She appeared last night. Bloodied, caked in mud with no memory of who she is and bruises that indicate someone attacked her.”
“How dreadful,” Eve’s mouth was agape.
Colin leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “You have no idea who this woman is?”
“I was acquainted with her during my time on the streets.” No need for Logan to elaborate.
“Arabella?” Colin gasped, aware of his friend’s past all too well.
Threading his hand through his hair, Logan shook his head. “I thought it was at first. Then I saw the initial engraved on her bracelet. It is her sister.”
Exhaling a deep breath, Colin muttered, “Bloody hell.”
“What do you require from me?” Eve asked with a conspiratorial wink. “You both wish to talk in private. What can I do?”
“Please see her, make sure she has all of the essentials. And, if Fiona would consent, allow her to remain in residence as Sybil’s chaperone.”
Of course, Sybil’s reputation was well past the need for a chaperone but it would help Logan with his plan. No one could make someone feel more at ease than Fiona and Logan required all the help he could get since he didn’t trust that he would never again lose his temper like last night.
Nor could he trust that he would never be tempted to forget all his guest was capable of, all of her machinations, and kiss her back the next time she kissed his cheek.
If a next time ever materialized, that is.
After all, Sybil was sloshed last night. Who is to say she would ever kiss him again? Why would he even want her to?
Get a grip, man, Logan silently commanded as Eve patted his arm in acknowledgment before heading upstairs.
A silence befell the room as Logan arose and proceeded to his desk, standing in front of a bank of windows. He studied the landscape, tawny and beginning to decay as the early winter settled upon them.
“Are you disappointed?” Colin clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t blame you for it.”
Logan pondered his friend’s question for a long while. “I thought it was Bella and …” he picked up a jade paperweight, something he brought back from India.
To remind him of where he had been.
To ensure that he would never forget the acts he once committed.
To safeguard his soul.
“For one brief moment, I wanted it to be her. Until I realized that whichever sister I had encountered was inconsequential. Because Bella made it quite clear that she could never love me, would never love me. And her sister brought about that decision,” Logan paused.
He wasn’t being entirely truthful and, based upon the deep crease etched in his friend’s forehead, Colin knew it.
“I still want her to be Bella,” scratching his scalp, Logan leaned against his desk with a ragged sigh. “I find myself scrutinizing that woman and when she laughs a certain way, or smiles, I see Arabella. I must remind myself it isn’t her. And, regardless, no matter which twin wandered onto my grounds, nothing would change my life or my choices.”
“No, but it could bring you peace.”
“I’ve got all the peace I need, mate,” Logan waved his hand in the air. “All of this is mine, is my peace, is my bliss.”
Colin looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head with vehemence as he pointed to a canine staring down at them from atop a bookshelf. “There is a reason you chose this place. With all these creatures watching you. You chose this estate because it is your reparation. This place, its history, allows you to wallow in guilt and self-loathing until Fiona, or Eve, or me finally drag you out for a brief moment. After which, you return to your fortress and hide from everything you once assured me wasn’t immoral.”
“Shall we say that I’ve converted to your way of thinking on the matter?” Logan rubbed the cool, smooth stone between his palms. “Perhaps your conscience rubbed off on me, mate.”
“I pray that isn’t the case.” Colin laced his fingers
behind his neck.
“You are happy,” Logan placed the stone on his desk, adjusting it to where it normally rested. “That is most important to me.”
His friend sighed. “What are you going to do with Sybil until we discover who is hunting her? I assume I am in charge of that task?”
Nodding, Logan affirmed, “Yes, and I want you to ensure that Bella is safe. Last I heard, she was a governess in London. Before her fall from grace, if you will. I haven’t a clue what became of her since being caught with her employer.”
“Nasty business,” Colin shifted his weight. “I didn’t know how to broker that subject with you.”
Logan shrugged. “Yes, I heard. Hasn’t most everyone?”
“It was the scandal of the season,” his friend concurred.
“How ironic. She thought I was beneath her only to later disgrace herself. Unfortunately, I lost track of Arabella after that. By the time I arrived at her employer’s residence, she had already fled.” It concerned Logan that she would simply vanish, though it wasn’t the least bit surprising considering the weight of her indiscretion and how public it had become.
“Will you be all right? With Sybil, I mean?” Colin scratched his chin. “You won’t—”
“Won’t what, mate? Hand her over to the first attacker who knocks on my door?”
His companion arched his brow.
“Nah, what fun would that be?” Logan feigned the brightest smile he could muster.
“That—” Colin paused, studying Logan. “That is what I fear. Amusement in the form of retribution.”
Logan placed his hand in his trouser pocket. “Never fear, mate. I plan on teaching Sybil a lesson. But I will protect her, no matter how much I detest myself for doing so. Fiona will aid me in that regard.”
“Eve, Abigail and I shall depart tomorrow morning. I will keep you posted,” Colin shook his friend’s hand.
Logan gripped his shoulder with his free palm, “Do not place your family in jeopardy. Sybil Sutton isn’t worth it. No one is, and that includes me.”
Colin’s expression stilled.
“Promise me, mate,” Logan prodded. “Your word is your bond.”
And promise his friend did.
Nothing would place his extended family in jeopardy, Logan vowed, as he and Colin decided it was time for alcohol. Yes, whiskey would numb his revulsion towards Sybil.
If he imbibed enough of it, he might even forget how much he loathed her.
Sybil sat in bed, propped up by several pillows, as the kind yet dour maid named Marigold recounted local legends to her. She was the same maid who tended to her last night. Stout with dark hair and a pale complexion, Marigold did not resemble the flower after which she was named in the least, not physically, that is. However, her compassion and empathy, her gentle nature, was beautiful to be sure.
Why Marigold felt the need to tell such tales, Sybil knew not for she was certain she was more than capable of reading on her own. The maid, on the other hand, treated her like a child.
Was this under Logan’s orders, she wondered?
Although she was inebriated the night prior, Sybil remembered kissing him on the cheek. She also remembered Logan’s reaction – shock mixed with something she couldn’t place.
Anger?
Resentment?
Revulsion?
Or could it have been confusion?
Since Sybil hadn’t seen Logan since she kissed him last night, a part of her wondered whether the maid was keeping her company or keeping her imprisoned.
Perhaps both?
The maid intoned the story of a young man on a raft during the summer months. Did Marigold find this interesting? Frankly, it was putting Sybil to sleep.
In all fairness, her fatigue may be the result of lack of sleep more than boredom. Despite the mulled wine, she had not slept much, each sound jarring her taut nerves and leaving her in a restless state of unease throughout the night.
A rap at the door snapped Sybil to attention, her heart thumping. Could it be Logan? Or had he handed her to the others? The ones who wanted her dead?
Contrary to her fears, a beautiful blonde with dazzling green eyes and a matching silk gown entered the room followed by an older woman with no taste in fashion. The scarlet and purple splashes hurt Sybil’s eyes causing her to squint, as if she was staring into the sun. Her temples began to pound harder.
The blonde issued edicts to the footmen. “You may place both trunks against the wall.” Eve then turned to the maid. “Please allow us some time alone. We shall ring for you later.”
Marigold curtsied and closed the door behind her.
“Oh, darling girl,” the older woman patted the blankets. “We hear you had a frightful night. But, never fear, we have arrived armed with gowns and everything else you might need to make the most of a most unpleasant situation.”
The woman surveyed Sybil, pursing her lips. “What a muted palate you are wearing. I dare say, a little color always makes one feel better.”
The young blonde walked forward, her hair coiled atop her head like a halo. “My name is Eve and this is my grandmother. My husband – we – are friends of Mr. Ambrose. He asked us to provide you with assistance. We have brought essentials for you and my grandmother plans to remain at Winterthorne as your chaperone. Until—”
Her voice trailed off.
“Is he casting me aside? Handing me to whoever hurt me?” Sybil’s words escaped her lips uncensored. She swallowed hard against the lump of panic they evoked.
“No, no, not at all,” the older woman shook her head. “No, my dear. I shall keep you company while the men do what it is they do best.”
Silence befell them as Sybil awaited further explanation.
The woman rapped her cane against the floor and a red feather floated to the ground. “I don’t know what their plan is, you see. We are attending to you while the men discuss it, but both are intelligent and lethal. You are in excellent hands.”
Lethal?
The woman named Eve stepped forward, “What Grandmamma means to say is that no one is casting you aside. Both Logan and Colin are formidable. You couldn’t be in safer hands.”
Sybil rose. “Who is Colin? Do I know him, too?”
“Oh, no,” the blonde smiled. “Colin is my husband. I am bungling this, am I not?”
The older woman laughed. “Colin, Logan. Logan, Colin. There are too many male names ending in N in our family for my taste. One could easily become confused. Sans or avec mémoire. Shall we ring for tea? I am famished. Do you think cook made scones today?”
Scones.
A flash, a burst of light mingled with recognition surged through Sybil’s mind. She had eaten a scone once, could smell the delicious aroma of warm dough with a hint of orange zest. Her mouth watered thinking of it.
“What is it, dear?” the old woman asked.
Sybil laughed. “I remember scones.”
The woman beamed her approval with a wide smile. Encouraged, Sybil continued, “I remain unable to tell you what I had for breakfast yesterday, where I’m from, or anything other than my name, but I now know that I have eaten a scone and that it was delicious. I don’t know what your name is ma’am but you are brilliant.”
“Ah, a fellow scone connoisseur! I adore them myself,” the older woman cupped her hands together, causing her cane to fall with a muffled thud atop the feathers that adorned it. She didn’t appear to notice. “Perhaps I should just keep speaking and see if you remember more. As my granddaughter can attest, I am capable of conversing for hours if it is required.”
All three laughed in unison. With the earlier tension having lifted, Sybil grew to adore the two women. They were kind, amusing, and conjured a feeling of warmth, of safety.
Surely, Logan couldn’t be as frightful as she once imagined if he had friends like these to champion him? Then again, Sybil wasn’t the least bit frightened of him in the kitchen, or when he scooped her up and chivalrously carried her to her room.
Or when she kissed his cheek.
Why did she hunger for another chance to be close to Logan again? Why did Sybil long to kiss him again?
Because his warmth and strength reminded her that she is alive.
And she wants to live her life to its fullest while she can.
With the arrival of tea, the women assembled in chairs around the bed, eating and chatting. Sybil’s first bite was even better than she imagined, causing her mouth to water. Having skipped breakfast, she hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now. Once she had begun, she couldn’t help but devour every bite.
Between her and the Dowager Viscountess, a second platter had to be delivered.
“How do you know Logan?” Sybil asked once she had decided she couldn’t consume another crumb.
Eve wiped her mouth with a pristine white linen napkin. “Through my husband. Colin and Logan served together – oh, perhaps I should not have disclosed that piece of information. Logan doesn’t like to speak of it, neither does Colin.”
Sybil traced a seam in her own crisp napkin with her fingernail. “Served where?”
“They fought in the first Sikh War together,” the older woman’s expression turned somber. “Ghastly business. I wouldn’t discuss it with Logan. Poor dear has to live with the scars. They both do.”
Scars …
Logan’s scar now made sense.
It was from the war.
Lethal.
“Oh, thank God!” Sybil sighed.
“Pardon?” both women asked at once.
“When you said they were lethal … my imagination ran wild.” Sybil offered them an apology.
“Smart girl,” Fiona stood, aided by her cane. “I can see how you would think that. They are daunting though neither should be judged harshly—”
“Grandmamma,” Eve warned, albeit gently.
“I am merely conveying what Logan will not. That man, and your husband, have seen more horrors than anyone could possibly imagine.” The Dowager Viscountess rapped her cane against the floor. “It will be my pleasure chaperoning you, my dear, but be forewarned, Logan is a particular favorite of mine. Now, excuse me. I must nap for a bit.”
Eve kissed her grandmother on the cheek. Once she and Sybil were alone, she offered Sybil a warm grin. “Grandmamma is protective of Logan. They share a unique bond.”
The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4 Page 6
