The Wolf of Winterthorne: Scandalous Secrets, Book 4

by Tracy Goodwin

  “No, I am not a singer. Of that, I am certain.” Sybil traced the seam in his snowy white shirt with her fingernail. He wore no jacket, no cravat, no vest. He must not have expected to see her this evening since she missed dinner. “I am no one. And I have realized that I would prefer to remain anonymous than be a woman who would use something private against you.”

  Her eyes searched his. Could he see her sincerity? Sense her regret?

  Cupping her cheek with his palm, Logan sighed. “I believe you. It might be the biggest mistake of my life, but I believe you and I know not why.”

  This man was a series of contradictions.

  His façade exuded danger and an underlying threat. Logan’s tall build, broad frame, and bronzed skin added to this illusion as did the slash of deadened skin across his face. Yet, behind his tough appearance and cutting remarks, he was a tortured soul, one with vulnerabilities she’d yet to uncover and a passion that was undeniable, one that sent a surge of desire pulsating from her very core, from her womanhood.

  God, she wanted to feel that surge of excitement again. She longed to feel alive, just like last night.

  Sybil was desperate for it.

  Desperate for him.

  Leaning into his palm, she closed her eyes, allowing his close proximity, his strong touch to vanquish her anxiety and self-doubts.

  She summoned the courage to trail her hand up his snowy white shirtfront, up to his neck where she reveled in his smooth flesh and the fact that his every muscle, every tendon, twitched in response to her touch.

  It was all the encouragement she needed to capture his lips with hers.

  Logan parted his lips, granting her immediate access and Sybil brushed her tongue against his.

  Tonight, she was in control.

  Logan didn’t seem to mind, as he pulled the pins from her hair, threading his fingers through her mass of waves.

  Every time his tongue massaged hers, Sybil’s hunger for him intensified. She straddled him, like last night. Though tonight, without the many layers of clothing, swathed only in her shift and dressing robe, she could feel his muscles tense beneath her, feel his body hardening for her, feel his manhood rise at attention against her feminine heart.

  The realization sent a fluttering sensation to soar within her chest. How could she be so experienced, what some might refer to as a whore, when each sensation felt new?

  Because of Logan.

  The realization made her fervor for him ignite. Her shawl fell from her shoulders and she further explored his mouth, his tongue massaging hers in a rhythm that caused her heartbeat to quicken, the tempo in time with each thrust.

  Just when Sybil was certain her skin was ablaze from his touch, Logan slowed their kiss. She groaned as he nipped her lower lip with his teeth.

  She didn’t want their intimacy to stop.

  Neither did he.

  Sybil’s kisses were intoxicating, tasting of sweet port. Which is why Logan felt the need to pull away from her, the combination of her ravenous kisses and the sweet taste of port assailing his crumbling conscience.

  Placing his forehead against hers, his arousal was now at the painful stage as he attempted to slow his mounting hunger for her.

  “I refuse to take advantage of you,” his voice was a tortured whisper, ragged with desire and disappointment.

  Sybil scoffed. “How could you? I initiated this.”

  “You have imbibed,” he traced her jawline with his thumb and forefinger. Her flesh was supple. He tried not to imagine what the rest of her body would feel like underneath his fingertips and failed miserably, causing his shaft to throb for her.

  Straddling his erection, Sybil shifted her weight. “I am not inebriated. I need this … I need you. Because ever since last night, I feel like a pane of glass that is about to shatter. You are the only thing keeping me whole. Besides which, from what you said, my reputation is not at stake. I am already compromised. Hence, there is nothing you can say that will cause me to cease yearning for you.”

  He knew that to be false. “You aren’t the only person with a history, Sybil. I possess one, as well. I have garnered my own reputation, have committed my own sins—”

  “All of which makes this right,” her eyes searched his, her passion ignited in amber flecks. “You despise me. I abhor myself, my life as you explained it to me. We have that in common.”

  The fortress surrounding his heart began to rumble within his chest. As the feeling intensified, Logan realized that the structure he had erected with such precision so long ago was now beginning to crack. His heart pumped harder, faster, against the barrier.

  There was only one reason for this catastrophe.

  It was disintegrating because of the woman on his lap. Because, with her, he felt something other than emptiness, other than loneliness, other than guilt and shame for the first time in years.

  “I no longer detest you. Not this you,” he captured her lips, his tongue massaging hers, delving deeper until she moaned.

  Sybil clutched his shoulders, balling the fine fabric of his shirt within her fists as she met the cadence of his kisses, melding her body against his. Her hands journeyed to his chest, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirtfront.

  First one, then two. She continued her descent as her knuckles brushed against the contours of his chest and abdomen.

  His flesh quivered with her every touch, the realization causing waves of heat to radiate throughout his body.

  Untying her dressing gown, he shoved it off her shoulders, causing her to halt her exploration as she shrugged out of the sleeves.

  “The servants?” her tone was raspy, breathless.

  Logan’s heart swelled with pride at her rosy cheeks and heart-shaped lips now plump from his kisses. “No one ventures into this wing after dinner. They know not to disturb me.”

  “Good,” she tossed her dressing gown to the floor, before tracing the contoured planes of his abdomen, up his ribcage to his chest where Sybil twirled his springy chest hair between her fingertips.

  Leaning into her, Logan splayed his palms over her breasts, her warmth emanating through the thin muslin of her chemise.

  Her taut buds hardened beneath his hands causing Logan’s heart to skip a beat, perhaps two. Was he breathing? He may have held his breath, the moment searing his flesh, branding them both.

  Sybil exhaled, her chest heaving under his touch as if she, too felt the magnitude of that one action.

  Bowing his head, he seized one of her pert globes with his mouth, nibbling at it with his teeth through the fine material. Her nails dug into his shoulders as her nipples pointed at attention for him.

  His dexterous tongue suckled and teased her taut buds as Sybil’s nails dug into his back, her moan guttural.

  It was clear that she wanted more.

  So did he.

  Logan’s hands trailed under her shift where he explored her legs with the pads of his fingers, her skin trembling under his touch.

  The knowledge thrilled him.

  Though she had welcomed many lovers over the years, the fact that his touch caused her to tremble like an inexperienced maiden made his exploration the more satisfying. He longed to excite her, to ignite flames of passion she had never before experienced with any other man.

  His ascent continued until he reached the silken curves of her buttocks. Logan grasped them, a silent declaration that, on this night, she belonged to him.

  Sybil shuddered, her breath hitching in her throat.

  He savored each tremor as he suckled her other breast. Sybil arched her back in response and his shaft hardened.

  Good God in heaven, he throbbed for release as his hands trailed downwards, towards his breeches. He unbuttoned them, his hard shaft now free from the confines of his clothing.

  “Please,” she beseeched him before seizing his lips with her own.

  One word … please. Six letters epitomizing such significance.

  This woman, the same woman he once despi
sed, wanted him as much as he now wanted her.

  Why did this moment seem so right?

  He fought to rid his thoughts of Arabella. She rejected him. She chose her path, as did he. Perhaps he was fated to land here, in this moment, with this woman. Perhaps this was the woman meant for him from the beginning.

  Perhaps Arabella was too good for him, always out of his reach. He needed a sinner, his moral equivalent. The only person to understand him, his past, his misdeeds and regrets. But, in spite of her sins, Sybil beheld an innocence that intoxicated him. The fact that she was so much like her sister … though that fact set warning bells clanging in his ears, Logan refused to listen.

  Although he had never been one to believe in fate, he was now willing to consider that maybe, just maybe, he had been destined for this moment all along.

  Lifting Sybil by her buttocks, Logan slid her onto his shaft, now hard and throbbing for release. Sybil’s muscles tensed as she cried out.

  Logan’s blood turned to ice.

  He recognized the sound of pain, had heard it more times than he could count. Had seen it first-hand on the battlefield, in the fog of war.

  The scent of vanilla and lavender, her scent, caused his stomach to churn. With a sudden bolt of clarity, he realized that his visions of fate were one grand illusion for this was no experienced trollop writhing atop his shaft.

  This woman was a virgin.

  This woman wasn’t Sybil.

  This is Arabella!

  The woman he once loved, the woman who had once rejected him, was the same woman he had penetrated.

  And he’d just taken her with feral lust.

  Once pure, he had tainted her.

  Another sin.

  His heart constricted until he swore it would stop beating, his anguish coiling in his chest like a snake, tightening until he was certain he would draw his last breath.

  Having just been thrust into the fiery pit of hell, Logan knew there was no one to blame but himself.

  Though Sybil’s every tendon tensed, the fleeting pain she experienced was just that – fleeting. It had already begun to ebb, leaving a chill in its wake with the realization that Logan had stilled.

  She snapped her eyes open, noting that he refused to meet her gaze. Though still intimately joined, Sybil had never felt so disconnected from him, the realization sending a pang of regret straight to her core.

  “What is it?” Her voice was rough, her throat dry. Though close to him, it felt as if they were separated by miles.

  The cleft in his chin deepened and his lips pursed as if wounded. He squeezed his eyes shut.

  Was she not enough for him?

  Was she … was she bad at this? Did her lack of memory cause her to do something wrong?

  Uncertainty assaulted her like a leaf caught in a zephyr. “Did I hurt you?”

  Logan snapped to attention, meeting her intense stare with one of his own, his eyes, now devoid of the passion they just shared. “I caused you discomfort, love,” his voice was barely audible above the hissing and popping from the fire, his words laced with a hidden meaning.

  Sybil cupped his face in her palms. “I don’t understand.”

  Leaning forward, Logan kissed her, though this time his lips were gentle, his kisses petal soft and brimming with feeling.

  What didn’t she comprehend?

  Panic began to rise, its talons piercing her spine, prickling her skin. He wrapped his arms around her, tugging her against his chest.

  “If you are as experienced as you are rumored to be, that should not have caused you pain,” he soothed her back in a small, circular motion. “I don’t believe that you are who I believed you to be.”

  First she wondered if her reputation was fictional but ruled that out. It would not be the cause of her discomfort.

  Then his words began to register.

  I longer detest you. Not this you.

  You have an identical twin named Arabella.

  Bella…

  I am Arabella Sutton.

  The reason behind why the name Sybil never felt quite right, never connected with her, never felt like her own became clear.

  Because she was Arabella.

  Like dense fog lifting within the recesses of her mind, a vision crashed through her veil of confusion. It was a memory of her, sitting on the steps of a bakery, next to Logan. He had been much younger, without any scars marring his tanned features. His clothes were worn, mirroring his poverty.

  She was reading to him. No, she was teaching him to read. Encouraging him to read a phrase of poetry to her.

  The poem … their poem.

  The same poem he read to her tonight.

  Arabella placed her cheek against his chest, the steady tha-thump of his beating heart a welcome distraction as she summoned the courage to speak.

  “I ask thee, my love…” her voice cracked, the flood of emotions shaking Arabella to her core. “You read that poem to me once. Before tonight.”

  “You remember?” he kissed her hair.

  The scene rushed over her, the intensity of her feelings causing her to clutch him tighter.

  Did she remember?

  What an understatement that would be.

  In truth, her heart swelled to the point she thought it would burst at how much she once loved this man. “I remember how much I adored you. I can see us sitting on a stoop, I can hear you reading to me.”

  Her vision clouded, tears pooling in her eyes as she met his gaze. “I remember that you loved me, as well. It was evident every time you called me Bella.”

  A tear traced a path down his cheek. “I loved you very much.”

  “What happened to us?” Arabella struggled to navigate through the thick vapor that hid her history with this man.

  “I lived for you,” another tear traveled down his cheek. “Until you informed me that I wasn’t good enough for you. You helped remind me of what I already knew.”

  This, Arabella did not recall.

  “The truth is that I am still not good enough,” Logan smirked. “I’ve done so much since we last spoke, the more abhorrent of my sins being that I just compromised you, on a sofa nonetheless, while believing you to be someone else. True, I thought of you always but still, after all these years … had I known you could ever be capable of wanting me again, I would never have traveled the path I did. I would have lived differently. To be worthy of you, I would have done anything.”

  More tears flowed, down his cheeks and hers.

  She loved him.

  Then and now.

  Arabella may not have access to all of her recollections, but she recognized what was in her heart, which now ached at the thought of separating from him ever again.

  No, she refused to allow it.

  Quite simply, she would not release him. Not now. Not ever.

  Leaning forward, she kissed Logan’s cheek, wet with his own tears. The salt lingered on her tongue as she traced a path to his lips.

  “Arabella, no,” Logan clutched her arms. “We’ve gone too far. We must end this now.”

  Her gaze met his. Reflected in his obsidion eyes, amongst the muted shadows of the dying fire, was remorse intermingled with anguish.

  “We are in quite the conundrum,” she placed her palm against his cheek. “Because I love you, even now. Ending this is not logical. It would make us both miserable and I believe you have lived in too much misery since we last sat on that stoop together.”

  He exhaled, “If you possessed your memory—”

  “I would still say I love you. Now and always. And I would apologize for whatever I said previously because the mere thought breaks my heart. I love you.”

  Logan’s brow furrowed and she kissed the deep creases. “I love you.” Her lips roved over his smooth cheek. He had shaved before dinner. “I love you.” To his lips, “I—”

  He placed his forefinger over her lips. “I love you. More than my life itself.”

  Crushing her lips against his, she kissed him. With all
the love in her heart, which was now brimming with the possibilities of what was to come.

  She began to undulate again.

  “Not here,” he whispered.

  “Why? It is fitting, is it not, based upon the history between us that I do remember?” She nimbly traced the cleft in his chin with her forefinger. “Here among the poems and hidden love letters, among the stories of adoration, lost love and second chances. Where else would be more appropriate?”

  “I can’t think of any place more ideal than where you are,” Logan tucked her hair behind her ears.

  A scene, a vivid flash, complete with summer sunshine and white flowers danced within Arabella’s mind. Daisies. A fistful of daisies. She held it like a bouquet. Logan wore his finest shirt for the occasion.

  “I promise to be by your side … now and always.” Could it be so? “Logan, did we exchange vows?”

  Her heart skipped a beat, followed by another as he nodded. “It was informal. It wasn’t legal.”

  “But it was real for me,” she whispered. Somehow, even if she didn’t recall everything, on this she remained steadfast. “I can see the sunshine, feel the warmth on my face, and remember the expression on yours. Your smile, brimming with unabashed pride and devotion. You, the memory of you, shines a bright light on my heart, and what I felt.”

  A glint sparkled from Logan’s ebony gaze. “It was real for me, as well.”

  “The pain – we never—”

  “No,” he shook his head.

  Since they had already initiated the act when Arabella thought she was a trollop, her inhibitions vanished into the vapor that surrounded her few precious recollections of this man.

  The man she loved.

  Logan was, for all intents and purposes, her husband. Legality had nothing to do with it. Her heart was forever linked with his. She married him when they were young. Arabella sensed now that she had never been unfaithful. She knew not why or how, just that she believed it to be so.

  Seizing his lips in a gentle kiss, she stroked his tongue with hers. Arabella wanted Logan to desire her. She longed for him to want her, need her, as much as she did him.

  Shifting his weight, his arms encircled her within his tight embrace as he lifted her then placed her gently upon the sofa, her head resting against a small, square pillow.