In concession, Logan moderated his tone from a quiet roar to a steely growl. “You invited her here to be recognized. You offered to introduce her to Mr. Dorning. Now what kind of explanation can you offer to Miss Gracechurch for your behavior?”
Lord Varleigh straightened his waistcoat. “I should still be glad to introduce Miss Gracechurch to my colleagues. That is, provided she assures me that she will remain Miss Gracechurch.”
“What?”
“I need to know,” Varleigh said, “that there is no chance that she will shortly become Mrs. MacKenzie.”
Logan muttered an oath.
“But why should that matter, my lord?” Maddie asked.
“Miss Gracechurch, I cannot, in good conscience, recommend you for a lengthy project if you are to be wed. A wife has obligations to her husband and family, and those duties will supersede your artistic employment.”
“But that is absurd,” she said. “Surely many of your colleagues are married gentlemen, with duties to their families and wives. No one questions their scholarly dedication.”
“Perhaps,” Lord Varleigh said, sliding a condescending glance in Logan’s direction, “if were you married to a gentleman of some social or scholarly standing, that would be a different matter.”
Now it was Maddie’s turn to experience a flare of anger. Never in her life had she struck another person, but she wanted to punch Lord Varleigh in his aristocratic nose.
“Did you just insult Captain MacKenzie?” she said. “I will have you know, he is a highly intelligent man. He reads. Every evening. He even attended university.”
“Mo chridhe.” Logan gently pulled her back. He addressed Lord Varleigh. “Miss Gracechurch will be with you in a moment, my lord.”
After the man quit the room, a silence fell.
Logan began pacing back and forth in the small room. “I told you he wanted you. He probably planned this whole ball as a means of impressing you—perhaps he even meant to propose to you. Now he’s taking his petty revenge because he’s angry that you’re here with me.”
“Now that’s absurd.”
“Is it?”
“I can’t believe that any man would care enough to go to all that trouble. Not for me.”
He stopped pacing and approached her. He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to meet his intense blue gaze. “I am wearing a cravat and cuff links at the godforsaken Beetle Ball. Does this not count as going to trouble for you?”
“But . . . that’s not for me. Not really.”
“Maddie, mo chridhe.” His grip on her arms softened to a caress, and his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Like hell it isn’t.”
Her heart swelled in her chest. If he kissed her right now . . .
If he could love her . . .
Perhaps nothing else would matter.
Losing work was a disappointment. Maddie wanted that encyclopedia post. Even more than that, she wanted to be recognized for her illustrations. Lord Varleigh’s snub had settled in the pit of her stomach like a bitter, queasy lump.
But the prospect of losing Logan tore at her heart.
In a strange, illogical way, he’d been a fixture in her life since she was sixteen years old. And despite all her best attempts not to, she’d come to care for him—the real, imperfect Logan. The man who set her body aflame with incendiary kisses and infuriated her with his arrogant presumptions and pushed her to emerge from her icy, frozen cocoon.
She’d fallen in love with him.
“I suppose it doesna matter,” he said. “All you have to do is go tell him we’re not marrying.”
Maddie swallowed hard. “I’m not certain I can do that.”
She wasn’t certain she wanted to do that.
He glanced over her shoulder at the ballroom. “I think they’re going into supper. It isna so crowded anymore.”
“It’s not the crowds. Logan, please. Let’s just go home.”
“Then we’ll just go out there and find this Mr. Dorning ourselves,” he said. “To the devil with Varleigh. You needn’t be afraid of him. I’ll tell everyone the truth.”
“Just take me home,” she said. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“No. I’m not going to let you hide behind me again.”
“What if I’m not hiding behind you?” She put her hand in his. “What if I’m choosing you instead?”
He stared down at her. “Maddie, I—”
Tap-tap.
Tap-tap-tap.