She replied with only a nod of her head, accepting his bow. The steely glint was back in those intense eyes and Clare was certain this man never begged for anything. A shiver raced down her spine at that realization.
Clare could not trust her own reaction, that of being overwhelmed by his mere presence, so she did not speak at that moment. Instead, she walked around the desk, sliding her hand along its sturdy surface to regain her control. Duncan walked behind her and held the chair as she sat. Andrew sat in the chair closest to the desk, remaining seated as Sir Iain stood there, walking stick in hand, waiting for her to speak first.
“Sir Iain, tell me why you will not take nay as an answer to your offer?”
Chapter Two
God Almighty, shewas magnificent!
His blood, and cock, rose in response to the passion his very flesh recognized in her. He shifted to allow his prick to find a better position within the cut of his breeches. Thankfully, his greatcoat covered the weakness of his physical reaction to her.
Iain had made an error, something he rarely did, in not knowing that a woman owned the properties he wanted. Granted, his haste and need to firm up his expansion plans had led him to go around his own man of business and seek out the present owner. Hell, Ned and Ben would be insufferable over this when they learned of it.
But, that owner being Lady Clare Logan was completely unexpected and he could not be faulted for his misstep as he’d entered this chamber. At first, she’d nearly melted into the polished wood of the wall where she stood when he walked in. He should have looked at her closely before assuming her position in the household. His anger at being put off and denied what he was determined to attain had allowed a simple apron and a bland gown in a washed-out shade that nearly matched the color of her hair to mislead him.
Now, getting a better look, nay, paying heed as he took a closer one, he noticed the graceful arch of her neck and the intelligence in those eyes that were the color of the sea off the western isles. Wild, loose tendrils of mahogany hair framed a heart-shaped face. Iain shook himself free of her enticing features, shocked that anything, anyone, had come before his business.
“To be honest, my lady, I rarely hear that word,” he admitted. The swift indrawn breath spoke of her surprise. “Especially not when I make a more than generous offer and then increase it twice over.”
His words were not the whole truth. Actually, he could count on one hand the times that anyone refused his offer and lived to tell of it. Old ways were sometimes the best, but now with his higher presence in society, destroying any object, or person, in the way he used to could not be his first choice. The ways of honorable society must be tried first. Then...
“Well,” she said, as she rose from her chair, “Sir Iain, I will not be accepting either your first, second or third offer.” She nodded to someone behind him, and he heard the door being opened for his departure. “But I do thank you for taking the time personally to clarify the matter. William will see you to the door.”
Iain was tempted to stay as he was, standing in the middle of her office making everyone very uncomfortable. As he placed his free hand on top of the one that rested on his walking stick, the very fact he was indeed tempted to stay here made him move.
“My lady.” He nodded and accepted his hat from the footman now at his side. “Gentlemen. My man will be in touch with you shortly.” He saw the nervous smile on her secretary’s face and noticed the way her solicitor’s mouth firmed into a tight line. They understood the reality and the accompanying danger of her refusal.
He adjusted his hat and stepped outside, pausing and seeking the clarity of mind that sometimes only the cold Edinburgh air could give. After several slow, deep breaths, Iain headed to his waiting vehicle. His own footman opened the door of his coach and Iain climbed in, seeking the corner he preferred. As the coachman guided the horses into the street and to his next destination, he considered his options and made a mental list of matters to discuss with his own secretary and solicitors.
The first, of course, would be how they could have missed the not-so-insignificant detail that C.N. Logan was actually the Earl of Heath’s daughter. The disgraced one. The one who married without her father’s approval and who gave up most of the privileges enjoyed by daughters of the nobility. Oh, he studied the Scots peerage and knew who her father was—a ruthless bastard of a man not too unlike himself. He tucked those connections away for now.
Secondly, he thought just as the coach hit a rut in the cobblestones and forced him to slide to the edge of the bench seat before he could control himself and push back. Secondly, he thought again, his own men would have to answer to the lack of knowledge over the extent and control of Jonathan Logan’s businesses. Iain rubbed his forehead at the first sign of an oncoming headache. Jonathan Logan had managed to forestall Iain’s attention from the properties he wanted from the man for months after he’d been the one to initiate the discussions. Unacceptable delays and then the shocking occurrence—Logan died suddenly.
Another rut caused the carriage to jostle him once more and he let out an old epithet he’d not spoken in a long time.
And that concerned him, too. His legendary control—over his temper, his voice, his manners, his past—did not slip often, if at all. Yet it had just now. Two lapses in self-control within just minutes of meeting Lady Clare Logan.
The carriage slowed as it climbed the incline of the eastern road back into Edinburgh proper and he leaned back against the thickly-padded seat, as the unfamiliar feeling of dread filled him. Forcing his way into that building, into her building, he’d had no idea that his entire world would shift on its axis. He could not blame the unevenness of the road’s surface or the gap in the information provided to him for the anger that filled the empty place deep inside him in this moment. Oh, making an error in front of his adversaries was not something he could accept gracefully. That was not the source of the seething inside him.
Nay, the truth hit him as he only just now remembered the words on the small sign at the door. He’d seen it and yet he’d not taken notice of it as he knocked and pushed his way in. He had not even truly read it, but the words apparently reached his mind without any effort and lay waiting for him to realize their presence.
The Logan School for the Orphans and Unfortunates.
Orphans.
Unfortunates.
Black filled his vision and his gut clenched sending bile into his mouth as he fought to force the memories back into the abyss in his soul where they existed. He could not this time and the rage they caused filled him. His belly gave him warning and he hit the roof of the carriage with his walking stick. He could not and did not wait for it to stop before he opened the door and jumped to the street. Emptying his belly along the side of the road did not end the shaking tremors passing through him. When his footman approached, Iain waved him back. The spasms in his stomach finally calmed enough for him to stand. Accepting the flask offered in silence, he swished the first mouthful and spat it onto the stones.
The second swig burned its way down as Iain gathered the frayed shards of self-control and tried through force of will to reinforce the wall within him that kept his past... in the past. He held the flask out to Boyd with a nod. Glancing around and determining where they’d stopped, he called up to the coachman.
“Ewan, take the coach back to the house.” He heard the whispers and saw the expressions being exchanged among Ewan and Boyd. “I want to walk a bit, but I have a stop to make first.”
“Sir?” Ewan asked. “Boyd will accompany ye.”
“Boyd will return with you to the house.” Iain tugged his pocket watch free and opened it. “Come back for me in three hours.”
“Here, sir?” Iain reached inside the coach and retrieved his walking stick. After testing the release for the blade within it, he nodded.
