“I don’t know what happened and, to be honest I’d rather not, but I do know you two need to work out this uncomfortable friction.”
Haven’s mouth nearly dropped open.
Work out their friction?
Seriously?
Had Millie understood what she just said?
The only way to work out the uncomfortable sexual friction was to createmorefriction by rubbing her soft body against a hard duke. Hot tingles of want shot through her at the image of the duke beneath her, groaning as she writhed over him.
Swallowing thickly, Haven replied, “I appreciate the advice.” Squeezing Millie’s hand, Haven added, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, dear. Tomorrow, we’ll have a long, cozy tea, and chat all about this evening’s party.”
Her worried look returned, but her farewell smile replaced it.
Millie climbed the stairs, and Haven stood alone in the hallway waiting for the duke.
Uncertainty, anxiety, desire, and curiosity blended into a concrete block holding her to the spot on the floor. Why had she stayed downstairs when she could be hiding in her room?
She weighed her options.
Go wait for Logan in the parlor and get to the bottom of the roiling tensions of the evening, or go to bed and pretend nothing happened.
Her decision was made for her when he came into view, striding toward her, a black mask of wrath on his face, and a single white glove in his clenched fist.
Chapter Thirty-Six
As any gentleman would, Logan waited until the door clicked shut behind them before the words burst from his mouth.
“How dare you?” Haven’s look of utter shock did nothing to assuage his anger. “How dare you take my hospitality, sit down to eat at my dinner table, make merry with my friends and family, and still have the unfathomable gall to commit acts of vandalism against me?”
That seemed to snap her from her stupor. She drew up to her full height and ground out through clinched teeth, “What are you talking about?”
He swore. “Don’t deny it.”
Bile flooded his throat when he thought of how this evening had spiraled downward from the moment he stepped into the drawing room with her on his arm.
What a fool he’d been to feel anything but indifference for her.
After Miss Hughes’s performance, he wanted nothing more than to speak with Haven, hear her husky voice, see the hungry fire in her eyes, and taste the sweet, addicting heat of her lips. Like an ardent schoolboy, he’d considered taking her into thegarden to lavish her with attention under the glimmering stars. But first, he had to escort his guests to the door.
Harry exclaimed that the evening had been a success, and Logan, though he hadn’t entirely agreed, nodded and thanked him for attending.
Lady Bleydon and Miss Hughes stopped to thank him, the former barely batting an eye, and the latter offering him a smile reminiscent of her brother’s. The twin Krogers were the last to offer their goodbyes.
Mr. Kroger’s cold eyes raked him when he thanked him for a pleasurable evening.
The sister’s eyes were just as cold, but her hand against his arm was not.
She’d gently touched him, and while that alone wasn’t a reason to balk, the waves of intent gave him pause. Harry had warned him of her desire to catch a wealthy husband, so Logan was inclined to be polite, but not so much it gave the impression of interest.
When it came to the Marriage Mart, flirting, or not flirting, was a complicated and diabolical orchestra. Each person--scheming mothers, marriage-minded daughters, bachelors with pockets to let, and fathers with gambling debts--were musicians; skilled with their instruments, capable of weaving a symphony so complex, listeners were left dumbfounded.
He didn’t care for orchestral music, or flirting for that matter, so he ignored her intrusive limb, and bid her goodnight without drawing attention to it.
Once the Bleydon carriage disappeared down the drive, he turned to make his way back to the woman who’d haunted him all evening, but before he could, Connors approached, his usually animated face paled. Alarm bells rang even before the butler spoke. Logan listened while the older man explained that he’d been directing the maids to dust the gold inlaid portraitframes in the Grand Gallery. When the servant’s dinner hour arrived, they left their work to dine. When they returned to finish, they’d discovered one of the portraits had been cut to ribbons and left hanging in pieces. Terrified one of his own subordinates committed the act, Connors looked for evidence of the culprit. Long moments passed before he found something had fallen behind the table nearest the ruined portrait.
