A task involving her.
Screw him.
If he needed her cooperation to succeed, he’d have to drag her kicking and screaming into his plot, and that wasn’t likely. She had to figure out how to use Perez to get home without allowing him to use her like every man in her life had done. Every man had warped her and drained her of her trust and belief in happily ever after. Even Logan had done it. Since she’d met him she’d been the human target for his distrust and his anger at his past. While they’d experienced white-hot chemistry and literally shook the boughs of a tree with their sexual frenzies, it wasn’t enough. He used her for his release, but was unwilling to open to her. She wanted him to lay aside his bitterness, insecurity, and hostilities, and be honest, tell herwhy he couldn’t talk about his mother without a look of betrayal slithering across his beautiful face. She wanted to know what happened to turn him into such a hard, distrusting duke. He had a loving, gentle, passionate man locked away somewhere; he just had to loosen his death grip on the key and let someone set him free.
She could do that if he let her.
She had to see him.
Haven had only left him in the study an hour ago, but she couldn’t shake the need to be with him, hear his voice, and feel his hands on her. She knew it was a sickness, an addiction, one she had to kick before she left, or she’d have one hell of a case of withdrawal. It didn’t help that he’d banned sex between them.
Forbidden fruit was always the most alluring.
She didn’t care.
Moving to the staircase, she stopped when she noticed the open door of the Grand Gallery.
She peeked through, and gasped. The room was as big as the large open central rotunda of a shopping mall. The ceiling, at least fifty feet high, was a dome made of brilliantly colored and beautifully crafted stained glass. Sunlight shone through, lighting the room with reds, greens, light blues, and orange-yellows. The afternoon sun illuminated every surface. The floor was hand-laid dark hardwood, the walls were wainscoted with dark green, and the walls above were a crème, providing an accent and perfect backdrop for the long lines of ornately framed portraits.
She followed the portraits along the wall closest to the door. These pictures held the austere faces of men, some old and some young, all who bared a resemblance to a face she was beginning to adore. The men had dark hair and light blue or green eyes, and the women varied in complexion. One woman had vibrant red hair, and another had rich, golden blond. No matter theircoloring, they were all gorgeous, or at least painted to look their best. She followed along and came upon an empty space in the line. The crème paint was dark in the shape of the portrait that had hung there only a day ago. His mother’s. Beneath the glaringly empty spot, a golden plaque glinted in the pouring sunlight.
Lorenna Dunham, Lady Caspire
December 19, 1761 - October 12, 1792
She’d died at only thirty-one years old. So young. Logan would have been nine or ten at the time. To lose his mother at such a young age…was that why he couldn’t speak of her, why he couldn’t let the bitterness, anger, and distrust die?
What happened to her?
Leaving the Grand Gallery and its eerie portraits behind, she hurried to Logan’s study.
He wasn’t there.
Unsure of where to go to find him, she made her way to the corridor leading to his room. She stole down the hallway, bypassing her bedroom and Perez completely.
She approached the door to Logan’s room, and hesitated. She didn’t know what she’d do if she found him in there. Would they talk about the weather, or share intimate information about their pasts? Or would they have hot, heavy sex? While her body begged for the latter option, she knew if she wanted to get anywhere with him, which she didn’t know for sure if she wanted to at all, she needed to know why he cut himself off from her. She needed to know about his mother, and she wouldn’t let him leave the room until he told her every detail.
Rapping softly at his door, a muted, “Come,” propelled her forward. She opened the door, and stepped inside. The curtains were open, letting in cascades of light.
“You may leave, Jasper, I am not in need of your services. I will be on my way once I’ve finished here.”
He thought she was his valet?
Oh, dear Lord.
When he didn’t turn to look, she stood still as death. If he thought the valet had gone, what would he do next?
He answered her question seconds later by removing his shirt. She gasped.
He turned to her, barring his beautiful, Adonis-like chest complete with muscled pecs, defined abs, and a thin line of dark golden hair trailing to the waistband of his trousers.
Though they’d been intimate twice, once in the dwindling light of a fire, and the other in a moonlit grove, she’d never had the opportunity to see him naked, or even shirtless in adequate light. Their couplings had been quick, frantic, and passionate. There wasn’t time for turning up the lights and studying each other’s bodies.
Seeing him naked in the daylight would be life changing.
“Haven?” His voice jerked her from her thoughts and back into his bedroom with him, and his splendid bare chest. “What are you doing here?”
It took an embarrassing amount of time to find her voice. “I...uh...I was looking for you,” she stammered, and heat rose over her face.
