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Maddie could do nothing but gape. She'd been expecting an impressive home. Perhaps even elegance. But this?
This was opulence, writ large.
Add in the crush of coaches surrounding them, the white-tie gentlemen and ladies bedecked in jewels and plumes . . .
"Oh, no," she whimpered. She clutched Logan's arm. "No, no, no. We can't go in there. Just look at it. Just look at everyone."
Just look at me.
The hastily altered silk gown that had looked quite passable in a dimly lit coaching inn now felt hopelessly dowdy and out of fashion. She ought to have worn her mother's pearls. She ought to have bought new gloves.
"I was expecting a small, quiet gathering of science-minded aristocrats. Not this."
"We're here now, lass. There's no going back."
Perhaps there was no going back, but Maddie's feet were not eager to move forward, either.
She stayed close to him as they walked toward the entrance and queued up for their announcement in the ballroom.
"First rule of balls," he whispered, tucking her arm tight in his. "Dinna panic."
"What's the second rule? I think we should just move on to that."
"Remember when we went to the Beetle Ball and had a smashing good time?" he murmured.
"I do, as a matter of fact. You were quite well behaved and charming. In fact, I seem to recall that you even danced with the dowager countess herself."
He shrugged. "I am surprisingly good with older women."
"So I've heard."
"But I only danced with her to be polite. The true enjoyment came later. When I cornered you in an alcove and pleasured you until you screamed."
Maddie clapped a gloved hand over her startled laughter. At least her cheeks would be pink without any rouge.
It was their turn to be announced. The majordomo looked at them, waiting for Logan to provide the names.
Logan cast an uncertain glance in Maddie's direction and tugged at his cravat.
In that moment, Maddie realized something. She'd been unbearably self-centered. As out of place as she felt in this setting, Logan must have been feeling a hundred times more uncomfortable. True, she'd never attended a proper ball, but she'd been trained in how to behave at them. She'd been raised within this class of society.
Logan was an officer, but he had not been born a gentleman. For an orphaned country lad who'd grown up sleeping with cattle in the byre, this scene must be completely foreign. He might as well have been launched to the moon.
A soft tendril of emotion uncurled in her heart.
Stop that, she told herself. He's not here for love of you. He's here for the castle. The land. His men.
They had an agreement. After tonight, he would have his lands, and Maddie would have her life back. No more hiding. No more lies.
She leaned toward the manservant and gave their names. "Mrs. Madeline Gracechurch and Captain Logan MacKenzie, of Invernesshire."
As they were announced, they moved into the ballroom.
Maddie spoke through a smile. "This is my debut. That's the first time I've heard my name announced like that."
"I hope you enjoyed it. It's also the last time you'll hear your name like that."
A strange thing for him to say, but Maddie supposed he had the right of it. It seemed unlikely she would ever attend another ball.
She murmured, "Now we go in and make a slow circle of the room."
"Right," he said. "See, I told you they'd all stare."
"Of course they're staring. They're staring at you." And Madeline was so glad of it. She'd been worried about being noticed, but she might as well have been invisible next to Logan. "You really don't know, do you?"
"Know what?"
"How wildly magnificent you look tonight."
He made a dismissive noise. "It's the kilt."
"It's partly the kilt. It's mostly the swagger."
This was, after all, a gathering of naturalists--and Logan was a rare specimen. She wondered if there was any sight so handsome as a Highlander in full military dress. Everyone in the room was plainly fascinated.
"I dinna see Varleigh," he muttered.
"I imagine he's probably preparing for his lecture."
Logan nodded. "Did you want to dance?"
"No," she quickly replied.
"Thank God. I'll stay close to you then so no one else asks."
She didn't know which was more endearing--his faith that someone else would bother asking her to dance, or the deliciously possessive sentry post he adopted at her side. They accepted glasses of punch from a passing servant. Made a show of inspecting a carved marble bust. Watched the dancers as they moved through a quadrille. Through it all, he never strayed more than two feet from her elbow.
She knew this was partly to protect her and partly to protect himself, but to the casual onlooker he must have appeared completely besotted with her. Maddie had no complaint. She'd always imagined what it would be like to have a strong, handsome Highland officer slavishly hanging on her every word and action. Now she knew.
It was every bit as wonderful as she'd dreamed.
Soon, the music stopped, and the guests began filtering toward a gallery.
"Here." Maddie fished a small object from her reticule and pressed it into Logan's palm.
"What's this?" he asked.
"A cheroot."
"I dinna smoke cheroots."
"Well, you could smoke one tonight. If you wanted."
He frowned at her, plainly confused.
"It's your ticket out of doors if you want an escape. The naturalist lecture will be starting soon. I know you're not interested in hearing about nineteen new species of Amazonian beetles, and I think I can bear sitting in the back of a lecture on my own. If you'd rather take a turn outside, I'll understand."
He looked at her for a moment. Then he crushed the cheroot into the nearest potted plant. "I'm staying with you."
In that moment, Maddie wasn't sure she cared to hear about nineteen new species of Amazonian beetles, either. Perhaps she'd rather find the nearest alcove and make that memory Logan had teased her with. But considering how much trouble he'd gone to, she had to hold up her end of the bargain.
That was the point of the evening, she reminded herself. Trading her dream for his. Logan surely hadn't forgotten it, and she shouldn't, either.
They found seats toward the rear of the room.
Logan suffered through the lecture admirably, boring as it must have been for him. Even Maddie's attention wavered. She was anxious that at any moment Lord Varleigh would call on her to stand and be recognized. The firm press of Logan's thigh against hers was reassuring. And deliciously distracting.
Her worries, however, proved to be in vain. A smattering of applause let her know that the lecture was over.
Maddie was still in her seat.
"He didna mention you," Logan muttered. "Why not?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "Maybe he means to acknowledge me later."
"But it's over. Everyone's wandering away." Before she could stop him, Logan shot to his feet and called, "Lord Varleigh."
The people stopped wandering away.
"Yes, Captain MacKenzie? Did you have a question?"
"Just a compliment to offer, my lord." Logan cleared his throat. "I wanted to congratulate you on the superb quality of these illustrations."
Lord Varleigh looked him directly in the eye. "Thank you."
Maddie felt Logan's immediate flare of anger. He might have dressed in fine clothing and put on suave manners tonight, but he was still a warrior beneath it all, and now his battle instincts had charged to the fore.
Someone was going to get hurt.
"The bastard."
She tugged on his sleeve, urging him to sit. "It doesn't matter."
"Of course it matters. That's your work on the walls, and he's stolen all the glory."
"He deserves to have the attention tonight. He's the one who traveled to the Amazon."
&
nbsp; "He got on a damned boat. That's all. And once there, I've no doubt he paid a crew of native Amazonians to do all the work. He's probably stolen from them, too. But you, Maddie . . . You took his ugly, dried-up husks of things and brought them life." He touched her cheek. Only briefly, as though he didn't trust himself to be gentle just now. "That's the most remarkable thing about you, mo chridhe. The way you have of bringing things to life."
A lump formed in her throat.
Desperate, she pulled him away from the lecture group and into a side room. A small library of some sort.
Lord Varleigh joined them. "Is there some sort of problem, Captain MacKenzie?"
"You know damned well there is."
"Logan, please," Maddie murmured.
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.
They turned, seeking the origin of the frantic tapping noise. A familiar face was pressed to the library windowpane.
"Rabbie?" she said in disbelief.
He nodded and mouthed a word: Open.
And then another: Hurry.
Logan cursed and hurried to the window, pushing it open and extending a hand to help Rabbie through.
Once inside, Rabbie straightened and plucked bits of greenery from his sleeves. "There you two are."
"What the devil are you doing?"
"They wouldna let me in the front. I've been peeking in every window, looking for you. Narrowly escaped a thrashing from a pair of footmen."
"What's happened?" Logan demanded. "Is it Grant?"
"No, no. Grant's fine. It's the lobster."
Maddie gasped. "She's molting?"
Rabbie pulled a face. "Och, no. Well, I canna be certain. Not exactly."
Logan knew that look on his soldier's face. It didn't bode well.
"Tell us at once," he said. "The full truth."
"The lobster's gone missing. She escaped."
Chapter Twenty
They left the ball at once.
Logan offered to go ahead home on his own. "You needn't leave with me," he told her. "You should stay and meet Mr. Dorning. Rabbie can see you back to Lannair afterward."
Maddie wouldn't hear of it. "I can't do this without you. And if Fluffy's missing, I have to help search. She's more than just an assignment. You know that. She's a pet."
Logan led the way outside, ordering their carriage with a brisk command. Since Rabbie's horse was spent, he would have to ride with them. In the coach, the journey would take . . . Logan did a few mental calculations . . . four hours to return to Lannair. If they were lucky.
Which meant Logan had four hours to pass before he could be of any practical use in easing the worried look on Madeline's face.
And he was going to spend every minute of them scolding Rabbie.
While the coach was brought around, Logan grabbed him by the coat front. "You had one task."
Rabbie swallowed hard. "I know."
"Watch the lobster." Logan gave Rabbie a little shake. "That was the only duty I gave you. How could you manage to muck that up?"
"Well, you see. I was watching her in the studio. But 'tis a mite uncanny up there, ye ken?"
Yes, Logan knew. The place made his skin crawl too, but that was no excuse.
"So I put her in a bucket and brought 'er downstairs while the lads and I played cards. Someone must have kicked it over. Next I looked, she was gone."
The sheer idiocy of the entire scenario left Logan speechless. Their coach was brought around, and he helped Maddie in first before joining her.
"Not to worry," Rabbie said, climbing in. "By the time we get back, the other lads will have already found her. How far can a lobster travel under her own power, anyway?"
"I dinna know," Logan gritted out. "That is a question a dutiful soldie
r would never need to ask."
As they started home, Maddie was quiet. And pale and distressed.
Logan wanted to punch a hole through the carriage top. It was a hard top, which meant he would have bloodied his knuckles in the effort--but he was certain his rage would have made it happen.
He turned to her. "How long can a lobster live without being in water?"
"A few days if she's inside the castle, where it's cool and damp. But if she found her way outside to the loch?" She shook her head. "The freshwater would kill her."
"We'll find her. Dinna worry. We'll search all night if need be."
She rested her head against the side of the coach and said quietly, "It doesn't matter anymore."
"Like the devil it doesna matter."
"This is all my fault. It was wrong of me to trap her in that tank. No wonder she leapt at her first chance to escape. If she wanted to mate with Rex, she would have done it by now. Perhaps he's all wrong for her. Perhaps he's a brutish lout of a lobster with poor hygiene, and she wants nothing to do with him."
"What about your life-cycle drawings?"
She only shrugged. "Apparently I'm a woman with no future prospects in illustration."
Right.
Logan kept his calm for the remainder of the journey. Barely.
When they arrived back at Lannair Castle, the men had not yet found the lobster on their own. Damn.
Logan gathered the men in the kitchen. He sketched out a plan on the slate the cook used for the day's menus.
"Here's the layout of the ground floor," he said. "Entrances and exits are here and here. The first thing we do is set up a perimeter. Make certain no lobsters go in, no lobsters go out. Munro, you're on the front entrance. Grant stays with you. The rest of us will search."
"Try this." Rabbie whistled a trilling, birdlike song and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Here, Fluffy, Fluffy, Fluffy! Here, girl!"
Logan blinked at him. "I'm highly doubtful that method is going to work."
Rabbie shrugged. "We'll see then, won't we?"
Logan drew a cross through the castle schematic, dividing it into quadrants. He assigned three of the four to Rabbie, Callum, and Fyfe.
"I'll take this one," he said, marking the spot with the chalk. "Take a torch. Search every possible nook and crack in the exposed rock. Before it's cooked, a lobster's blue, not red, so she'll be difficult to spy at night. Take care where you step. If you find her, bring her here to the kitchen straightaway. We'll rendezvous in two hours, regardless. And whatever you do, keep her away from freshwater. Any questions?"
