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“Not another word, sir, or I will throw myself out of this carriage.”
“Donella—”
When she reached for the door handle, Logan clamped his mouth shut and silently fumed for the remainder of the ride.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Donella sat behind Alasdair’s desk cradling her glass of whisky. Normally, she wouldn’t touch the stuff, but it was both Hogmanay and the night of her betrothal party. Getting cup-shot seemed almost obligatory, as did hiding out in the library.
Alec and Edie’s annual party was already a mad crush. Logan was out there somewhere, no doubt snarling at people and causing delicate maidens to swoon from fright. Donella was hiding from him too, still rattled by their dreadful fight three nights ago.
“You can’t keep sending him away, dearest,” Eden had said this morning after Logan had come to call, and Donella had refused to see him again. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to make a decision about your future.”
And therein lay the problem. While she loved the dratted man, she had no idea about his true feelings for her. Love seemed too much to hope for. She could live with warmhearted affection if it were genuine on his part.
She’d written to Uncle Riddick, asking for clarification of his business dealings with Logan. His terse reply had simply offered his congratulations on their betrothal, along with a thinly veiled threat that Logan best honor his commitments to her or face his wrath.
Sometimes, it all felt like a conspiracy to keep her in the dark.
Even worse, Logan had not made one attempt to scale the wall to her bedroom. That was both depressing and completely ridiculous, since she was supposed to be angry, not longing for secretive trysts.
“You’re an idiot.” She shot back another mouthful, wincing as it burned down her throat. Then she carefully dried the glass on her sleeve and placed it on Alasdair’s pristine desk blotter.
“Don’t want to make a mess. You’ve made more than enough to last a lifetime.”
Was it really expecting too much to hope for a marriage between loving, equal partners? Donella didn’t know if she could bear life with a man whose primary interest in his wife was one of financial calculation.
Well, there was only one way to find out, she supposed, which was to ask Logan straight out.
She stood and shook out her skirts, then eyed the remaining whisky in the glass.
“Can’t hurt,” she muttered before swallowing it in one gulp.
It went down easier this time. And, yes, she was starting to feel a wee bit tipsy. Given tonight’s impending challenges, she needed the fortification.
She was crossing to the drinks trolley to replace the glass when the library door opened and Alasdair walked in.
“I thought I’d find you in here.” He eyed her empty glass.
“Needed a bit of liquid courage?”
She shrugged. “It seemed like a sensible response to the situation.”
“I take it you’re referring to your betrothal announcement. Half of Glasgow’s showed up to hear it, by the way.”
“Splendid. Alasdair, don’t people have anything better to do?”
“Apparently not. The whole blasted house is buzzing with gossip, if you must know.”
“Which is an excellent reason to hide in the library.”
Alasdair took her hand and led her to one of the leather club chairs in front of his desk. He propped himself against the edge of the desk, arms crossed as he studied her.
“What?” she asked defensively.
“Logan isn’t the only person you’ve been avoiding.” His smile took the sting out of the remark.
She wrinkled her nose in silent admission.
