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“Courting you?”
“It’s a ridiculous notion, and you know it.”
Amusement gleamed in those blasted blue eyes of his before his gaze turned uncomfortably penetrating. Helpless, Donella stared back. The noise of the ballroom faded to a tuneless buzz, easily ignored. Only Logan was real. He was so full of energy and life, drawing her to him with an irresistible force. Her heart began to pound with an erratic beat, and the hot flush seeped into the very depths of her being.
This simply cannot be happening. Not to me.
No man had ever looked at her like he did, not even Roddy. But the expression in Logan’s eyes practically devoured her. It made her feel almost . . . wild.
Then he blinked and straightened up, putting space between them. The din of the room came rushing back and, for a moment, Donella felt overwhelmed by the frantic gaiety of their surroundings.
“I need a drink. Webothneed a drink before finishing this conversation,” Logan said in a husky voice.
She expelled a shaky breath. “I don’t think we need to finish this conversation at all.”
He waved to a nearby waiter carrying a tray of wine goblets.
“Here,” Logan said, handing her a glass. “You look like you could use it.”
She could, so she dutifully took a sip, hoping it would steady her jangling nerves.
Logan tipped the waiter and took a cautious sip from his goblet. “God, they do serve ghastly stuff at these affairs, don’t they?”
“Any sort of alcohol makes me feel tipsy,” she admitted. “We drank only cider and a bit of ale in the convent.”
He grinned. “I’d quite like to see you get tipsy, Miss Haddon. Perhaps you’ll finish my glass, as well?”
“One will be quite enough, thank you.”
“Then let’s get back to our very interesting conversation.”
Donella didn’t wish to continue, at least not in a public venue. If he said he was courting her, she’d probably faint from shock. And if he said the opposite, she’d be humiliated for making such an outrageous assumption about him.
She peered around the column. “We should return to our party. Victoria and Lord Arnprior will be looking for us.”
“No, they won’t.”
Donella was about to insist when she noticed someone staring intently at them from a few yards away. More correctly, she was staring at Logan. A lovely blond woman, dressed in the first style of elegance, was studying him with an avid expression. There was something about the woman’s regard that was almost unnerving.
“Are you even listening to me?” asked Logan, sounding exasperated.
“Forgive me, but there’s someone staring at us. At you, to be precise. She seems to know you.”
“That dodge won’t work, Donella. I know scads of women in Glasgow.”
When she lifted an eyebrow, he grimaced.
“That didn’t come out quite right,” he said.
“Perhaps you should acknowledge her.”
Muttering under his breath, Logan followed her indicating nod and promptly spilled half his drink. He stared at the young woman, his expression thunderstruck and oddly blank.
Donella plucked the glass from his hand. “Mr. Kendrick, is something wrong?”
He didn’t seem to hear. When the lady smiled at him—a charming, winsome smile—Logan simply blinked, apparently held in place by invisible bonds.
Donella set both glasses on a side table and handed Logan a handkerchief from her reticule. He absently wiped the wine from his fingers and then handed it back to her.
