the bodies away?”
She nodded once and his gut clenched thinking about her walking to the churchyard holding the dead bodies of her siblings. His throat tightened up on him, but he still managed to say, “That should never have been your burden.”
“Should it have been my stepfather’s? He wouldn’t waste his time with such a task. Nor would I wish him to.” Her eyes glittered passionately. “They deserved someone who cares to walk them to their final rest. I’m the one who’s supposed to carry them.” Her head bowed and she choked out, “Oh, Bess. I’m so sorry.”
He hauled her into his arms, unable to stop himself, unable to stand her suffering for something that was out of her control. He knew her pain was inescapable. He’d lost both his brother and father. He understood grief. She’d just lost her sister. Nothing would ever take away that ache. But he’d be damned if he’d let her think any of it was her fault. “Don’t blame yourself. You loved her. She had that love . . . she always will.”
Her body trembled against him and he held her tighter as if he could somehow take her anguish inside himself. She pulled back enough to look up at him. He scraped the loose tendrils of hair back from where they clung to her damp cheeks.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “It means a lot to hear that . . . to be reminded of that.”
Noses practically touching, he nodded, his gut suddenly clenching tightly in a way that he’d never felt before. Staring down into her tear-filled gaze, he felt like he was drowning. One thing for certain, he’d never met a woman like Cleopatra Hadley. She was stronger than he could have ever known . . . and he wanted her for his wife with a fierceness that stole his breath.
“Miss!” A maid rushed into the room. “Are you all right?” She eyed Logan suspiciously—as if he were the cause for her distress.
Cleo pulled away, sniffing loudly and wiping indelicately at her nose. He hated to leave her, but knew his presence here, with her, was vastly inappropriate. He read as much in the gaze of her maid. Cleo wasn’t his to comfort, as much as he might like her to be. At least not yet.
And yet a new purpose consumed him. Whether she ever belonged to him or not, there was something he could do for her.
C leo watched Logan depart, staring hungrily at the broad expanse of his back. The gnawing ache at the center of her chest only intensified as he moved away from her. Somehow when he’d held her, talked to her . . . her pain had felt . . . less.
“Miss?” Berthe brushed a tendril back from her face. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, Berthe,” she whispered. “He didn’t hurt me.”
Quite the opposite. Shaking her head, she told herself that she shouldn’t let herself feel this way. Because she was now more determined than ever to marry Thrumgoodie. She lost Bess. She would not lose anyone else.
Chapter Eleven
L ogan stared grimly at the man sniveling in the carriage across from him. Cleo’s stepfather clutched both hands over his nose, trying to staunch the flow of blood.
“What do you want from me?” he asked in a nasal whine. “I have money in my vest pocket. And I can get more . . .”
From Cleo, no doubt, after he sold her his children. Logan’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“Easy,” Alexander advised from beside him, well aware of the hostility pumping through him . . . and his overwhelming urge to do more than land the two punches that it took to haul Roger out of the brothel and inside their carriage.
With Alexander’s help, it hadn’t taken long to track him down. Apparently Roger spent most of his time at a seedy brothel in St. Giles. What better way to spend the money Jack had given him than on women of ill repute?
“Who are you? What do you want?” Roger demanded as they rolled to a stop in front of one of Alexander’s ships.
Logan grabbed him by the front of his jacket and dragged him from the carriage. The
She nodded once and his gut clenched thinking about her walking to the churchyard holding the dead bodies of her siblings. His throat tightened up on him, but he still managed to say, “That should never have been your burden.”
“Should it have been my stepfather’s? He wouldn’t waste his time with such a task. Nor would I wish him to.” Her eyes glittered passionately. “They deserved someone who cares to walk them to their final rest. I’m the one who’s supposed to carry them.” Her head bowed and she choked out, “Oh, Bess. I’m so sorry.”
He hauled her into his arms, unable to stop himself, unable to stand her suffering for something that was out of her control. He knew her pain was inescapable. He’d lost both his brother and father. He understood grief. She’d just lost her sister. Nothing would ever take away that ache. But he’d be damned if he’d let her think any of it was her fault. “Don’t blame yourself. You loved her. She had that love . . . she always will.”
Her body trembled against him and he held her tighter as if he could somehow take her anguish inside himself. She pulled back enough to look up at him. He scraped the loose tendrils of hair back from where they clung to her damp cheeks.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “It means a lot to hear that . . . to be reminded of that.”
Noses practically touching, he nodded, his gut suddenly clenching tightly in a way that he’d never felt before. Staring down into her tear-filled gaze, he felt like he was drowning. One thing for certain, he’d never met a woman like Cleopatra Hadley. She was stronger than he could have ever known . . . and he wanted her for his wife with a fierceness that stole his breath.
“Miss!” A maid rushed into the room. “Are you all right?” She eyed Logan suspiciously—as if he were the cause for her distress.
Cleo pulled away, sniffing loudly and wiping indelicately at her nose. He hated to leave her, but knew his presence here, with her, was vastly inappropriate. He read as much in the gaze of her maid. Cleo wasn’t his to comfort, as much as he might like her to be. At least not yet.
And yet a new purpose consumed him. Whether she ever belonged to him or not, there was something he could do for her.
C leo watched Logan depart, staring hungrily at the broad expanse of his back. The gnawing ache at the center of her chest only intensified as he moved away from her. Somehow when he’d held her, talked to her . . . her pain had felt . . . less.
“Miss?” Berthe brushed a tendril back from her face. “Did he hurt you?”
“No, Berthe,” she whispered. “He didn’t hurt me.”
Quite the opposite. Shaking her head, she told herself that she shouldn’t let herself feel this way. Because she was now more determined than ever to marry Thrumgoodie. She lost Bess. She would not lose anyone else.
Chapter Eleven
L ogan stared grimly at the man sniveling in the carriage across from him. Cleo’s stepfather clutched both hands over his nose, trying to staunch the flow of blood.
“What do you want from me?” he asked in a nasal whine. “I have money in my vest pocket. And I can get more . . .”
From Cleo, no doubt, after he sold her his children. Logan’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“Easy,” Alexander advised from beside him, well aware of the hostility pumping through him . . . and his overwhelming urge to do more than land the two punches that it took to haul Roger out of the brothel and inside their carriage.
With Alexander’s help, it hadn’t taken long to track him down. Apparently Roger spent most of his time at a seedy brothel in St. Giles. What better way to spend the money Jack had given him than on women of ill repute?
“Who are you? What do you want?” Roger demanded as they rolled to a stop in front of one of Alexander’s ships.
Logan grabbed him by the front of his jacket and dragged him from the carriage. The
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