Earl of Gold (Lords of Scandal #7) - Tammy Andresen Page 0,11

herself, she might like him too. He looked like a stone statue, but he’d agreed to help her. That counted for something. And now he was defending her and Clarissa. That meant a great deal.

“He certainly doesn’t like you,” she said. “You threatened him with a poker.”

“Well,” Clarissa huffed. “At least, I didn’t heat it first.”

And behind her, she heard him chuckle. Low and deep. Her stomach flopped but she didn’t look back again as she pushed Clarissa through the door and shut it, sliding the bolt in place.

Chapter Three

Back home, Logan worked by the light of several candles. It had to be well past midnight, but he’d managed to clear the pile of papers on his desk. He’d not be able to sleep anyhow, he mused, as he stared at the last remaining bit of correspondence.

The evening had been far too…interesting.

A beautiful woman and band of hooligans. Once Miss Walters had bolted the door and his driver had cocked the pistols, they’d dispersed in short order and he’d left. He’d accomplished his goal of seeing her home and learning more about Penny Walters. Still, she lingered in his thoughts.

A letter in front of him caught his gaze. It may very well hold some of the answers to questions that had been swirling all night in his head.

It was from Daring.

Sliding the letter opener through the wax seal, he unfolded the missive and scanned the contents.

No answers.

Just more questions.

Daring had invited him to a dinner at his home the next evening. He said he had some potential partners for Logan to meet.

Good news…possibly.

But he also insisted that Goldthwaite bring Miss Penny Walters to the dinner. He gave no explanation. Logan tossed down the paper.

He didn’t want Penny at that dinner. He rubbed his face, trying to discern why. She was exceptionally lovely and obviously in need of help. There would be several men there in a position to give her the aid she required, but also men who could take advantage of her beauty and kind nature.

He thought back to their conversation about doing things. Had men propositioned her to trade favors for donations?

Of course they had.

It made his blood boil to think about it. Pulling out an ink and quill, he quickly penned a note to Daring. He’d already financed Miss Walters’ project. She need not attend.

But then he thought about her words and where she lived. The truth was, she needed far more money than he’d supplied. Still, men of the peerage were ruthless, including him, and she need not suffer any more of his kind.

He thought back to his school days. One boy in particular, the future Baron of Blackwater, had made his life a living hell. He’d hidden Logan’s shoes to make him late for class and get the switch. He’d tossed Logan’s books, ones he couldn’t afford to replace, in the privy. And later, when Logan had learned not to react to all these barbs, the older boy had begun to beat Logan almost daily. He was always sporting some bruise or another.

Men were cruel. Women like Penny should be protected from abuse.

He carefully dusted the note, folded it, and sealed the letter shut. He’d have it delivered first thing in the morning.

Stretching, he left his office and made his way to his bedchamber.

The large room had a massive bed in the middle and he stared at it. Despite the exhaustion weighing down his limbs, he’d never wanted to climb into it less.

It looked…lonely.

He shook his head, scrubbing his scalp with his hands.

He’d taken pride in filling that bed all on his own. Logan had a lovely suite next door for his future bride. He’d never planned to have a bedmate.

He’d begun inquiries into several well-to-do families. The beginning stages, of course. But his sons, when he had them, would not be victims of society. They’d have an impeccable pedigree.

Shrugging off his shirt, he sat down to take off his boots. Stripping the rest of his clothes off, he climbed into the center of the bed and stared at the canopy. What now?

His eyes were wide open, his thoughts spinning.

First and foremost about Penny.

The curve of her lips, the delicate sweep of her neck, the thick mass of hair, that while dark, seemed to shimmer in the candlelight, catching the light with its sheen. But also the worn appearance of her clothes, her commitment to those orphans, putting herself in danger for a few shillings.

The woman had no sense.

And he needed to cease thinking about