to tell him.
“Listen to me, Emma.” He leaned forward in his chair, his dark eyes probing hers. “I want to make this perfectly clear. You’re a beautiful, desirable woman. If things were different between us, I’d carry you to that bed, rip off those god-awful clothes and make love to you all night. But I like my women willing. I won’t force you. Until and unless you say the word, I mean to treat you like a sixty-year-old nun. Do you understand?”
“Yes…and thank you for making your position clear.” Emma stared down at her hands, her face burning. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him, but it wasn’t this.
“That said,” he continued, “there’s something else I need to make clear. I’ve spent the past ten nights lying in my clothes on a rock-hard jail bunk. Every bone in my body feels like it’s been run through a blasted stamp mill. After dinner I plan to get undressed and climb into that bed over there for a good night’s sleep. If you want to join me, you have my word I’ll be a perfect gentleman. But I’ll be damned ifI’m gentleman enough to spend the night on the floor!”
“Fine. I’ll manage somehow.” Emma took another sip of the champagne, her thoughts scrambling. “Since you plan on going right to bed, I believe I’ll take advantage of the bathtub. Believe me, living in a miner’s shanty’s been no picnic, either. At least the jail was warm and they gave you regular meals.”
“If you could call that pig slop they served up ‘meals.’” He raised his glass. “Here’s to better times for both of us, Mrs. Emma O’Toole Devereaux. Will you drink to that?”
Emma hesitated, then lifted her glass to meet his. He touched the delicate brim to hers, then drained the contents. Emma did the same, feeling the sparkle all the way down her throat. It was a truce of sorts, she supposed, and a necessary one while she gained her bearings in this new marriage. But she hadn’t forgotten her promise to Billy John.
She would find a way to make this man wish he’d never been born.
They finished their dinner in awkward conversation. Emma learned that he was from New Orleans and that his father had been a prosperous ship chandler. But when, over dainty strawberrytartlets, she’d asked him why he hadn’t continued in the family business, Logan had evaded her question.
“Does every son have to follow in his father’s footsteps?”
“Certainly not, but it seems a more practical choice than becoming a gambler.”
“Maybe I wasn’t cut out for standing behind a counter. Maybe I wanted to see new country.”
“Were there others who could take over the business? Brothers, perhaps?”
“No brothers, but plenty of cousins and uncles. I imagine they’ve stepped in by now. My father would be elderly, if he’s still alive.”
“So you’re not in touch with your parents?”
A shadow passed behind his eyes. “That’s something I don’t talk about.”
“No brothers. What about sisters?”
“Just one. She died young. Something else I don’t talk about.” He rose, crumpling his napkin on the tray. “And now, since we both seem to have finished our dinner, I’ll put this out for the hired help and bid you good-night.”
Opening the door, Logan set the tray in the hall. A Do Not Disturb sign hung on the inside knob. He moved the sign to the outside before closing and locking the door. His hands loosenedthe knot of his tie and reached down to begin unbuckling his belt. “My invitation to share the bed stands,” he said, glancing toward Emma. “If I crowd you, just give me a kick. I’ll get the message.”
As the weight of his belt dropped his trousers, Emma bolted for the bathroom.
Slamming the door, she leaned against it. Her heart was hammering, as if she’d expected Logan to follow her in and drag her to the bed. What was wrong with her? She’d worked in a boardinghouse full of men. Weary miners stumbling around in their underwear was a sight that barely
“Listen to me, Emma.” He leaned forward in his chair, his dark eyes probing hers. “I want to make this perfectly clear. You’re a beautiful, desirable woman. If things were different between us, I’d carry you to that bed, rip off those god-awful clothes and make love to you all night. But I like my women willing. I won’t force you. Until and unless you say the word, I mean to treat you like a sixty-year-old nun. Do you understand?”
“Yes…and thank you for making your position clear.” Emma stared down at her hands, her face burning. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from him, but it wasn’t this.
“That said,” he continued, “there’s something else I need to make clear. I’ve spent the past ten nights lying in my clothes on a rock-hard jail bunk. Every bone in my body feels like it’s been run through a blasted stamp mill. After dinner I plan to get undressed and climb into that bed over there for a good night’s sleep. If you want to join me, you have my word I’ll be a perfect gentleman. But I’ll be damned ifI’m gentleman enough to spend the night on the floor!”
“Fine. I’ll manage somehow.” Emma took another sip of the champagne, her thoughts scrambling. “Since you plan on going right to bed, I believe I’ll take advantage of the bathtub. Believe me, living in a miner’s shanty’s been no picnic, either. At least the jail was warm and they gave you regular meals.”
“If you could call that pig slop they served up ‘meals.’” He raised his glass. “Here’s to better times for both of us, Mrs. Emma O’Toole Devereaux. Will you drink to that?”
Emma hesitated, then lifted her glass to meet his. He touched the delicate brim to hers, then drained the contents. Emma did the same, feeling the sparkle all the way down her throat. It was a truce of sorts, she supposed, and a necessary one while she gained her bearings in this new marriage. But she hadn’t forgotten her promise to Billy John.
She would find a way to make this man wish he’d never been born.
They finished their dinner in awkward conversation. Emma learned that he was from New Orleans and that his father had been a prosperous ship chandler. But when, over dainty strawberrytartlets, she’d asked him why he hadn’t continued in the family business, Logan had evaded her question.
“Does every son have to follow in his father’s footsteps?”
“Certainly not, but it seems a more practical choice than becoming a gambler.”
“Maybe I wasn’t cut out for standing behind a counter. Maybe I wanted to see new country.”
“Were there others who could take over the business? Brothers, perhaps?”
“No brothers, but plenty of cousins and uncles. I imagine they’ve stepped in by now. My father would be elderly, if he’s still alive.”
“So you’re not in touch with your parents?”
A shadow passed behind his eyes. “That’s something I don’t talk about.”
“No brothers. What about sisters?”
“Just one. She died young. Something else I don’t talk about.” He rose, crumpling his napkin on the tray. “And now, since we both seem to have finished our dinner, I’ll put this out for the hired help and bid you good-night.”
Opening the door, Logan set the tray in the hall. A Do Not Disturb sign hung on the inside knob. He moved the sign to the outside before closing and locking the door. His hands loosenedthe knot of his tie and reached down to begin unbuckling his belt. “My invitation to share the bed stands,” he said, glancing toward Emma. “If I crowd you, just give me a kick. I’ll get the message.”
As the weight of his belt dropped his trousers, Emma bolted for the bathroom.
Slamming the door, she leaned against it. Her heart was hammering, as if she’d expected Logan to follow her in and drag her to the bed. What was wrong with her? She’d worked in a boardinghouse full of men. Weary miners stumbling around in their underwear was a sight that barely
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