He glanced swiftly at their audience and then back at Cleo again. She murmured his name, extending her arms in invitation. Her fingers touched his neck. He grabbed her wrists to stop her from going any further. “Cleo,” he said more sharply. “We’re not alone.”

That did the trick.

Her eyes widened, and he knew in that precise moment full comprehension had hit. She stiffened and scrambled off the bed, dropping to her feet a good distance from him. She clutched the modest neckline of her nightgown to her throat, which only managed to pull the fabric tighter against her br**sts.

Her lucid gaze scanned the room, stopping on the crowd gathered near the door. Since he’d last looked, the trio had grown in number. Where three had stood, now seven hovered. Four of Hamilton’s guests—more witnesses.

Hellfire. He couldn’t care less about himself or his reputation. But Cleo . . . she’d never survive this. It quickly became apparent to him that her betrothal to Thrumgoodie had come to a swift end. Normally, this would have pleased him, but not at this cost. People could be cruel, and he’d not have her suffer the viperous tongues of the ton once this night became public knowledge. Which would take no less than twenty-four hours. From the gleam in the eyes of Hamilton’s guests, they’d likely be on their way to Town tomorrow to share this juiciest tidbit.

Libba gained her voice. She couldn’t stop squawking and sputtering, hurling words he would never have suspected she even knew, and her venom wasn’t reserved all for him.

“You devious little witch! How dare you? After everything I’ve done for you? I should never have taken you under my wing! To think I protected you from all the wolves of the ton that wanted to gobble a little nobody—a bastard—like you up!” Libba motioned to Thrumgoodie. “I even pushed you at my grandfather, although it’s obvious you only want his title!”

Cleo’s face only burned brighter.

“See, uncle. I warned you,” Hamilton patted Thrumgoodie’s arm as though to console him.

Logan snorted, stifling the urge to plant his fist in the man’s face. The fact that the three of them had strolled into Cleo’s chamber seemed a little too convenient. It would never have occurred to Thrumgoodie or Libba to burst unannounced into Cleo’s room in the middle of the night. Logan knew who was behind this.

Hamilton shook his head as though aggrieved, but Logan read the triumph in his gaze. “What can you expect from someone of such low birth? Better you learn now before you married the harlot.”

Cleo flinched. Logan couldn’t stand it another moment. Not the slurs, not the wounded look in her eyes. He strode forward and knocked Hamilton off his feet with one punch.

Hamilton howled and clutched his nose. “Out! Out!” he screeched. “Leave my house and take your whore with you!”

Logan saw red. Bending down, he hauled the worthless excuse for a man to his feet.

Libba grabbed his arm. “Stop! You beast! Unhand him, you savage!”

Logan shook her off him with great restraint.

Then he felt Cleo’s touch on his arm. He looked down at her. “Enough,” she murmured. He stilled.

Libba looked between the two of them, the hate in her gaze only intensifying. “Yes, listen to your little harlot.”

A flicker of emotion passed over Cleo’s face but she didn’t acknowledge the insult.

“Oh, a very affecting display,” Libba continued. “You’re such a marvelous hero!” He winced at the sudden shrillness to her voice.

He released Hamilton and glared at the girl whom he had, for so brief a moment, considered marrying. What a nightmare that would have been.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded, thrusting her chin out in a pugnacious angle. “Are you going to strike me, too?”

Suddenly, Cleo spoke, addressing everyone. “I’m sorry you all had to witness such a spectacle.”

Logan gazed at her. He wasn’t sorry. None of them had any business storming her room in the middle of the night.

She continued, “It wasn’t my intention . . .” Her voice cracked, and she shot him a glance. Some of the spark returned to her eyes, and he surmised that she had just reached the same conclusion he had. “What are you all doing in my bedchamber?” Her indignant gaze swept over everyone.

“Good question,” he murmured, swinging his gaze toward Hamilton.

The triumph in Hamilton’s eyes only glowed brighter. “That’s right,” he announced with a haughty shake of his head. “I’ve seen you staring after each other like two hungry dogs. I knew you were lovers and sought to prove it.”

“We’re not lovers,” Cleo hissed with a stamp of her foot. “This was a mistake.”

“Oh, it was a mistake indeed,” Libba declared. “One that you shall never live down. I don’t care if your sister’s a princess or your father’s as rich as Croesus. Nothing will see you out of this mess. All will shun you. I shall see to it!”

Something indecipherable passed over Cleo’s face, and then, in a blink, it was gone. She was all coolness, immune to Libba and anything or anyone else. Inhaling, she turned to the group, her words calm and even. “I’ll leave in the morning.”

“You’ll leave now,” Libba ordered, her voice cutting.

Cleo angled her head, holding up a hand in supplication. “I’ve no means to reach Town. We traveled here together, remember?”

“You think I care?” Libba glanced to her cousin as though seeking support.

Hamilton nodded. “You’ve abused my hospitality. You’ve crushed the hearts of my cousin and dear uncle.” He motioned to Thrumgoodie, who continued to gaze at Cleo in the manner of a wounded puppy. “How you make it home is of no concern to me.” He flicked a scornful glance at Logan. “I’m sure your champion here shall see to your needs.”

Cleo looked at him in horror and he knew exactly what she was thinking—the same thought running through his mind.

They were a full day from Town.

She shook her head. “You cannot be serious.”

Hamilton answered her by turning his back on them. “Come, uncle, let’s see you back to bed. You don’t look well.”

Thrumgoodie did indeed look unwell. As Hamilton began to guide him around, the old man suddenly grabbed his chest and collapsed into a pitiable heap. Soft little mewls fell from his colorless lips.

Cries filled the air as everyone surrounded him. Logan looked heavenward with a sigh. Things were already bad enough, but if the old man died there would be no way Cleo could survive the ruin of this night.

He glanced at her.

Hands pressed to her cheeks, she watched the unfolding debacle in horror.

“Look what you’ve done!” Libba shrieked amid the din. “You’ve killed him! You killed him!”

Almost idly, he wondered if Cleo would finally accept his suit. After all, no one else would have either one of them now.

Chapter Fifteen

Thankfully it was a full moon.

She could see several feet in front of her—enough at least to avoid the ruts and dips in the well-traversed road. The dark air shimmered with a pearlescent glow. It was almost like someone had draped a veil of silver netting over the night. She was glad she wasn’t alone . . . and then mad at herself for feeling glad that he was here with her. The wretch. He was responsible for this entire mess. If he hadn’t shown up in her chamber . . .

She stifled a snort at the thought. Disgust for her behavior filled her. What? She couldn’t have exhibited a little self-control? She couldn’t have resisted his kisses and caresses? She couldn’t have protested as he lowered her to the bed? Her eyes stung as the faces of her siblings filled her mind.

Her stepfather wouldn’t wait much longer. Certainly not long enough for her to start over and find a new beau. Blinking, she fought back the wash of tears. It wasn’t over. She’d still find a way to save them all. What choice did she have?

She increased her pace and ignored the steady clomp of hoofs behind her. Or at least she pretended to ignore them. She heard every thumping step. Every vibration over the hard ground. She even imagined she felt the hot fan of the horse’s breath at her neck. That might have been her fanciful imaginings, but she didn’t imagine the sensation of Logan’s stare drilling into her back.

He could have ridden ahead—as she urged him to do—but he walked his horse behind her. Infuriating man.

She switched her valise from one sweaty-palmed hand to the other. She’d left her small trunk behind and simply packed the essentials for her trek to the neighboring village. The essentials were more than enough. More than she’d owned when she’d been living at home with her mother a year ago. They’d make do until she reached her father’s house.

“Tired?” his voice rang out in the night.

She whirled around. “It’s the middle of the night and I’m walking down a country road—no thanks to you. Tired doesn’t even touch upon my sentiments.”

In the pale glow of the moon, his expression held blank. He merely stared down at her from where he sat atop his mount, his reins loose in his hand. The impatient beast pawed at the ground.

“So you’re not tired?” he inquired in a maddeningly even voice.

With a growl of frustration, she whirled back around and continued tromping down the road.

“You’re welcome to ride my mount.”

She ignored the offer. Again. She was too furious to accept any help from him. He’d ruined everything. She could hardly even manage conversing with him without losing her temper. Best she held her tongue.

They continued for a few more moments before he spoke again. “At the very least, I could attach your valise to the side.”

She swung around again, dropping her valise beside her on the ground. “Why are you following me?” She motioned to the road stretching into the darkness ahead of them. “You’ve a means of transport. Please. Go on your merry way. Don’t let some misguided sense of honor keep you traipsing after me.”

Moonglow washed over the hard lines of his face. “I’m not leaving you alone on this road in the middle of the night.”

She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, now you’re full of chivalry?”

He angled his head at her. The pose sent a small frisson of alarm through her. He looked decidedly dangerous in that moment—certainly the most dangerous creature out in these woods.

“I didn’t hear any complaints from you earlier tonight. You didn’t even try to send me from your room. In fact, I recall very little was said once you pounced upon me. I must not be so objectionable.”

She flinched at the truth of his words. “Trust me . . . you are beyond objectionable.” She splayed her hands widely in front of her. “There is no word to describe just how objectionable I find you.”

He didn’t look amused. “Go ahead and have your little temper tantrum, Cleo. I’m not leaving. You might as well hop up on my horse and save your feet the ache. We’ll reach the village faster.”

“What is this ‘we’? Understand me when I say there is no ‘we.’ ”

“Damn but you’re stubborn. When are you going to see there’s but one choice for us now?”

She gazed at him uncomprehendingly. Then she looked around her as if the answer lurked somewhere in the dark night. “What choice?”

“You’re thoroughly compromised. The shock of which nearly killed your fiancé. Your only hope is to legitimize us. There will still be talk. No way to quell that. But perhaps you can show your face on the streets of London without being cut direct from every acquaintance to cross your path.” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Not that we’ll be here very often. Your family can visit—”