He clasped her arm, pulling her about. The feel of his hand wrapped about her skin, warm and large, sent shivers down her spine. Made her remember the feel of him against her body. His slow, delicious strokes as he brought her to such a pinnacle of pleasure that the memory still haunted her to this day.
She wrenched her arm free, glaring at him. "I do beg your pardon. Do not touch me, Logan Carleton," she hissed in whispered tones, hating him for making her remember. Making her want him still after all this time.
She did not want to want him at all. There was another gentleman in thetonwho had her name on his back. She just hadn't found him yet. But she would. It was only a matter of time, now that she had theWallflower’s Guideto turn her wedded-bliss dreams into reality.
"I merely asked if you were injured or not. Your rudeness is not warranted."
Sutton gaped. "You are facetious, are you not, my lord? My rudeness is not warranted, you say? I say it is and will be for forever and a day. For you, at least. Goodbye." She left him behind, starting back toward her home and leaving Lord Jersey in her wake.
She could feel the burn of his seething gaze down her back like a physical touch, and she breathed deep, forcing her heart to calm, her body to stop longing for something it would never have again.
Never would she succumb to such pretty, false words such as those spoken by his lordship. A man once her friend, then her lover, and now her enemy. If she could not gain revenge on his dark soul, she would at least be rude and abrupt with him at every turn.
He deserved no less.
* * *
Logan watchedthe only woman to have ever held his heart in her hand walk off in a flounce without a backward glance. He should not hope she would turn about and look upon him one more time; give him any indication she cared a little for him. Anger thrummed through him that she was so unaffected by his presence.
He decided he no longer liked the chit. He hoped she hurt her ass when she fell on it.
Logan swore, turned about, and started for his club, loathing himself more for his nasty thought that had not an ounce of truth to it. He never wished her harm, even though she had hurt him beyond repair six years ago. If a woman truly cared and loved,surelythey would not have believed he could have acted in such a callous way toward her.
The letters she had written to him had been the loveliest he had ever read in his life. Gave him hope, made him know there was a chance for them to be together, more so than they had already been at that point.
He had taken the fall for her brother, a decision he regretted to this day. He should have forced her to believe the truth. That her brother thinking it a lark to show some of their friends her letters would end well. He had spoken out about the idea, had argued with Malcolm when he'd become aware of what he had done.
Stupid, foolish mistake that had not been his own, but one he had paid dearly for.
The hurt that he had viewed on her sweet visage made his gut clench even now. He could not allow her to lose her brother. She had already lost her parents two years before. He could not be so cruel as to take the only family left from her. And so he had given up the fight. Had become the villain in her story, and that was where he stayed.
He continued along Oxford Street and skidded to a stop. After his run-in with Sutton, the last person he wanted to see was her brother, but there he was, shopping with his wife and holding several boxes in his hands. The fiend had not shown his face in London for years, having settled in the country with his wife, not long after embarrassing his sister to no end. Did Sutton know her sibling was back in London? Of course, she would know. Her brother could do no wrong in her eyes.
Lying bastard.
Malcolm Howard, one of the wealthiest landowners in England, had everything he ever wanted in life. A beautiful, titled wife, a sister who doted on him, and money to burn. He had everything but a title for himself.
At least Logan had that over the prig, since he was an earl, and no one could take that from him.
He continued, wanting to see Howard fidget in his presence. Once one of his best friends, the man could no longer look him in the eye without squirming. Logan took pleasure in his uncomfortable state. He deserved no less, seeing as the bastard's actions had ensured he lost the woman he wanted as his wife.
Malcolm disappeared into a store, and Logan's opportunity to aggravate another Howard dissipated. He hailed a hackney, ordering the driver to his club. He traveled through several streets, one of them Hanover Square on his way to St. James. He spied Sutton walking the last few steps to her house before a footman opened her front door and let her enter.
Logan leaned back against the squabs, remembering when he'd held her in his arms last. He closed his eyes, could almost feel the warmth of her skin, the scent of jasmine as he kissed his way along her neck, her ample bosom, her cunny that he enjoyed most of all.
He ran a hand over his face, forcing himself to forget. To leave the past behind where it belonged. The carriage rocked to a halt before Whites, and, throwing the driver some blunt, he strode into his club. He handed his greatcoat and hat to a waiting liveried footman and headed upstairs to the coffee room. The club was surprisingly empty, seeing as the Season was in full swing, not that he minded. After running into a termagant, an hour or two of good food, service, and peace was just what he needed. He sat at his usual table overlooking St. James Street, a footman handing him his brandy without having to be asked.
Logan read the paper for a time before several other gentlemen came into the room. A prickling of annoyance ran through him, and without glancing up he knew Sutton’s brother had entered. Had he finished his shopping with his wife so soon? Logan smirked. It was common knowledge among his peers that Malcolm Howard did not wear the breeches in his marriage. Logan steeled himself when Malcolm noted his presence and, with his curiosity piqued, came his way. The creaking of leather told him his once-friend had joined him.
"I did not expect to see you in town," Malcolm stated matter-of-fact. As if the rift had not lasted almost as long as their friendship had.
Logan supposed Malcolm would not have expected him to return to London, but this year it was necessary. He would find a wife and retire to the country for good. He needed an heir, and it was time to put away his rakish wiles. Time to become a husband and father, if he were so fortunate.
"I need a wife, and London is where I shall find one. That is all you need to know," he returned, wanting the conversation to end. Not the least in the mood for idle chatter. Not with Malcolm in any case. The pathetic piece of horse dung who allowed him to take his disgraceful fall deserved to be called out, not spoken to with respect. The memory of the fiend begging for Logan to stop trying to defend himself to Sutton so he would not lose the love of a most beloved sister still filled him with disgust.
How dare the bastard create so much hurt and pain for another? And then make another innocent party in that hurt take the fall. No man did such a cowardly thing, only a pitiable lout.
Malcolm had not shown an ounce of guilt for what he stole from his sister and Logan. Logan had lost all future hopes that heartbreaking night and all because the fool sitting before him thought it would be amusing to dispense his sister's love letters about London.