Page 7 of Finding Faith (Seduced in Scotland #2)

I t had been three days since Faith and her sister had left Harris House, and Logan was still reeling from what had happened between him and Faith as he walked the northern path along Loch Fyne with Jaco. Both Sharpe sisters had thanked him the morning after his kiss with Faith. He had tried to make eye contact with Faith as she said her goodbye, but she had refused to even look at him.

Though he couldn’t speak to her in front of everyone, he had hoped to reassure her. A comforting nod or an understanding glance would have sufficed. Some hint to let her know that while she may not be pleased that her painting was in his custody, it was at least safe from being seen by anyone else. But she would not meet his eye, so he was unable to make any signal.

He wished he could have discussed what had transpired between them. All good sense had vanished from his mind the moment she had called him a coward. If there was one thing he could not abide, it was being called a coward. He hadn’t meant to handle her as he did, and he certainly hadn’t meant to insinuate that she was any less in his eyes for having posed for the painting. But he feared that she believed he would say something unkind when all he had wanted to tell her was how infuriatingly perfect she was.

It galled him, even now, to realize how close he had come to admitting that, and while a part of him couldn’t help but seethe with jealous fervor toward Donovan, a man who had been permitted to see Faith in all her natural splendor, another part of him was in awe of her reckless bravery.

He only wished she knew that the painting was safe within his possession.

Indeed, Logan had found that he had become rather ogre-like when it came to Odalisque Reclined . He had little wish to share it with anyone and even covered it with a sheet when he left his room, hoping to keep the servants’ curious eyes off it lest they recognize Faith. Thankfully, no one had said anything, and he meant to keep it that way.

Why he should feel so defensive of her, however, he did not know. She had all but molted back into her banshee-like self when he confessed to owning the painting. But the moment he held her in his arms, he had lost all logic.

There was something shockingly perfect in the way she fit into his arms.

He hadn’t even meant to hold her. He’d only wanted to move her aside so he could leave, but when they’d touched, something had seemed to zap between them. Something dangerous and exquisite. Something he had never experienced before. He had caressed her cheek out of sheer need, and she had done the same to him. Then his mind had turned hazy as the desire to touch her consumed him and he had kissed her.

He let out a shaky breath. He needed to get a better handle on himself.

Bending to the ground, Logan picked up a dead pine stick and tossed it ahead. Instantly, Jaco ran away ahead to retrieve it, only to be distracted by some trailing scent as Logan pondered his reaction to Faith. Their kiss had been electric, and though he knew it was ridiculous, he wanted very much to do it again.

Of course, that was something he desperately needed to not think about, for it stirred too many uncomfortable emotions. Bedding women had never been an issue for Logan, but nothing ever ventured past a physical sort of arrangement, and there couldn’t be anything like that with Faith. And yet, while the chances of Logan and Faith having an affair were nearly nonexistent, he couldn’t help but imagine it. Their brief kiss had consumed his every thought and every moment he wasn’t distracted by conversation, he was thinking about it.

But it was a ridiculous notion to consider repeating it. He and Faith were too volatile toward one another, too different. Besides, there was something about Fatih, a quality about her seemed to whisper the word “forever,” and he would not be consumed by one woman for the rest of his life and end up like his father.

No. He wouldn’t do that.

Logan had tried to be sympathetic toward his father for having lost the love his life, but the old man’s loss of joy in life had only managed to leave Logan bitter toward the whole idea of falling in love. He often pitied his father, and he had no wish to become pitiable himself, even with the lure of soft curves, silky curls, and vibrant green eyes.

The sudden deep growl emanating from further along the path caught Logan by surprise. Distracted from his thoughts, he stilled as he looked ahead. Jaco’s head was low to the ground, and he was positioned just beyond the crest of a hill. He was in a pre-attack stance. Curious, Logan hurried to see what warranted such a posture.

The wooden path led to an open field that sat beneath the beginning of a mountainous landscape. Just at the foot of the mountain stood an old stone crofter’s house. Logan had played there as a boy amongst the overgrown rose bushes that had nearly engulfed the tiny house—but he hadn’t been there in years.

“What is it, boy?” he asked, hunching down to Jaco’s side to pet the dog’s head. “Is it a stag?”

But just as he spoke, Logan thought he saw the flapping of a cloth just around the cottage’s corner. Straightening up, he squinted. It was a decent way away, and the wind was blowing, causing the tall grass and heather to wave before him to the point where he couldn’t entirely be sure if what he saw was real or merely a shadow.

Jaco’s growl intensified, and while Logan was curious, he did have a standing appointment to meet with Graham. If he went to inspect the building, he would likely find nothing… but still, he stared. This land butted up against his own. If there was any danger here, he needed to be aware of it. But the longer he observed the cottage, the more he was convinced it was some sort of shadow playing against the bramble bush that covered the corner.

He rustled Jaco’s head.

“Come on, boy. Let’s go.”

Logan hadn’t ridden his horse in the hopes of exhausting himself, but by the time he reached Graham at the northern half of the shore, he had barely even started to build up a sweat. He was used to the rocky terrain, and he was in the process of wondering if he should try running when Graham’s tall form entered his vision.

Dressed in his usual dark jacket and matching pants, Graham stood with his back to Logan, gazing out over the loch from his favorite fishing spot. Why Logan continued to pursue this foolish sport, he did not know, but he was eager to speak with Graham if only to learn how Faith was doing since her departure from Harris House.

He only hoped that Graham had left his wife at home this time.

“Oy!” he called out, never the sort to sneak up on anyone. Graham turned around, flashing him a smile. Logan made a point to look around. “Is your bride not with you?”

Graham had recently made it a habit of bringing his wife, Hope, with him on fishing excursions. Logan hadn’t minded at first, except when she began landing the damn fish almost before her line had been cast. Her natural ability surpassed even her husband’s, and while most men might be aggravated by it, Graham only ever puffed his chest out, proud as the day was long about his wife’s talent.

“Not today, I’m afraid,” he said as Logan and Jaco reached the water’s edge. Graham bent down to pat the dog on the head. “She isn’t feeling well.”

“Oh? I’m sorry to hear it,” Logan said.

“She’s saying she’s all right, but she was pale yesterday, as well as today. I was going to send you a note to cancel, but she insisted I go,” Graham said, eyeing him. “I hope she didn’t catch anything from Faith.”

Logan looked straight ahead as he dropped the wicker basket slung across his chest to the ground.

“Miss Sharpe appeared to be in perfect health when she left Harris House. Besides, I doubt her sister would have let her leave if she had felt otherwise.”

“Aye, that Grace is a stern one,” Graham said, a sense of brotherly pride in his tone. “She was the one to convince me to come today, actually. Said there was nothing to worry about concerning Hope and that it would do her good to get some rest without my bothering her.”

Logan smirked, privately amused by Graham. He had always been so self-possessed, so sure of himself and his purpose—which had always been to regain Lismore Hall, the ancestral home that his father had gambled away to Lady Belle thirty-some years ago. When he had learned that her nieces were going to inherit, he had been so determined to not like the Sharpes, particularly Hope, but then had fallen madly in love with her. Now, he was the bane of every bachelor’s existence: a happy husband.

It was tiring to be around him sometimes, Logan acknowledged. A man should never be so overtly pleased with himself or his family. It led to complacency since it left one with little to no reason to strive to better one’s situation. Logan would certainly never be so content.

“How does Miss Sharpe fair?” Logan heard himself ask as he baited his line. “She seemed well enough when she left my house.”

“Very well. And my wife wanted me to thank you for taking such good care of her. Especially considering well…You know.”

Logan paused and glanced at his friend.

“Do I?”

“Well, considering you two don’t get on. Hope was very grateful that you kept her in such good spirits.”

It shouldn’t have been surprising to hear. Logan and Faith had rarely kept their contentious feelings for one another hidden. Yet he found himself irritated. Mildly so, like when a twig is caught in one’s sock. And even though no one knew what had transpired between them, he wanted to make some sort of amends.

“It was no trouble. I believe Miss Sharpe and I have cleared up some misunderstandings between us.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It seems we were both rather unfair to one another based of unfounded preconceptions,” he stated slowly. When Graham didn’t answer, he looked at him, only to find his friend staring at him with an odd sort of expression. Instantly, Logan’s guard rose. “But perhaps I was too quick to assume that our hostility for one another was in the past.”

Graham’s brows knit together, and he looked down. After a moment, he spoke.

“Well, that would explain why she was so quick to defend you yesterday.”

Logan paused in his activity.

“Defend me? How so?”

“Hmm?” Graham said, looking up. Then he shook his head. “Oh, it was nothing really.”

He would have to ask plainly, he thought. Taking a deep breath, he returned his gaze to the south shore.

“What happened?”

His question, practically an admission of interest, hung in the air between them for some moments before Graham answered.

“It was a small instance. Lady Belle’s former secretary, Rose, came to visit yesterday.”

“Did she?” Logan asked. “She and your cousin Jared have barely shown themselves ever since they got married.”

“Aye, no doubt Rose has kept him to herself all these months. She’d been in love with him for an age,” Graham said with a grin. “Well, she stopped by and learned about Faith’s stay at Harris House. She made a comment about how difficult it must have been to be in your company for so long. Grace spoke, going on about your hospitability, when Faith suddenly interrupted.”

“What did she say?”

“Only that yours was as good a house to get sick in as any.”

Logan’s shoulders dropped, annoyed that he would be so interested in such an irreverent comment. That was hardly a compliment, yet Graham was smirking.

“A testament, to be sure,” Logan said sarcastically after a moment.

“She also said that Harris House was the finest home she’d ever been to.”

Logan instantly regretted the burst of ego that bloomed within his chest. She liked his house, did she? It was a small, throwaway piece of information, but something about it made him swell with pride.

“Is that so? A blaring tribute from one like Miss Sharpe.”

“I certainly thought so.”

Despite the conversation changing then to talks of business and weather, Logan found himself wholly engrossed in the idea that Faith had enjoyed her time at Harris House despite being sick. And despite having learned that her nearly nude portrait now occupied space there. He wished she could visit again but quickly pushed the thought from his mind, knowing it was unlikely.

Faith would likely never return to Harris House knowing that Odalisque Reclined was there and he couldn’t blame her. It must have been shocking for her to learn that such a revealing painting was in the hands of her former sparring partner. If he were honest, he would admit that it had been difficult reconciling that the woman in that painting was his Faith.

No. Not his Faith. Good God, what was wrong with him? He didn’t want any claim to her, yet the words had popped into his head so suddenly and effortlessly. Surely he had lost his mind. Faith was not his, nor did he even want her to be.

Still, by the time he left Graham and Logan and Jaco started their journey home, all he could think about was her, in his house once more, staring at his vast collection of art as they argued about the meaning of each one. And what they might do after such arguments played out in his mind, followed by a slew of erotic images.

He bit his tongue, trying to shake such intrusive thoughts. Yes, it was best to steer clear of Faith. From now until at least the end of time.