Free Because You're Mine by Lisa Kleypas Page A

Continent with virtuosi until he had developed his own sense of taste. The art gallery in his country mansion had become recognized as an important collection. Not only had he befriended most of the leading artists in London, but he was a patron of lesser-known painters who showed promise.
    “I suppose you think that owning the Van Dyck makes you a cultured man,” Rochester had said the previous year, after Logan had outbid him at the auction.
    “No, my lord,” Logan had replied, smiling at the earl's frosty annoyance. “Just a fortunate one.”
    Rochester had struggled to find a scathing reply. “You've done quite well for someone who makes a spectacle of himself to entertain the masses.”
    “It's called ‘acting,’” Logan had said gently, his smile remaining. Nothing had been able to diminish his triumph at acquiring the painting Rochester had wanted so badly.
    The old man had snorted. “Actors, singers, circus performers…they're all the same to me.”
    “Just why does my profession gall you so?” Logan had asked. “Would you prefer that I'd stayed on your land and become a farmer like my father?”
    “Farming is a far more honorable occupation than performing on stage like a trained monkey.”
    “But not nearly as profitable,” Logan had replied, going to collect his painting.
    There had been few satisfactions in his life to compare with the knowledge that he had finally become a thorn in Rochester's side. It had been a long uphill climb, using his theater earnings to make some risky investments, some of which had paid off handsomely. Logan had educated himself about financial matters just as he had about art, though it had been considerably less interesting. The pursuit of money was unquestionably vulgar, bourgeois, but there was no other choice. The kind of life he wanted required a great deal of money, and he had steeled himself to ignore the disdain of aristocrats who had inherited their fortunes rather than earned them. Let Rochester sneer and call him a parvenu …the fact was, Logan owned the Van Dyck and any other damn painting he wanted.
    Bringing his thoughts to the present, Logan rubbed the back of his neck and wandered out of the office. He headed toward the painter's shop, intending to inspect the latest work on a set of flats. The sound of voices drifted into the hallway, making him pause. One of them was unmistakably Andrew's, while the other…the feminine tone sent a ripple of sensation down his spine.
    Logan felt his fingers curling until his fists were balled at his sides. He should have known that Andrew would take notice of Madeline Ridley if she were anywhere in the vicinity. It doesn't matter , he tried to tell himself, but suddenly he felt close to exploding. Following the sound of their voices to the library, he entered without knocking.
    Andrew was leaning against a bookcase, talking affably while Madeline sorted through stacks of volumes on the library table. She looked very small in comparison to Andrew's height. Wisps of her golden-brown hair had come loose from their pins, falling against her face and throat. Standing before the worn books and dusty shelves, she seemed like a ray of light in the windowless room.
    “Mr. Scott,” Madeline said with a smile, “I decided to begin an inventory of the library collection.”
    Logan ignored her and focused a level gaze on Andrew. “I thought you were leaving.”
    “I was…but then I happened upon this charming creature.” Andrew paused before adding, “She's not an actress, by the way.” It was a pointed reminder that Logan's edict had been to stay away from the Capital Theatre's actresses —not any of the other employees.
    The desire to wrap his hands around Andrew's fleshy throat was very strong. “Let me make it clear. Don't go near anyone who works for me in any capacity. Do you understand?”
    “Oh, I understand very well.” Andrew grinned at Logan. “Excuse me, I believe my presence is de trop .” As he made