Darcy had thought him so understanding yesterday evening. Hey, she had even thanked him for being so kind to her!
He had kissed her too. Worse, she had kissed him back…!
But she now realised Logan had had his own reasons for being so nice to her, and those reasons involved his mother!
She felt so stupid now when she thought of all she had said to him, all the things she had confided in him.
But most of all, she was angry. Furiously so. Which was the reason she had decided to continue with the arrangement of meeting Logan for lunch today; she wanted the pleasure of telling him to his face exactly what she thought of him!
‘Well?’ she challenged again at his continued silence, her expression mutinous.
He drew in a ragged breath. ‘I’m not sure I know what to say…’ he finally admitted.
Darcy bridled. ‘An apology might not be amiss! What on earth you hoped to achieve by not telling me the truth from the beginning, I have no idea, but I can assure you that whatever it was you have failed miserably; nothing you could do or say would ever convince me to accept your mother marrying my father!’
She was breathing hard in her agitation, more angry with Logan McKenzie now than she was with her father. At least her father had been honest with her.
Logan frowned darkly. ‘Let me assure you, Darcy,’ he began, ‘I am no more enamoured by the idea of the two of them marrying than you are. Until you told me about their plans, I had no idea it was even a possibility!’
She didn’t believe him. He had to be fighting his mother’s corner. Besides, if what he claimed were really the case, once he’d become aware of the engagement, aware of her own aversion to the relationship, he had had plenty of opportunity to tell her the truth about his own relationship to Margaret Fraser. If he had wanted to. Which he obviously hadn’t.
Although, she did remember he had assured her that he didn’t believe any marriage between the older couple would ever take place…
‘My father, a mere restaurant owner, isn’t good enough for your mother, is that it?’ she retorted as the idea suddenly occurred to her, remembering that painting on the wall in Logan’s apartment of the castle that was the Scottish family home. The home where Margaret Fraser had probably been brought up.
Logan waved the waiter away impatiently as the young man would have brought their meals to the table. ‘Darcy—’
‘That is it, isn’t it?’ she accused incredulously as the idea began to take hold. ‘Exactly who do you think you are? More to the point, who do you think your mother is? Because from where I’m standing, she’s nothing more than a—’
‘Darcy!’ Logan’s voice was icily cold now, his expression glacial. ‘There’s nothing you could say about my mother that I haven’t already said or thought of her myself. But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to sit quietly by while someone else is rude and insulting about her!’
Darcy glared at him. ‘In that case, you must spend most of your life getting into fights or arguing with people; I haven’t met a single person yet with a nice thing to say about your mother!’
Logan’s mouth twisted. ‘Except your father, of course.’
‘He’s just besotted,’ she defended. ‘Knocked off his feet by the glamour that surrounds her.’ She shook her head. ‘I just hope he comes to his senses before he does something stupid—like marrying her!’
‘Oh, he will,’ Logan said grimly.
Darcy’s eyes gleamed angrily. ‘Because you intend seeing that he does,’ she guessed. ‘I don’t know which one of you I despise more—you or your mother!’
Logan’s throat moved convulsively. Whether from anger or some other emotion, Darcy couldn’t tell. And she didn’t particularly care, either.
‘I’ve had enough of this.’ She threw her unused napkin on the table before bending down to pick up her bag. ‘Enjoy your meal, Logan—both portions of it!’ She stood up to leave.
Logan’s hand snaked out and grasped her painfully around the wrist as she would have walked away, looking up at her with darkened blue eyes. ‘Darcy, I’m on your side—’
‘I don’t have a side, Logan,’ she assured him contemptuously. ‘Thanks to you and your mother, I don’t even have a home any more, either!’ Her voice broke slightly as she realised the truth of her words.
She mustn’t cry. She would not give Logan the satisfaction of seeing her cry again. As far as she was concerned she never wanted to set eyes on Logan, or his mother, ever again!
‘Let me go, Logan,’ she ordered coldly, looking down to where his fingers encircled the slenderness of her wrist.
‘And if I don’t?’ he challenged softly.
Her eyes returned slowly to the harsh arrogance of his face, her chin rising defiantly. ‘Then I’ll be forced to kick you in the shin,’ she told him with determination.
Darcy watched as some of the harshness left his face, to be replaced by what looked to her suspiciously like amusement. No doubt at what he considered to be the childishness of her claim, she realised.
It was the spur Darcy needed to carry out her threat, lifting her leg back before kicking forward with all the impotent rage that burned inside her, the pointed toe of her shoe making painful contact with Logan’s shin bone.
She knew it was painful—because of the way Logan cried out in surprise at the agony shooting up his leg!
But it had the desired effect; he let go of her wrist, to move his hand instinctively to his hurting shin.
‘Goodbye, Logan,’ Darcy told him with a pert smile of satisfaction, before turning on her heel and walking out through the restaurant, totally unconcerned with the curious looks that were being directed towards her, the confrontation not having passed unnoticed. Which wasn’t surprising, when Logan had actually yelled out his pain!
Her feelings of defiant satisfaction lasted until she got outside. They even lasted while she flagged down a taxi and got inside. It was only when the driver asked her where she wanted to go that her feelings of self-satisfied anger deflated.
Because, as of this morning, when she had told her father she was moving out of their home, she had nowhere to go…
CHAPTER FIVE
‘SHE hates my guts!’ Logan informed Fergus, his cousin having arrived at his office a few minutes ago. Logan hadn’t returned from the restaurant very long ago himself.
Fergus stayed perfectly relaxed as he sat opposite Logan. ‘I see you handled the situation with your usual tact and diplomacy,’ he drawled mockingly.
Logan scowled as he remembered Darcy’s earlier fury. In truth, he hadn’t had a chance to be either tactful or diplomatic—how could he have been when Darcy had already been well aware of exactly who he was when she’d joined him for lunch?
He had thought he’d had time to tell her the truth himself, but it should have occurred to him that her father, or someone else, might just drop that little bit of information into a conversation before the two of them had met today! No wonder Darcy had seemed different when she’d arrived at the restaurant!
He glowered across at Fergus. ‘I didn’t get a chance to handle anything—her father must have already told her I was Margaret Fraser’s son!’
‘Poor Logan.’ Fergus grinned, shaking his head.
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he retorted.
‘No—but