Tall, Dark & Gorgeous: To Marry McKenzie

CHAPTER THREE

‘HERE, have a look at a menu,’ Fergus advised his cousin as he thrust one pointedly into Logan’s hands. ‘And for heaven’s sake, sit down,’ he instructed, already seated at the table himself. ‘Then you can tell me exactly what is going on!’

Logan resumed his own seat, aware that several of the waitresses were still watching him curiously. Well, let them; he was more interested in knowing what sort of conversation was taking place in the kitchen between Darcy and her aged lover!

Because he was sure now that was what the other couple were; there was a familiarity between the two that was unmistakable, and a protectiveness emanating from Daniel Simon that Logan couldn’t mistake as being anything other than a proprietorial claim.

He had to admit, he had been temporarily stunned by the realisation a few minutes ago, which was the reason Fergus had had to actually instruct him to sit down! He had thought Darcy’s infatuation to be a one-sided thing, a crush on an older man, but now he realised there was much more to it than that.

And he didn’t like it!

Which also shook him. He’d only met Darcy yesterday but even so, he felt a certain protectiveness towards her himself. The reasons for which he did not want to probe too deeply!

‘I mistakenly believed you were on top of this situation when you told me you were coming to Chef Simon this evening—’

Logan became aware that Fergus was talking to him. ‘What did you say?’ he asked tersely, his thoughts, if nothing else, still across the room in the kitchen.

Fergus sighed impatiently, putting down the menu. ‘Let’s have some drinks,’ he advised as the wine waiter hovered near their table, obviously waiting to take some sort of order from them. ‘I feel in need of one!’ he added before turning to the young man and ordering a bottle of Chablis.

Logan pulled his divided thoughts back together, aware that he had no idea what Fergus had been saying to him a few minutes ago. Fergus’s rapier-sharp brain was such that inattentiveness around him was not a good idea. During his earlier years as a practising lawyer, the prosecution had lost a lot of cases when coming up against Fergus’s defence, for that very reason!

Besides, there didn’t seem to be any shouting coming from the kitchen, and Darcy hadn’t stormed out, so he could only assume the lovers were kissing and making up. Distasteful as that idea might be to him!

‘You were saying…?’ he prompted Fergus smoothly, once their wine had been poured and their food order taken; Logan thought he had ordered a fish starter and a steak main course, but he couldn’t be sure!

Dark brown eyes studied him over the top of the glass as Fergus slowly sipped his wine. ‘Exactly what are you doing here, Logan?’ he finally asked thoughtfully.

‘At the moment I’m drinking wine.’ He held up his glass. ‘And shortly, I hope, I shall be eating a meal. Isn’t that what one usually does when one comes to a restaurant?’ he parried dryly.

‘Very funny.’ Fergus smiled without humour. ‘Might I ask exactly what is your interest in Darcy?’ Brown eyes narrowed speculatively.

‘You might ask,’ Logan gave an abrupt inclination of his head.

‘Well?’ Fergus pushed further.

Logan took his time answering, sipping his wine appreciatively, all the time his gaze remaining locked with his cousin’s. ‘What makes you think there is one?’ he finally answered evasively.

Fergus’s mouth twisted. ‘She was sitting at the table with you when I arrived, the two of you were obviously deep in conversation about something.’ He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘I don’t think that is the behaviour of complete strangers.’

‘Or even perfect ones,’ Logan returned dryly, lifting up a dismissive hand as Fergus seemed about to snap a reply at what he perceived as Logan’s facetiousness.

Maybe it was, but the remark had reminded him too much of his conversations with Darcy for him not to have made that connection…

‘She works for the outside catering company of Chef Simon,’ he answered his cousin economically. ‘We met yesterday when she catered for a luncheon at my office.’

‘That’s all there is to it?’ Fergus pressed.

‘Yes, that’s all there is to it!’ Logan echoed impatiently. ‘But even if it weren’t—since when have you been my keeper, Fergus?’ he charged.

Fergus seemed about to bite out a reply himself, but then thought better of it, drawing in a controlling breath instead. ‘When did you last see Aunt Meg? Your mother,’ he added softly.

Logan’s mouth quirked. ‘I know who she is, Fergus,’ he replied caustically.

‘Well?’

He sighed. ‘Fergus, I am not someone standing in the witness box suffering your own particular brand of cross-questioning!’

‘I don’t do that for a living any more, Logan, and you know it,’ his cousin dismissed.

‘Then you’re giving a good impression of it,’ Logan barked.

‘I can assure you, I have my reasons for asking,’ Fergus returned calmly. ‘Have you seen anything of Aunt Meg during the last three weeks or so?’

Logan shifted impatiently. ‘My mother is in her midfifties, and I am in my mid-thirties; neither of us feels the need to report back to the other on a regular basis!’

‘Logan, I’m not criticising your actions as regards your mother—’

‘I should hope not,’ he rasped, eyes narrowed. ‘Because if you were I would feel compelled to ask when you last saw Aunt Cate. Your own mother,’ he added pointedly.

Fergus was prevented from answering immediately as the waitress arrived with their starters.

The fish Logan thought he had ordered turned out to be Chef Simon’s pâté!

He was losing it, he decided, if he couldn’t even remember what food he had ordered. And all because of a young girl who reminded him of one of the deer on his grandfather’s estate; extremely nervy, they had glossy red coats and huge limpid eyes, too.

‘Do you want to get to the point, Fergus?’ he asked his cousin more amiably after tasting the pâté and finding it was delicious.

‘The point is, you haven’t spoken to your mother recently?’ Fergus also seemed more relaxed after tasting the deep-fried Brie that was his own starter.

Logan shrugged. ‘Not for several weeks, no,’ he con-firmed.

‘Then your being here this evening is just a coincidence?’ His cousin grimaced.

‘I’ve already said so, haven’t—? What do you mean, coincidence?’ Logan said. ‘What does my mother have to do with Chef Simon?’ He felt sure he wasn’t going to like the answer to that particular question!

Fergus drew in a deep breath. ‘Well, as you know, I’ve been to see Grandfather—Oh, no!’ he groaned, glancing towards the door. ‘That’s all we need!’

Logan had turned too, aware that something momentous seemed to be taking place at the entrance to the restaurant. A short silence amongst the other diners was quickly replaced by the babble of excited voices as they easily recognised the woman who had just swept into the room.

The actress, Margaret Fraser.

At the very same moment, Logan easily recognised the woman who had just entered the restaurant, and also became aware of Darcy finally bursting out of the kitchen—perhaps he had been premature in his assumption the couple in the kitchen were kissing and making up…? Her eyes were glittering with unshed tears, her face was fiery-red—whether from anger or those unshed tears, he wasn’t sure.

Darcy glanced to neither left nor right as she strode purposefully towards the doorway, although she stopped in her tracks as she too recognised the woman standing there looking so regally beautiful.

‘You!’ Darcy burst out with audible disgust, grey eyes definitely gleaming with anger now. ‘Well, I hope you’re satisfied,’ she continued. ‘You have what you want; he’s all yours!’ And with that she continued on her relentless way out of the restaurant, the door slamming behind her.

Logan turned dazedly to Fergus. ‘What on earth—?’

‘Go after Darcy, Logan,’ his cousin told him economically.

‘But—’

‘For once in your life, will you just do what you’re asked without argument, Logan?’ Fergus told him sternly, standing up. ‘While you do that, I’ll try and deal with the situation here,’ he offered grimly, looking pointedly across the room to where Margaret Fraser was continuing her entrance into the room.

Although the older woman had obviously been initially shaken by Darcy’s verbal attack, she had quickly recovered her equilibrium, smiling graciously at the other diners as she strolled confidently through the restaurant, the three friends she had arrived with trailing behind her.

Of the two prospects, that of following Darcy, or coming face to face with the volatile actress, Logan had to admit he preferred going after Darcy; he would just also prefer to have a clue what was going on before he did so!

‘Logan—darling!’

He cringed as, having finally spotted him standing at the back of the restaurant, Margaret Fraser swept across the room to envelop him in one of her theatrical greetings, her perfume overwhelming as she kissed him on both cheeks.

‘And Fergus, too,’ she recognised warmly, bestowing a similar greeting on him.

Logan watched her dispassionately as she kissed Fergus. Delicately tiny, her shoulder-length hair gleaming like ebony, her hourglass figure shown to perfection in a little black dress—that Logan knew would have cost a small fortune!—the beauty of her face completely unlined, deep blue eyes fringed by thick dark lashes.

There was no doubt that Margaret Fraser was a stunningly beautiful woman. Or, that she was the last person Logan wished to see here this evening!

‘Darcy, Logan,’ Fergus reminded him, once he’d surfaced from the actress’s embrace.

Margaret Fraser gave them both a quizzical frown. ‘Darcy…?’ she echoed lightly.

Logan’s mouth twisted. ‘The young woman who insulted you as you came in,’ he reminded her dryly.

‘Oh, that Darcy.’ She nodded vaguely.

‘Will you just go, Logan?’ Fergus urged in measured tones.

Gladly, Logan decided, nodding dismissively before striding out of the restaurant in search of Darcy.

It didn’t take him too long; she hadn’t gone very far. She was leaning against the wall outside, her slender body convulsed by desolate sobs.

After her earlier outburst, Logan had no doubt that Margaret Fraser was somehow involved in the desolation of those tears…!

The question was—how?

How could he? How could he! And with that awful woman too.

Oh, there was no doubting Margaret Fraser was beautiful enough. But the woman had been married twice already, had announced engagements to other men as many times. How could he even be thinking of marrying—?

‘Darcy…?’

She froze at the sound of Logan’s voice behind her. She had been so upset when she’d stormed out of the restaurant that she hadn’t even noticed him. She doubted the same could be said for her own dramatic exit!

She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks before turn-ing to face him. ‘Mr McKenzie,’ she greeted shakily, unable to meet that piercingly probing gaze.

His mouth quirked humourlessly. ‘This doesn’t seem to be your night, does it?’ he sympathised.

He could have no idea! She had thought the disagreement with him in the restaurant was bad enough, but the conversation in the kitchen that had followed had been even worse. And, then, to come face to face with that woman as she’d stormed out—!

‘Here,’ Logan encouraged gently, holding out a snowy white handkerchief to her.

She gave a watery smile. ‘I’ve only just returned the last one you lent me,’ she reminded self-derisively, making no effort to take the handkerchief.

‘Which I’ve just left in the restaurant,’ Logan realised. ‘Never mind, my cousin will probably return it to me later,’ he mused.

So the other man had been his cousin, Darcy noted, which obviously accounted for that strong resemblance between them.

‘Take it, Darcy.’ Logan continued to hold the handkerchief out to her. ‘Your mascara has run,’ he observed.

Darcy took the handkerchief with muttered thanks, mopping self-consciously at her eyes—before she remembered that she wasn’t wearing mascara, that she hadn’t worn any make-up this evening; the heat in the kitchen tended to make it cake! ‘Very funny,’ she replied, her smile rueful.

‘That’s better.’ Logan nodded his approval of her half-smile. ‘I’m sure—whatever it is—that it can’t be that bad…?’ He bent his head to smile back at her teasingly.

Darcy’s own humour faded. ‘Worse!’ she said with feeling, giving an involuntary shiver. ‘You can have no idea.’ She shook her head, her expression bleak.

Logan tilted his head, dark brows raised questioningly. ‘Want to talk about it?’

Did she? In one way, definitely no! In another way…it might be quite nice to share this with someone. But was Logan McKenzie, a man she hardly knew, the right someone…?

Probably not, she acknowledged. But if she didn’t talk to someone about this soon, she was going to burst! Besides, she had no intention of returning to the restaurant this evening…

She gave a heavy sigh, coming to a decision. ‘Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?’

‘Darcy! This is so sudden.’ Logan pretended to reel from the suggestion.

‘I said coffee, Logan—er—Mr McKenzie—’ She broke off, blushing at her own familiarity with a man who was, after all, a customer of Chef Simon. Although, in the circumstances, the formality of ‘Mr McKenzie’ did seem slightly ridiculous!

‘Logan will do,’ he assured her, obviously of the same opinion.

She nodded, her cheeks still feeling hot. ‘And I was suggesting we go to a coffee bar, not my home!’ she explained defensively.

‘Aren’t I a little overdressed for a coffee bar?’ Logan looked down at his dinner clothes.

Of course he was, Darcy realised belatedly. But going to her home really was out of the question. After the heated accusations that had been made in the kitchen earlier, the last thing she needed was for Daniel Simon to return home and find her there with Logan McKenzie!

‘We could always go to my apartment,’ Logan suggested, his gaze narrowed, seeming to have read some of the indecision on her face. If not the reason for it!

Go to his apartment…! ‘I’m sure you can’t really be interested in hearing all this,’ she burst out. ‘I think it might be better if I just went home and—and slept on the whole thing. My mother always told me that things never look so black in the morning,’ she went on with forced brightness, knowing this particular situation was going to get worse, not better.

‘And my nanny always told me that a problem shared is a problem halved,’ Logan came back dryly.

His nanny, not his mother, Darcy noted. But, then, he obviously came from a wealthy background, the sort where the children were cared for by a nanny. Nevertheless, it was very sad if, as it seemed, Logan had had a closer relationship with his nanny than with his own mother. Darcy’s own childhood had been spent being cosseted and loved by a mother who had always been there for her. She had been dead just over a year now, and Darcy still missed her deeply.

‘Maybe,’ she conceded huskily. ‘But my mother also warned me about the danger of going to the home of a man I don’t really know.’

‘My nanny warned me of the same thing where women are concerned,’ Logan drawled, taking a firm hold of her arm, at the same time hailing a passing taxi. ‘But I’ll risk it if you will!’

For the second time in their acquaintance—despite the fact that she was deeply upset, and that she could see no solution to ending this particular misery—Darcy laughed.

Logan froze in the act of helping her into the back of the waiting taxi. ‘I thought I asked you not to do that,’ he ground out, his jaw clenched.

Darcy blinked up at him dazedly, shaking her head. ‘I don’t understand—’

‘Never mind,’ Logan replied tersely, climbing into the back of the taxi to sit beside her before leaning forward and giving the driver his address.

He really was a complete stranger to her, Darcy decided during the drive to his apartment, Logan gloweringly silent beside her, one glance at his grimly set features enough to stop any attempt at conversation on her part, either.

What if her mother’s warning turned out to be a correct one? What if—?

‘Do I look like a man who has to drag young innocents off to his apartment in order to seduce them?’ Logan suddenly rasped, turning to look at her with cold blue eyes.

Darcy’s own eyes instantly filled with tears. He had seemed so kind earlier, so gentle, and now—

‘I’m sorry, Darcy,’ he said, turning fully towards her. ‘One way or another, this evening has turned out a bit of a shambles for me too. But that’s no reason to take it out on you! Forgive me?’ he prompted, taking one of her hands in both of his.

To her embarrassment, Darcy found herself trembling at his touch. Of all the times in her life to find herself physically attracted to a man—!

She snatched her hand out of his grasp, instantly hiding it beneath the one that still lay on her lap. Although that did nothing to prevent that tingling sensation, just from Logan McKenzie’s touch, from spreading up her arm…!

‘Of course,’ she dismissed sharply. ‘But maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I’m sure I’ve already taken up enough of your time for one night. After all, it’s still early enough for you to salvage something from your evening.’

‘Too late, Darcy,’ he told her teasingly as the taxi came to a halt outside an apartment building.

Apparently the one in which he lived, Darcy acknowledged slightly dizzily as, having paid the driver, Logan took a firm hold of her arm and steered her inside.

She wasn’t unused to luxury, her own home being fairly comfortable, and the homes she visited on business for Chef Simon were often opulent, to say the least. But this apartment building—where Logan lived!—was something else.

The man sitting at the desk leapt to his feet as soon as Logan swept through the double glass doors, rushing over to call the lift after greeting him. Darcy’s feet sank into the deep pile of the pale blue carpet as she walked at Logan’s side. Clamped to his side by his firm hold on her arm!

It didn’t surprise her that it was the penthouse apartment the lift whisked them up to—after seeing the reception downstairs, she didn’t think anything about Logan’s home would surprise her any more.

She was wrong!

Where she had been expecting chrome and leather furniture—ultra-modern decor—she found herself stepping into a sitting-room that, although it was expensively furnished, was clearly designed for Logan McKenzie’s comfort and relaxation: a thick brown carpet, deep gold-coloured armchairs, mahogany bookcases along one wall, several small mahogany tables placed about the room, and the most amazing paintings on the walls.

It was to one of the latter Darcy was instantly drawn, picturing a deer grazing in the foreground, and a castle behind in the mist. ‘A McAllister,’ she breathed in awestruck recognition of the artist, sure she didn’t need to ask whether or not it was an original; she doubted Logan McKenzie would tolerate anything else in his home. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she opined as she turned back to face Logan.

He gave a brief nod of agreement. ‘It’s of my grandfather’s home. Can I get you a drink?’ He indicated the array of bottles on a side-table.

Darcy was still reeling from the fact that the mellow-stone castle in the painting, shimmering mysteriously in the mist, actually belonged to this man’s grandfather. Ex-actly what had she got herself into…?

‘A small whisky, if you don’t mind,’ she accepted.

‘My grandfather would certainly approve of that; he doesn’t believe you can trust a woman who doesn’t drink whisky!’ Logan gave a slight smile as he poured the liquid into two tumblers, handing Darcy the one with the least in it.

With a name like McKenzie, this man’s family must come from Scotland—which no doubt also accounted for Logan’s grandfather’s opinion about women and whisky!

Which was a pity—because normally Darcy couldn’t stand the stuff; she just felt in need of a restorative at the moment. The whisky certainly was doing that, initially taking her breath away, but then it quickly gave her an inner warmth.

‘Let’s sit down,’ Logan suggested, suiting his actions to his words, watching as Darcy moved to sit in an armchair across the room from his.

Her action was a bit obvious, perhaps, Darcy acknowledged, but the two of them were completely alone here in the privacy of Logan’s home, and she doubted that obsequious man downstairs would come running to her aid if she decided to call for help!

‘Now do you feel like telling me what all that was about earlier?’ Logan ventured.

She took another sip of the whisky at his reminder of earlier. ‘That woman!’ she exclaimed with returning anger.

‘Margaret Fraser?’

‘Yes.’ Darcy looked up sharply. ‘Did you see her?’

Logan raised dark brows. ‘One could hardly miss the entrance of an actress of Margaret Fraser’s fame,’ he drawled dryly. ‘But, I have to admit, I have no idea where she fits into the scheme of things.’

Darcy wrapped both hands around her glass of whisky, wishing it were a hot drink now, so that it could warm her outside as well as in. ‘She doesn’t,’ she replied with feeling. ‘That’s my whole point!’

Logan shook his head, smiling slightly. ‘As clear as mud,’ he responded.

Darcy gave a deep sigh. ‘It’s quite simple, really, my—Daniel Simon, Chef Simon—’

‘I know who Daniel Simon is, Darcy,’ Logan assured her.