Chapter 15
“I must admit, Mr. McElwee, that I’ve been unable to get your comments out of my mind.”
Frank McElwee nodded and took a sip of his whiskey.
The Lord Provost’s office consisted of two rooms. Attached to Logan’s office was a small parlor where he sometimes entertained guests. More than one concession had been made in this room, more than one arrangement for the betterment of both parties.
The two men sat in the two chairs arranged in front of the fireplace. Each man held a tumbler of whiskey and both stared at the fire as if the answer to their mutual problem was to be found in the flames.
“I was very surprised when you asked me to come and speak with you this afternoon.”
Logan sat back. “I’ve a personal reason, Mr. McElwee.”
The other man glanced at him. “That’s how it normally starts, sir. A woman in your life will challenge all you hold dear. She’ll demand that you open your mind and your eyes. Look at her life. When you do,” he said, smiling into his tumbler, “it’s amazing what you see.”
“What do you see, Mr. McElwee?”
“A life wasted, sir.”
Startled, Logan looked at his visitor.
“Let us consider that a woman is equal to a man in intelligence and heart.” McElwee held up a hand to forestall objections Logan had no intention of making. “Then, you quell that spirit and muzzle that intelligence. It’s a form of slavery, sir. The deliberate restraint of another human being.”
He’d never considered the matter in that light. “And you think your march through Edinburgh will help cure that?”
“Not one iota, Mr. Harrison. Abolition did not happen in a day or a year. It was a painstaking process of illuminating the situation, gaining supporters and advocates, moving one step at a time.”
Logan nodded. He’d done the same with his campaign against reformatory dormitories. The law stated that juvenile offenders should be incarcerated no matter the infraction. To his mind, jailing children would lead to a life of crime, but it had taken a great deal of effort to convince his fellow councilmen that the law was too harsh.
“Perhaps you could allow yourself to be convinced on the side of women.”
“Mr. McElwee, is there not some other way they can achieve their aims without being strident?”
McElwee sat his tumbler down on the table between them. He studied Logan for a long moment. “For years, women have been polite. They have petitioned. They have suggested. At no time did they demand to march or even raise their voice. Why should they not now make some type of noise?”
He realized he didn’t have an answer.
“Can you not support them in their quest? All they want, sir, is to be treated with the same dignity as a man. It seems not too much to ask.”
McElwee leaned forward.
“I’ve asked someone who’s very influential in Edinburgh to join us, Provost. With your permission, of course. I didn’t wish to invite her without your approval. She’s waiting in the carriage. Shall I bring her here?”
“Please do,” he said. “I’m open to discussion on the matter.”
He stood, walked to the window, wishing he were home. He’d be sitting in front of a fire, contemplating his life, thoughts that were troubling at best.
Mairi Sinclair would be at the forefront.
She’d bewitched him. Whatever spell she’d chanted, whatever potion she’d given him, somehow Mairi Sinclair had played the witch and enchanted him.
He’d never before been so fascinated with a woman. She was contrary, opinionated, fierce, and determined. Probably the closest to his own personality than anyone he’d ever met.
Around her, his thoughts were rash and improvident. He wanted to be reckless. With her, he felt free.
He missed her. His schedule had been brutal in the last week but he thought of her often. How was she faring? He’d sent her a note but she hadn’t written back. He would call on her tomorrow, and if she didn’t agree to see him he’d simply climb over the garden wall again.
If she hid in her room, he’d find which window was hers and toss pebbles at the panes.
He’d act the idiot so she would have to see him, if for no other reason than to chastise him for his behavior.
How the hell did he court someone who’d bewitched him?
“Lord Provost,” Mr. McElwee said from behind him. “I’d like you to meet Miss Mairi Sinclair.”
When Mr. McElwee asked her to accompany him to the council offices, Mairi considered the matter for all of five minutes.
Now, standing in the doorway, she knew it wasn’t to get a look at the provost’s offices or meet his secretary. She couldn’t care less about the man sniffling behind her or the luxurious appointments of the large room or this smaller parlor.
No, the reason she was here was because of him. The man standing at the window, the one walking toward her with his eyes bright and his lips hinting at a smile.
It wasn’t fear she felt in his presence but anticipation.
“Miss Sinclair and I are acquainted,” he said, coming to stand in front of her. “Thomas will take your cloak.” He held out his hands as if to strip it from her himself.
Mr. McElwee was looking at her curiously. Did he wonder why she hadn’t mentioned that she knew the provost? Or was she betraying something by her expression?
Her cheeks felt warm but that could easily be the blaze of the fire after the cold of the afternoon.
The fact her heart was racing so furiously, however, was not due to the weather.
He was dressed in severe black again, the white of his shirt attesting to the skills of his laundress. At least he wasn’t attired in his kilt, although she didn’t see how she could ever forget that sight.
She sat on one of the two chairs in front of the fire, watching as he carried a straight-back chair in from the other room. She hadn’t expected him to do something like that himself. A moment later he introduced her to his secretary, another gesture she hadn’t anticipated.
Thomas Finly didn’t seem pleased to meet her. He nodded, looked down his long nose at her, then vanished as quickly as he could, leaving behind a palpable chill.
Had the Lord Provost told his secretary something about her? Was that the reason for the man’s obvious disapproval?
She wasn’t given much time to consider the matter because Logan closed the door to his office, returning to where she and Mr. McElwee sat. She was having difficulty reconciling the official Lord Provost to the man who had climbed her garden wall then so solicitously wrapped a blanket around her and held her when she was in pain.
They seemed to be two different men. Or perhaps the pose of Lord Provost was only surface deep. Could the kind and considerate man be the true Logan Harrison? Or was it just the opposite?
“You didn’t tell me you knew the Lord Provost, Miss Sinclair,” Mr. McElwee said, disapproval lacing his tone.
“It is not an acquaintance of long standing, sir,” Logan said. “But I’m more than happy to meet with Miss Sinclair again. As you said, she is a well-respected woman in Edinburgh. A quite accomplished one, too.”
She felt a rush of warmth from his words.
“I’m sorry we have no tea, Miss Sinclair.”
Was he remembering that night in his house when she told him she’d sampled whiskey?
There was nothing to be gained, however, by trying to be shocking now, especially in front of Mr. McElwee. Besides, Logan had already seen her at her worst. Perhaps it was time for him to see a better side of her.
“I would like to add my words to those of Mr. McElwee,” she said, folding her hands one atop the other. “I hope you consider our proposal to march through Edinburgh. It will bring some attention to our cause.”
“I have heard of women being attacked because of your cause,” Logan said.
Thankfully, he didn’t go into detail or mention her by name. Mr. McElwee was aware of the incident but he didn’t know of Logan’s involvement.
“More attention might bring about more danger,” he added.
“Has any just cause been without risk, Lord Provost?” she asked. “Any time you change something that has been in place for a great many years, there are people who are frightened of change, who want things to remain the same.”
“By people you mean men,” he said.
“By people I mean men.” She glanced at Mr. McElwee. “Most men do not want change. Some men, those more intelligent, see the reason for it.
“Scottish women have a reason to be dissatisfied with the current law,” she went on. “They are citizens of Edinburgh, Mr. Harrison. But they are not given the same privileges as women in England. Why is it, for example, that English women can vote yet Scottish women cannot?”
“I didn’t know you had an interest in politics, Miss Sinclair.”
She warmed at the look in his eyes, a reminder of their earlier conversation.
“The Municipal Franchise Act,” she said. “Women who head households in England can vote in local elections. It doesn’t apply to Scottish women. Why is that?”
“Because it is an English law, Miss Sinclair.”
Under the silky accent were shards of glass.
“Why haven’t you proposed a Scottish law? Is it because you do not care about the plight of Scottish women?”
To her delight, she could tell she’d flummoxed him.
Mr. McElwee’s frown kept her from saying more. Evidently, she was to fawn a bit more and argue less.
Very well, she could fawn a little. She smiled brightly at Logan then deliberately batted her eyelashes at him.
He only stared at her. She wondered what words trembled on his lips.
They were constrained by the presence of the earnest Mr. McElwee, who was glancing between the two of them as if they were a puzzle he needed to piece together.
For the rest of the meeting, Logan kept his attention on Mr. McElwee, only glancing at her from time to time. Whenever he did, his gaze seemed to scorch her. She couldn’t help recall what it felt like to be held in his arms.
How foolish she was being. The inhabitants of Edinburgh were correct in calling their Lord Provost a genuinely kind and considerate human being. He had their welfare at heart. Everything he’d done for her was simply a natural extension of his character.
He would have treated any other woman the same.
Finally, the meeting was done. Logan agreed to consider the matter and promised to consult with other councilmen.
“It’s a fair hearing we’re asking for, sir, that’s all,” Mr. McElwee said.
“You’ll get it,” Logan said.
They stood and said their farewells. At the door, Logan turned to Mr. McElwee and said, “Would you mind if I spoke with Miss Sinclair alone for a moment? I have a message from a mutual friend to give her.”
Mr. McElwee nodded, making his way into the other room.
Before she could understand what he was doing, Logan pulled her behind the half-closed door.
“What mutual friend?” she whispered.
“Are you well?” he asked. “Your bruises have faded, but the other injuries?”
Her face warmed.
“I’m fine.”
“Did you get my note?”
“Yes,” she softly said.
“You didn’t answer.”
“No.” What could she have possibly said? I held your note in my hands for an hour. I held it, telling myself you’d touched it. Here’s where your fingers had rested.
How foolish she was around him.
“Did you miss me, Mairi? I missed you.”
That had her widening her eyes in surprise.
“Did you think I wouldn’t admit it?” he said. “I told you I’d never lie to you.”
She would have said something scathing to him in reply, but nothing she thought would have been the truth.
I didn’t miss you at all. Oh, she had, in so many ways.
I thought it delightful not to have to speak to you. How many other men were so, well, challenging?
I didn’t think of you once. Probably the most egregious lie of them all. He’d been at the front of her mind every day.
Silence, therefore, was a better recourse.
“I’ve been very busy,” he said, taking another step toward her. “Otherwise, perhaps I would have invented a reason to call on you.”
“Lord Provost business and all that,” she said, stepping back prudently.
One more step toward her.
She retreated.
They danced without touching, a step back, one forward.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
He smiled at her.
She was finally in the corner without room to move.
Reaching out, he pushed a tendril of hair away from her cheek.
“You’ve no scar. Good.”
“You really shouldn’t talk about my scars,” she said.
“Too personal?”
She nodded.
“I’ve seen your shift.”
“You really shouldn’t talk about that, either,” she said, grateful for the surge of irritation she felt. That was all it was, of course, the reason her body felt on fire. Even her lips were hot.
“What about the other places? Any scarring there?”
She almost said, God help her, the words that trembled on her lips. She almost said, Why don’t you see for yourself?
The man tempted her to idiocy.
She wasn’t herself around him.
He leaned close to her, so close she pulled back.
“You can’t kiss me here,” she said, panicked. “Mr. McElwee’s on the other side of the door.”
He chuckled. “Why, Miss Sinclair, you shock me. Why would you think I’m about to kiss you?”
He was staring at her mouth. Now he was stroking his finger across her bottom lip as if priming her for his touch.
“Do you fear a kiss or anticipate one, Miss Sinclair?”
Both, but that was something she most definitely wouldn’t say. She hadn’t lost her mind to that degree.
“I’ve got to leave,” she said, glancing in the direction of his office.
He stepped back, allowing her to escape. She could only wonder as she made her way to Mr. McElwee’s side what would have happened had the man not been there.
A quick glance in Logan’s direction made her think he was considering that question, too.