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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. Exactly 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.
'He's going to marry her!'
There, she had said it, actually had acknowledged it out loud. And it was no
more acceptable now than it had been yesterday when she had first been told
of the engagement.
'Going to marry whom?' Logan prompted, sitting forward in his chair now.
'Margaret Fraser, of course!' Darcy answered disgustedly.
'You can't be serious?' Logan said disbelievingly.
'Exactly what I said when he told me,' she agreed determinedly. 'But it
seems that he is.'
'But I— She's—'
'Incredible, isn't it?' Darcy went on, standing up to pace the room. 'He only
