Page 106 of Duke of Iron
He stared at her, all humor draining from his face. For a second, he seemed unable to form a response, and then—slowly, like a man at the end of a long calculation—he said, “You think you are with child?”
Her breath came out in a rush. “Yes. I mean, I do not know. I have never been late before, and I feel…” She gestured helplessly. “Changed. My appetite is odd, and sometimes I am ill in the mornings, but I thought perhaps it was the stress, or the baby, or…”
She realized she was babbling and clamped her mouth shut. Logan had gone very still, and his face was pale.
Oh, no.
He reached for the decanter, poured himself a finger, and drank it all before speaking. May watched each movement, searching his face for a hint of reaction. There was nothing.
He set the tumbler down, folded his hands on the desk, and said, “Forgive me if I am misunderstanding, but you believe you are pregnant.”
May nodded, feeling sweat bead on her brow. He watched her, his eyes unreadable. “Have you seen Dr. Langley?”
She shook her head. “I could not bring myself—what if it is a false alarm? Or worse, what if he tells everyone, and it turns out to be a mistake?” she braced herself, voice dropping to a whisper. “I wanted to tell you first.”
Logan rubbed his jaw, as if considering the problem from all sides. Then, with careful precision, he asked, “Is there any possibility, May, that you are mistaken about the circumstances?”
She blinked. “How do you mean?”
He exhaled softly. “That you have not… in the mechanical sense… done anything that would produce a child?”
May flushed so violently she thought her hair might ignite. “We kissed,” she said, “and I recall the particulars quite vividly. And then some time later, my courses stopped.”
Logan closed his eyes. Just for a moment. When he opened them, he said, “May, that is not how it works.”
She stared at him. “Are you certain?”
He laughed, though not unkindly. “I am afraid so.”
“But all the mamas in theton, they are forever warning about kisses, and potted palms, and standing near the ferns after dusk. I thought?—”
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. “May, that is an elaborate fiction created to terrify young women into chastity. You cannot—no one can—become pregnant by a kiss.”
She sat abruptly on the edge of the chair. “But if that is true, why the fuss? Why was I not properly informed?”
“Because,” he said, and she could see he was fighting not to smile, “thetonare idiots. And because it is easier to control what one fears than to teach a person the truth.”
May felt the heat rise to her ears. “So you are saying I am a fool.”
He shook his head, but she could see the laughter lurking. “I am saying you are inexperienced in this one, very particular, extremely specific area.”
She glared at him, half mortified and half outraged. “Well, I suppose that is your fault, as my husband. You might have explained it.”
He allowed himself a small, wicked smile. “Would you have believed me?”
She considered, then shook her head. “No.”
A silence fell, in which May wished, fervently, that she could vanish through the floorboards and be trampled by the kitchen staff. Logan poured a second glass, sipped, and regarded her with renewed calm.
“I am glad,” he said at last.
She looked up. “Glad of what?”
“That you are not in any danger. And that you are not… afflicted, as it were. You are well, then?”
She did not know whether to laugh or slap him. “You are impossible,” she said. “First, you have me panicking for three days, then you call me a fool, and now you are relieved I am not increasing!”
Logan’s face shuttered, but not before she caught a look—some sharp edge of worry that was quickly sheathed. “I do not want you to be unhappy, May,” he said. “I never did.”
