Page 112 of Duke of Iron
Logan paced the marble foyer while the butler stood guard. He refused to accept that May would not see him. He had been kept here precisely eleven minutes, and every minute was accounted for by the ticking of an elaborate ormolu clock whose main function, he suspected, was to rattle the nerves of visitors.
He made a study of the possible lines of assault. The grand staircase was easily defensible, but the side hallways were narrower and less patrolled. If he timed it right, he could probably sneak out and climb into May’s bedchamber as he had done before. And Logan had climbed more treacherous facades in his youth, though never in broad daylight.
He adjusted his cuffs and contemplated whether it would be more effective to simply shout up the stairwell for May. If he could count on anything, it was the Vestiere commitment to dramatic entrances.
He was about to make his move when a ripple of sound carried down the hall—quick footsteps, the rustle of a coat, then a voice he recognized.
“Loitering is very much in fashion this Season, Irondale. I applaud your dedication to the art.” The Duke of Stone—Theo—strode into the foyer, every inch the country squire in the city for a lark.
Logan regarded him. “They’re keeping me out. I suspect the house is ringed with iron.”
Theo gave him a thin smile. “Lady Irondale is not at home.”
Logan let that settle, then, “Where is she?”
Theo shrugged. “She left this morning, alone. Not a word to anyone but April. Frankly, I assumed you’d know her whereabouts better than the rest of us.”
“I would not be here if I did.”
Theo tilted his head, assessing. “If you’re going to make a fool of yourself, Irondale, you might as well do it in style. Come. The club’s less dreary at this hour, and you look like you could use a drink.”
Logan followed, not because he wanted to, but because the alternative was standing in that mausoleum of family pride and being pitied by a man in livery.
The carriage was waiting. Theo directed the groom, then sat back, stretching his legs. “You know, my wife thinks you’re a villain.”
“She’s not the only one.”
Theo let a smile drift onto his lips. “But she’s more honest about it. She says you terrify her sister, but also that you make her laugh, which is more than I can say for any of May’s previous suitors.”
Logan looked out the window. “She is easily amused.”
“Not by half,” Theo said. He watched Logan with the air of a man taking notes for later. “The world expects a certain thing from you, Irondale. Did you know that?”
“I have heard rumors,” said Logan.
“They expect you to be impossible, cruel, and above all, alone. They expect you to die at forty-five, eaten by your own legend.”
Logan almost smiled. “They may yet be correct.”
Theo snorted. “You’re not as cold as you pretend. Or else you would not be here.”
Logan did not answer. The carriage jostled them over a rut, and he found himself drumming his fingers on his knee.
Theo shifted, then said, “You know, I almost ruined it with April.”
Logan glanced over, surprised.
Theo continued, “Early on. I thought if I cared less, it would hurt less. So I kept her at a distance, convinced myself it was noble, even. She nearly married someone else. The only thing that saved me was a drunken confession and a very patient horse.” He shook his head. “If you have something to say, you’d best say it before you’re forced to ride a horse to Kent in the rain.”
Logan found himself considering, for once, what advice he might give to another man in his position. The answer was simple:You’re out of time, Blackmore. Act or lose her forever.
He said nothing until the carriage stopped in front of White’s. The driver opened the door, and Theo made to step out, but Logan caught his arm.
“I need your help,” Logan said. “It’s urgent. I would not ask, but there is no one else.”
Theo squared his shoulders. “What do you need?”
Thirty-Six
