Page 16 of Duke of Iron
Five
Logan stood motionless by the cradle, his arms crossed as he gazed down at the sleeping babe. The child’s small fists were curled near his head, his lashes long and dark against plump, rosy cheeks. His chest rose and fell with the soft rhythm of sleep, a tiny wheeze escaping with each breath.
He looked… adorable. It was a ridiculous word, one Logan would never admit to using aloud, but it was the only one that came to mind.
The child shifted, stretching one arm before curling back into himself. Something about the movement tugged unexpectedly at Logan’s chest. He had a strange, inexplicable urge to reach into the cradle, to hold him.
But he didn’t. Because he couldn’t.
He knew with unwavering certainty that this child—however charming—could not possibly be his.
The wet nurse cleared her throat from behind him. “He’s a lovely babe, Your Grace,” she said gently. “It’s important for them to be loved, especially so young.”
The warmth that had momentarily filled Logan’s chest iced over in an instant. He turned to her, voice clipped. “This is precisely why I am making every effort to locate his family. The boy has kin somewhere, and he will be returned to them as soon as possible.”
The wet nurse lowered her gaze and bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Before Logan could say another word, Mr. Bexley appeared at the nursery door, clearing his throat with a quiet sort of urgency.
“Your Grace. Lady May is here. She requests an audience.”
Logan blinked. “Lady May?”
“Yes, Your Grace. She is in the drawing room.”
What the devil is she doing here?
Moments later, Logan stepped into the drawing room and froze.
She was standing next to a high-backed chair near the fireplace, clothed in a delicate frock of pale pink that made her skin glow and her honey-brown hair seem spun from sunlight. Her cheeksmatched the hue of her dress, whether from the warmth of the fire or something else entirely.
She was a vision. Like something out of a painting.
He approached and took her hand before she could retreat it. “Lady May,” he said, brushing his lips over her knuckles. “What a pleasant surprise. You look… entirely too fetching to be making calls unchaperoned.”
She reclaimed her hand quickly. “Miss Abbot is present, Your Grace,” she said, gesturing discreetly toward the far end of the room. “And I assure you, she is quite alert to impropriety.”
He chuckled. “A shame, really. I much prefer when you forget to be wary of me.”
“Wary of you?” she lifted a brow. “No, Your Grace. I am wary of society.”
Logan gestured toward the settee. “Shall we sit?”
May inclined her head and moved to sit. He took the chair across from her, his forearm resting lazily over one knee while she straightened her spine.
“I’ve come to discuss the terms of our engagement.”
“Already?” he murmured. “Eager bride.”
May rolled her eyes. “If we are to maintain the ruse of being besotted, we must at least appear somewhat aligned.”
He tilted his head. “You wound me. Are you suggesting I do not appear besotted?”
“You barely appear awake,” she said. “You’re meant to look at me with longing, Your Grace, not mild confusion.”
He laughed. “You have very specific requirements, Lady May. Do you come with a handbook I might borrow?”
“If I did, you would have already mislaid it.”
