Page 25 of Duke of Iron
Edward’s gaze narrowed just slightly. He handed the babe back to the nurse and followed Logan out into the hallway.
Back in the salon, Edward resumed his seat, this time without the sandwiches. “So. Why are you truly marrying Lady May?”
Logan glanced out the window before answering. “Because the presence of this child—unexplained as it is—makes me a ripe target for the sort of whispers that could ruin reputations.”
Edward leaned back. “And marriage provides the illusion of order. A shield.”
“Exactly.”
Edward nodded slowly. “Then let me help you find the parents.”
“Very well. Thank you.”
Edward inclined his head as he studied Logan, thinking. “But tell me, how did you come to know Lady May in the first place? I am certain you had no prior attachment to the Vestieres.”
Logan’s lips twitched. “I attended the Duke of Stone’s ball. It was late, I had just retrieved my coat and was stepping toward my carriage when a young lady approached me. Quite directly.”
Edward blinked. “She approached you?”
“She believed I was her brother. August.”
Edward barked a laugh. “How the devil do you resemble August Vestiere?”
“We are both very tall,” Logan laughed.
“Heavens! Her eyesight must be appalling.” Edward frowned, as if commiserating with May. “I feel quite sorry for her.”
Logan had felt the same that night. “I thought she was teasing me at first,” he continued, “but then I recognized her. Lady May, but without the spectacles.” Logan shook his head. “She could barely see five feet in front of her. I realized she truly had mistaken me.”
“And you allowed her to climb in?”
“I did.”
Edward stared at him. “Without correcting her?”
Logan’s smile deepened. “I was curious. I acted on impulse. I wanted to see where it might lead.”
There was a moment’s pause as Edward assessed him with shrewd eyes.
In truth, Logan could not fully explain the strange compulsion that had overtaken him that evening. The sensible choice would have been to step aside, to send her back into the ballroom and be done with it. But something about her had made him forget caution entirely.
And for once in his carefully ordered life, he had let instinct guide him. Whether it would lead to good fortune or not was yet to be seen.
Eight
“You are late, Your Grace.”
Logan grinned as he stepped down from his phaeton. “You wound me, Lady May. I am precisely on time.”
She descended the steps, gloved hands tucked neatly before her, the soft folds of her pale green dress catching the sunlight in a manner that seemed intentional. Her spectacles—new, delicate gold wire—rested upon her nose with quiet elegance.
“And must you call me ‘Your Grace?’” he asked, offering his hand. “Surely we can dispense with formalities by now. Call me Logan.”
Her brow arched, but her fingers slid into his. “Very well, Logan. Then you may call me May.”
May,he repeated inwardly, liking the sound far more than he ought.
She allowed him to help her into the Phaeton, settling beside him with an air of restrained excitement.
