Page 36 of Duke of Iron
The housekeeper looked her in the eye for the first time. “If I may—” she began, then seemed to think better of it. “Never mind.”
May’s smile faltered, but Mrs. Paxton was already gone, leaving her more perplexed.
May stood in the center of the room, listening to the silence settle around her. She was not sure how long she stood that way, hands folded over her stomach, the thin chill of the room creeping into her bones.
It was only when she went to sit on a sofa near the hearth in the sitting room that she found herself struggling to breathe. Her knees gave out halfway, and she landed on the sofa hard. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, trying to slow her heart, but it only thundered faster. The room felt both enormous and too small, as though the walls were creeping in with each breath.
You are married. There is no going back.The thought did not arrive in words, but as a sharp, physical punch to the chest. There would be no escaping through a side door or calling the whole thing off with a few clever sentences. May had made this choice, and now it was a chain around her neck.
She was going to be sick. Or faint. Or both.
The wedding dress did not help. It clung to her waist and ribs, pressing in where she most needed space. She tried to reach the buttons at the back, but they were tight, the fabric resisting every effort.
May pulled harder, but the dress did not budge. She gripped the arm of the sofa and tried to breathe, but her lungs would not cooperate. Then she made a strange, high-pitched sound and realized with horror that it was her own voice, helpless and desperate.
Someone knocked at the door. Or was she imagining that? The knock came again, softer this time.
“May?” It was Logan’s voice. “Are you unwell?”
She could not answer or move.
A moment later, he was at her side. He kneeled and took her hands. “May,” he said, “look at me.”
She shook her head.
“May. You are frightened.” His voice was gentle—excessively so. “It will pass, but you must breathe for me. Do you hear?”
She nodded, but the sob that escaped her gave the lie. Her vision had blurred despite her spectacles, and she could not see his face. She tried to pull her hands away, but Logan held them firmly. “Follow me, May. Take a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You can do it, I promise you.”
She did as he asked, filling her lungs as much as she could.
“There.” He smiled at her. “Just like that.”
Logan breathed with her, slow and measured, until her vision cleared enough to see his face. He was not mocking her. There was no smile at all, only careful attention, as if she were a puzzle he very much wanted to solve.
But then her breath began to hitch again, her lungs squeezing out the air as if rejecting it. “God! We need to get you out of this dress.”
Logan stood, moved behind her, and began unbuttoning the row at her back. His fingers were quick, the buttons popped free, and the dress went slack around her frame.
His hands paused behind her, and his voice was low when he spoke. “I am going to loosen the laces of your stays, if you permit me.”
She nodded, her face burning, and she did not stop him.
He worked quickly, and as soon as her lungs had even more space to expand, she exhaled in relief. Her shoulders sagged. He pulled the dress gently from her shoulders, careful not to touch her skin, and let it fall to her waist.
She was still in her stays and chemise—fully decent, by the standards of art and portraiture—but the intimacy of it made her head spin.
He drew her up from the chair and, without pretense or hesitation, wrapped his arms around her shoulders. For a moment, May thought she might faint again, but his hold was warm and very steady, and when he began to rub her back in slow circles, she realized he was coaxing her to calmness.
“This is the oldest trick in the book,” Logan said softly. “My mother’s nursemaid used to swear by it. Rock and breathe. That is all.”
May let herself lean into him; let herself believe, for a moment, that it might actually help.
He rocked her, gently, as one might a tired child. The absurdity of it made her want to laugh, but the feeling was strange and sharp, and it came out as a quiet, shuddering hiccup.
“Better?” he asked, not moving away.
“Yes,” she said in a hoarse voice.
