Page 5 of Duke of Iron
Across from her was… not August.The man was too tall, his shoulders too wide, his posture far too still and commanding. And worse, he was handsome. Unforgivably so.His face was all angles and symmetry, his hair dark and neat, and his eyes?—
She had seen those eyes and heard of them.They were so gray they could be steel.
No. No. No.
He was smiling at her as if this were the most ordinary exchange in the world.
May glanced around frantically. She was in a moving carriage, alone, in the dead of night, with the most infamous, untouchable, and terrifying man in London.
The Duke of Iron.
Two
“You are not my brother!”
The words left May in a breathless whisper, barely audible over the soft rattle of the carriage wheels. She pressed her back to the velvet cushion as though it might absorb her into the upholstery.
The man across from her laughed. “Of course I am not.”
She gaped at him. “Why didn’t you say so? You knew I mistook you—why didn’t you tell me I was in the wrong carriage?”
He raised a brow. “You seemed in need of assistance. How could I deny such a lovely lady her escape?”
Lovely? He thinks I’m lovely? No. He’s mocking me. He has to be.
May could feel the flush rising from her neck. She was not the sort of woman men called lovely. She was the sort of woman they avoided eye contact with during supper.
She clenched her hands in her lap. “This is—this is utterly improper. I shouldn’t be here, not with you. Not with any gentleman I am not related to. And certainly not with?—”
“A notorious rake?” he supplied, smiling.
Her fingers curled tighter. “You said things. Things no gentleman ought to say to a lady.”
“Did I?” he tilted his head. “You, on the other hand, were rather bold. Tossing cushions and reticules about with reckless abandon. Quite the warrior, Lady May.”
He handed her the reticule, and she accepted it with trembling fingers.
“Do you know me?” she asked softly.
He smiled again. “Thetonknows Lady May Vestiere.”
She nearly winced.Of course they do. The May Wallflower. The girl with the spectacles. The one who knocked over a tray at the Stone ball.
As though he could read her thoughts, he added, “Truly, there’s no need to fuss. I rather preferred you when you were so openly passionate.”
Passionate. She had never been described as passionate in her entire life.
“I know who you are,” she said.
“From the scandal sheets?” he raised a dark brow.
She would have known about him even if she never picked up a gossip sheet, but she did read those every day. Mainly to see what thetonsaid about her, and to build her defenses against them, which she rarely ever succeeded in doing.
“From all of London,” she answered.
He gave a slight nod, amused. “They do tend to exaggerate.”
“But not about your reputation. You, of all men, know what this looks like. What thismeans.”
