Page 116 of Duke of Iron
She looked at him, and the face she saw was both strange and entirely familiar. Vulnerable, and open, and—for once—not hiding anything.
“I am angry at you,” she said, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I am furious. I want to throw you in the duck pond.”
“I deserve it,” he said.
“I want to believe you,” she said, “but you have been so dreadful.”
He looked at her, hope flickering to life in his eyes. “Will you give me another chance to be better?”
She sniffed. “You have already bought the house. It would be wasteful not to at least have a look at the rest of it.”
He smiled, tentative. “We can start there, if you like.”
She nodded. “I would like.”
He stood, offered his hand, and this time, she took it.
They walked back toward the house, side by side. At the threshold, she stopped and looked up at him.
“I am still angry,” she said.
“Good,” he replied. “It will keep me honest.”
She smiled, and the feeling that washed through her was so fierce and light she thought she might float off the ground.
From inside the house, someone shouted, “They are holding hands! I told you they would hold hands!”
It was June, of course, at the top of the stairs, waving a silk handkerchief like a flag of truce. April was beside her, beaming, and even the Duke of Stone appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, observing the spectacle as if it were the main event at the races.
There was a moment of stunned silence as Logan drew May closer and kissed her—right there, in full view of the house and the street and every single flower in the garden.
“Scandal!” June shrieked, and the laughter that followed was so loud that Rydal, somewhere upstairs, began to wail in sympathy.
May pulled away, red-cheeked, and glared at her sisters. “You are the worst,” she said.
April blew her a kiss. “You are welcome.”
Logan leaned down, whispered in May’s ear. “You will not be angry once you see the inside of this house!”
Epilogue
“Inever should have let you out of confinement to attend that damned ball!” Logan said between a string of expletives.
The words bounced about the carriage like buckshot, but May could only bite her lip and stifle another groan. “I did warn you, Your Grace,” she managed between clenched teeth. “If one is to be banished from society for a full month, one must eventually reappear, or else the gossips begin to suspect a duel, or?—”
“Conspiracy,” Logan finished, voice raw. “Yes, well, let them conspire. I am the only one allowed to put you at risk.”
“Not even the future heir of Irondale?” she gasped, because just then another wave of pain, sharper than the last, squeezed her insides to ribbons. She gripped the strap above the window, inhaling through her nose the way her mother had shown her.
Logan rapped the carriage roof with his cane so hard the vehicle jolted. “Driver! Faster!”
The response from above was immediate and also slightly deranged. “We are already at a gallop, Your Grace! The horses are frothing!”
“Then trade them for ones with a greater sense of urgency!” Logan shouted back.
May would have laughed, had she not been occupied by the process of being torn in half. Instead, she said, “If I expire before we reach the house, I wish to be buried in the new garden. Tell June I want roses, not lilies.”
“You are not expiring,” he said, voice trembling. “You are—May, darling, is it supposed to be this quick? The books said there is time to prepare. Hours, even.”
