Page 117 of Duke of Iron
“Some babies,” she panted, “are prompt.” Another pain arrived, and May realized, distantly, that she was now making noises only babies and cows should be allowed to make.
Logan swore—Latin, this time—and leaned out the window, hollering at the driver and then immediately at the street itself, as if the cobblestones were in league against him. “If you drop my wife or my child in the gutter, I will have your head, do you understand?”
“If you rattle this carriage one more time, I will have yours,” May retorted, though her attempt at a glare was lost behind a fog of sweat and agony. “And do stop shouting. The whole city will know before the house does.”
“Let them,” Logan replied, pulling her gloved hand into his and clutching it as if he could physically force her through the next contraction by sheer will. “Let all of London stand ready to catch you.”
He is being ridiculous,May thought, even as she clung to his fingers so tightly her knuckles popped.He is being the most wonderful, ridiculous man in England, and possibly the world.
The next five minutes were a sequence of pain, shouted threats, and the muffled shrieks of the horses. Then the carriage screeched to a halt outside their home. By the time the footman yanked open the door, May was half-collapsed into Logan’s arms, every fiber of her body trembling.
He did not hesitate; he scooped her up—skirt, baby, and all—and charged up the steps, barking orders to the assembled staff.
“Send for the physician! And get boiling water, and whatever else one boils in these circumstances!”
May, mortified and delighted in equal measure, said, “They do not actually need the water, you know. It is merely for morale.”
Logan ignored her. At the top of the stairs, he found Dorothy waiting, arms folded, hair in perfect order despite the midnight hour.
“She is in labor,” Logan declared.
“She is also standing right here,” May said. Well, reclining right here. In the arms of a ridiculous, delightful Duke.
Dorothy took one look and said, “She will need broth and something to bite. Bring her to her room. May, do not listen to your husband, he is a menace.”
Logan was already halfway to their chamber. “You will do as she says,” he muttered, “and nothing else.”
May’s mother met them at the door, taking May’s arm and leading her inside. “Darling, do you remember what we discussed?”
“That I am not to panic until at least the third contraction,” May whispered, trying to remember how to stand upright. “And that if I faint, I should do so on the bed, not the carpet.”
Dorothy’s lips twitched. “You were always the most practical.”
Logan hovered at the threshold, torn between the urge to invade and the threat of being ejected by Dorothy. The result was a series of steps forward, then back, then forward again.
Dorothy finally shooed him with a dismissive wave. “You are more useful on the other side of the door. Go and pace.”
Logan looked at May, his eyes wide and slightly wild. “I will be just here. Right here. Nothing will take me away.”
She managed a smile, the smallest curl of her mouth. “If you shout, I will never forgive you.”
He grinned, and then he was gone, the echo of his boots receding down the hallway.
The next hour was a blur of agony and absurdity. May lost all sense of decorum. She clawed at the linens, wailed at the ceiling, bit down on a towel until she thought her teeth might shatter. There were moments of lucidity, in which she wondered if perhaps she had, in fact, died and this was some elaborate afterlife for sinners.
But mostly, she thought of Logan, who was out in the hallway, probably wearing a hole in the carpet, probably plotting the deaths of anyone who failed to bring her through this.
He is going to be insufferable after this,May thought, as another contraction tore through her.He will never let me out of his sight, not for as long as he lives. And I find I do not mind it.
She screamed, and the midwife shouted, “One more, Duchess! One more!”
Dorothy pressed her hand and whispered, “You have always done the impossible, darling. This is nothing for you.”
And then, all at once, it was over.
There was a rush of sound and heat, a sensation of tearing and release, and then the room was quiet, except for the thready, determined cry of something impossibly small and alive.
May looked up, dazed, and saw her mother lifting the squalling bundle, red and wet and perfectly furious, and wrapping it in a blanket.
