Page 17 of Duke of Iron
He leaned back, studying her. “Very well. What exactly would you have me do to prove I am madly in love with you?”
She leveled her gaze at him. “For a start, you might attempt to look as though you enjoy my company. Perhaps even seek it out, rather than waiting for me to call unannounced.”
“I was attending to a rather important matter.”
“Certainly.”
He shifted slightly, casting a glance toward the fire. “Now, tell me. What do you require of me?”
“You may find this amusing, but I do not,” May said. “I was shopping with my sisters today, and I overheard two ladies at the modiste’s speaking about me.”Logan arched a brow. “They said I trapped you into marrying me.”
That drew a sharp breath from him. “You did no such thing.”
“I know that.” She folded her hands tightly in her lap. “But they do not. And I am not naïve enough to think they are the only ones saying it.”
He sat forward. “You ought not pay them any mind. The world is full of busy tongues and vacant heads.”
“I do not pay them mind,” she replied quickly, then added, “But you did promise to help me prove them all wrong.”
Logan studied her. She was holding herself with a sort of quiet determination, though her cheeks still bore the flush of embarrassment. That pink dress was doing her no favors—he found himself entirely too aware of her. And worse, she had a point.
“I did,” he said slowly. “And I intend to keep my word. What do you require of me, Lady May? Shall I stand in the square and declare myself wildly besotted?”
“Nothing quite so theatrical,” she said, though a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “But if we are to convince thetonofour great affection, we must do more than exchange glances at soirées.”
“Such as?”
She lifted her chin. “Hyde Park. During the fashionable hour. A promenade or two would do nicely.”
“Done.”
“And Gunter’s. I would like to have ices.”
He gave a slow nod. “Vanilla or lemon?”
“I have not decided. I shall require both.”
He grinned. “Very well. Both.”
“And…”
Ah. Here it comes.
“I should like you to call upon me at home.”
“That,” he said, “would be my greatest pleasure.”
She glanced at him, clearly suspicious of how easily he had agreed. “And perhaps… flowers. Not hothouse ones. Somethingseasonal. And in a basket, not a bouquet. Bouquets wilt too quickly.”
“You are terribly particular.”
She nodded. “I am not finished.”
He leaned back, bemused. “Do continue.”
“There is one thing I have always wanted to do, but my mother has never permitted it.”
“Oh?” he raised a brow. “Do tell.”
