Page 22 of Duke of Iron
She arched a brow but followed him inside. “Next, you will give me a sewing kit. Or perhaps a fire screen.”
“Tempting,” he murmured. “But no, today is for spectacles.”
The little bell above the door gave a cheery ring as they entered. The shop smelled faintly of varnished wood and dust. For a moment, there was silence.
Then came a tremendous thud.
“Ow! Dash it all—oh, pardon me! One moment!” A muffled voice called out from beneath the counter, followed by a clatter and the appearance of a bespectacled man with tufts of gray hair that stood in all directions.
He beamed at them. “Customers! And not just any customers—a lady and a gentleman! How rare. How refreshing!”
Logan nodded. “She requires spectacles. And not the sort she already owns.”
May glanced between them. “My old ones are perfectly fine.”
“They are not,” Logan said.
The shopkeeper nodded enthusiastically. “Not fine at all! Let us see what we can do, shall we? Come, my lady. You shall need something fine. Something light. Let us begin.”
He dashed toward a wall lined with cases and drawers, pulling several open and extracting wires, frames, and glass in quick succession. Soon, a small pile had accumulated on the counter.
May sat as instructed and began trying them on, one after another. Some were too narrow, others too thick, and one pair made her look, in Logan’s opinion, like a startled owl.
She glanced at him over the latest pair. “These are not terrible.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “But they are not right.”
She tried another.
“That one makes your nose look short.”
She laughed, removing them. “I was not aware that was possible.”
“Anything is possible in the wrong frame.”
She tried another, more slowly this time. “This is not necessary. You know that, do you not?”
“Indulge me.”
He stepped forward again, his fingers lightly angling her face. A thumb under her chin, his hand grazing the curve of her cheek. It was nothing more than a practical touch, meant for examining the line of her face against the frame.
But May stilled beneath his hands.
He is looking. Truly looking.
“And what do you see, Your Grace?” she asked, only half-teasing.
“Something quite difficult to look away from.”
She flushed.
“Careful,” she said, adjusting the current pair on her nose. “You are beginning to sound as though you mean it.”
“I do. You asked me to act in love. I never do things halfway.”
“Is that what this is? Love by half a dozen accessories?”
He smiled faintly. “Love by design. If you must look at me over the rim of something, it ought to be elegant.”
