Page 26 of Duke of Iron
“My mother nearly fainted when I told her. The races, of all things! She said no decent lady attends such affairs.”
He flicked the reins lightly. “A tragedy, indeed. And your father?”
“Toasted me for inheriting his sense of adventure. August muttered something about public disgrace, and June refused to help me select a bonnet out of protest.”
Logan laughed. “So the household aligns itself with your mother, it seems. What did she do?”
“Attempted to stow away under my skirts.”
He glanced at her. “I admire the dedication.”
May launched into a lively account of the morning’s commotion, recounting her mother’s dramatics and the seamstress’s horror when asked for a shorter hem. Logan listened with increasing amusement, surprised by how little effort it took to remain engaged.
She had a way of drawing him in, her speech full of odd digressions and vivid detail. It was as if she saw the world in color while he had grown used to grays.
Then she asked, “What of your family?”
He kept his gaze on the road. “My mother died in childbirth. My father never remarried.” There was a moment’s silence before he continued. “He had his heir. That was all he required.”
He did not look at her, but he could feel her eyes. She said nothing, did not prod, and that silence told him she understood far more than she let on.Clever woman.
They arrived at the race grounds, the energy of the crowd already humming in the air as Logan handed May down from the carriage.
He led her toward a private box with an excellent view of the track. It was shaded by a striped canopy and comfortably furnished with plush chairs and a small table already set with refreshments. As they approached, May’s eyes widened slightly.
“All this for me?” she asked, her lips twitching. “You certainly went through a lot of trouble to impress me.”
He offered a roguish shrug. “Naturally. I only attempt to impress Lady May Vestiere.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes before taking her seat. As she looked around, her smile faltered.“Everyone is looking at me,” she mumbled.
Logan followed her gaze to the many faces turned toward them and whispers beginning to swirl. He leaned closer. “Let them look. All they see is something worth envying.”
May’s face lit up as he said that, then she looked out at the bright pennants fluttering in the breeze, and the colorful silks of the racers lining up with their restless mounts.
“Oh, look! That chestnut one is practically prancing.”
Logan followed her line of sight. “They are all prancing.”
“Yes, but that one looks as though he knows he is handsome.”
“Vanity in a horse. Dreadful trait.”
“Says the man who took thirty minutes selecting his cravat.”
He turned his head slowly toward her. “I beg your pardon. It was twenty-two minutes.”
She grinned, pointing with enthusiasm to a gray horse standing a little apart from the rest. “That one. He’s mine.”
“He is lanky and entirely unimpressive.”
“Precisely. He has a tragic backstory and something to prove.”
“Or he will place dead last.”
“That, too. But I have faith.”
He tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Are you wagering?”
