Page 50 of Duke of Iron
She blinked, then, to his horror, adopted a look of wounded dignity. “Well, I am not in the habit of checking under beds or behind doors for lurking dukes. I was only trying to practice.”
“What on earth for?”
“I used to play,” she said, setting the violin on her lap. “I have not touched one in years, but Mrs. Paxton told me there was an instrument here, so I thought… why not?”
Logan surveyed the scene—May, still seated, with the violin in one hand and the bow dangling from the other, her dress slightly askew from the effort of playing. He said, “You are not… entirely hopeless.”
She smiled, a tiny, triumphant thing. “You are a liar, Your Grace. But I am grateful for the effort.”
He approached, leaning against the pianoforte. “It is a brave thing to play where others might hear.”
She tilted her head. “You make it sound as if I am giving a recital to the whole of Hanover Square.”
“In a way, you are,” Logan replied. “The walls in this house are as thin as the paper they are covered with.”
She laughed, a true laugh, and the sound was entirely too pleasant.
“Next time,” Logan said, “perhaps you could warn me, so I might procure cotton for my ears.”
May gave him a look of pure mischief. “Oh, I would not dream of sparing you, Your Grace. Suffering builds character.”
They stood like that, two adversaries on the neutral ground of the music room, neither quite willing to retreat.
Finally, Logan said, “If you are to persist, at least allow me to provide accompaniment. I can play the pianoforte with some skill.”
May raised a brow. “You? A musician?”
He shrugged. “I was not always a duke. There was a time when I had aspirations beyond ledgers and titles.”
She considered this. “Then perhaps we shall perform a duet. But only if you promise not to sabotage my efforts.”
He put a hand over his heart. “I would never.”
She smiled again, then said, “Would you like to try now?”
He regarded her, weighing the absurdity of it. “Very well. But you must promise not to injure the violin further.”
She laughed, rose, and moved to the bench beside the pianoforte, cradling the instrument as if it were a fragile animal. Logan sat next to her, cracked his knuckles (for effect), and began a simple melody. May joined in after a few tentative measures, and though her playing was uneven, there was an earnestness to it that made up for every wrong note.
They played for some time, neither speaking, both pretending it was all just a game. By the end, May was smiling, and Logan was almost—almost—content.
She set the violin down and turned to him. “Thank you, Your Grace. That was… surprisingly pleasant.”
He regarded her, unsure what to say. She was closer now, and he could smell the faint trace of rose and lavender in her hair. For one wild moment, he thought of kissing her.
Instead, he said, “You are welcome, Duchess.”
They sat in silence, inches apart, and Logan realized that the war for the house was over. The invader had won.
May stood, brushed her skirt, and made for the door. “I should like to see what else can be done with the music room. Perhaps a few more flowers.”
He watched her go, unable to move, a strange fullness in his chest. As she vanished down the hall, Logan thought,God help me. I may be lost already.
Fifteen
“Who would not wish to court the favor of a duchess, Your Grace?” Miss Abbot said.
May’s hand hovered over the blue muslin basket as she considered the question. Rydal, nestled among the blankets, was untroubled by the storm of paper accumulating on the settee in front of them. He regarded the world with indifferent fascination, his adorable little hands grasping at air.
