Page 82 of Duke of Iron
It was possible, Logan realized, to admire and want to throttle a woman in equal measure. He dropped into the armchair opposite and raked a hand through his hair. “You realize, of course, that this is now the story of the Season?”
May’s eyes flashed. “Let them talk. They talk anyway. At least now I have given them material worth the effort.”
He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “You are not alone in this, May. If they hurt you?—”
She shook her head, sharp and stubborn. “They did not hurt me. Not really.” Her eyes softened. “But I do not like when they say things about you. Or about Rydal. I could not let it stand.”
Logan felt the words settle into his bones, warm and dangerous. He looked away, searching for the right response. “I appreciate the defense of my name,” he said, “but next time, perhaps avoid public venues?”
She smiled, then, a flash of dimple. “I cannot promise. Public venues are where the best mischief occurs.”
He groaned, but it was half a laugh. “You are impossible.”
“Possibly,” May said, “but I am also right.”
He grinned, unable to suppress it. “You are incorrigible.”
She grinned back. “I have learned from the best.”
A silence fell, not uncomfortable, but dense with things unspoken.
Finally, Logan said, “Are you well?”
May tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”
He gestured at the paper. “You took on two of the ton’s sharpest tongues and left them in ruins. Some might call that bravery. Others might say it is the mark of a woman on the verge.”
She bristled. “I am not on the verge of anything.”
He let the moment stretch, then said, “I believe you. But I also know how lonely it is, being watched by everyone, waiting for you to fail.”
May looked away, mouth tight. “It is not so bad. Not when I have Rydal. And…” She broke off, then added, “And you, I suppose.”
He wanted to ask her to say it again, to make it real, but she would only turn it into jest. So he stood, crossed to her side, and sat on the sofa. She scooted over to give him space, though not much.
He looked at her profile, at the perfect line of her jaw, and wondered if it was possible to be in love with someone who did not love you back.It must be, he thought,for here I am.
He reached over and took her hand. She did not pull away, only studied his fingers with a peculiar fascination.
“I never liked Lady Kitty or Lady Christie,” he said, voice low. “They are the sort to be cruel in company and apologetic in private.”
May’s brow shot up. “Why did you not warn me?”
He shrugged. “I thought you might see it for yourself. You are smarter than both of them combined.”
She smiled, a soft thing that curled up at the corners. “You are not so foolish, yourself, Logan.”
He squeezed her hand. “Tell me, Duchess. What should we do about the scandal?”
“Ignore it and outlast it, I suppose.” She sighed. “Now, I do not care if you intend to punish me for this scandal, but I shall maintain that I did what was right.”
Logan tilted his head and studied her. “I cannot fault you for that… but you did break one of my rules…” he allowed a slow smile, and her eyes widened, “and we cannot have that, May.”
Twenty-Five
“You are a horrible, unjust, and utterly cruel husband,” May announced, stomping one foot on the paving stone for emphasis as Logan helped her down from the carriage.
Logan only laughed. “You are being dramatic, which is my favorite quality in a wife. Do be calm. It’s only a musicale.”
