Page 93 of Duke of Iron
“I believe you have faced the entire House of Lords,” May said, mock sternly. “And you won.”
He shrugged. “A lesser challenge.”
May was silent, watching the ladies crowding around the painted quoit target. She thought,If I could freeze this day, I would. Everything is so light. Even Logan. Even me.
He turned to her. “Will you play?”
“Only if you swear to let me win.”
He laughed, genuinely and warmly, and for a moment, the air between them felt electric. “I never let anyone win. But I will throw the match if you ask nicely.”
They reached the game, where Theo was measuring the distance between the stake and a suspiciously askew ring.
“I assure you, Logan, that counts as at least half a point,” he called.
Calenham said, “You are both criminals. I have never seen such flagrant disregard for rules.”
May rolled her eyes. “It is only a game, Lord Calenham. You are permitted to bend the rules if it increases amusement.”
August, who had been leaning against a tree, arms folded, snorted. “I suspect the Duchess could cheat at chess and no one would dare say a word.”
May was about to respond when she heard a sudden cheer from the refreshment table. She looked over to see Penelope, the newly recruited pastry girl, holding up a tray of miniature iced cakes. The applause from the assembled ladies was so enthusiastic, it might have been for a theatrical performance rather than a dessert.
May turned to Logan, unable to keep the smile from her face. “You see? I told you she was a genius.”
“She is,” Logan agreed, but he did not take his eyes from May.
She felt suddenly shy, as if she had been caught at something. “Do you wish for a cake, Logan?”
“I wish for something sweeter,” he said, voice low.
She blushed to the roots of her hair, but did not look away.
The match resumed. Logan was, as always, ruthlessly competent; May threw her first ring so poorly it nearly brained one of the bystanders, but she improved with each toss, and by the final round, she was only a point behind.
She lined up her last shot, tongue between her teeth in concentration. The world shrank to the circle of grass, the sunlight, the stake, and Logan’s quiet presence beside her.
She was about to release the ring when, without warning, Logan’s hand came around her waist and lifted her bodily into the air.
She shrieked, the ring arcing wildly. It landed dead center.
The crowd erupted.
“Victory!” May shouted, struggling to break his hold, but he spun her once, triumphant.
“You cheated!” she scolded when he set her down, but the smile gave her away.
Logan looked entirely unrepentant. “You never specified I could not interfere.”
She punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Scoundrel.”
“Duchess,” he replied, with a bow.
The gathering around them was delighted. Several of the girls clapped, and even August allowed himself a smile.
May could see how it would look—the dashing Duke and the unconventional Duchess, their marriage no longer a subject for gossip but a beacon for all the misfits and strivers of the city. For a moment, she almost believed it herself.
But then she saw the sidelong looks from the older ladies, the way their heads bent together in consultation, and she remembered,None of this is real. Logan is acting. He is always acting. It is the only way he knows how to survive.
