Page 94 of Duke of Iron
She pressed a steady smile to her lips and excused herself under the pretext of needing a new glass of lemonade.
Inside, the cool dimness of the morning room was a relief. May drew a breath and let herself sag against the wall, eyes closed.
The footsteps were silent, but she sensed Logan before he spoke.
“You vanished.”
She opened her eyes. “I needed a moment to myself.”
He crossed the room in three strides and stopped just short of touching her. “Is something the matter?”
She stared at the floor, at the place where his boots nearly met the hem of her dress. “You do not have to perform for them. They will like you either way.”
He was quiet. “I wasn’t performing.”
She scoffed. “You are always performing. It is your gift.”
He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look up. “Do you think I act when I am with you?”
She tried to look away, but he would not allow it. “I do not know.”
He leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers. “I do not know, either. That is the problem.”
She felt her voice catch. “Is it?”
He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I am not used to wanting things I cannot have.”
“You could have anything,” she said, voice so small she barely recognized it.
He smiled, but there was nothing humorous in it. “Except you.”
She stepped back, out of his grasp. “You already have me. I am your wife.”
“It is not the same,” he said, but he did not move to close the distance.
She folded her arms, needing the barrier. “Is this where you tell me you wish for freedom? That the arrangement is at an end?”
He shook his head. “No. It is where I tell you I wish for you, and I do not know what to do with that wish.”
May’s heart beat so loudly she was certain he could hear it. “You do not have to do anything.”
He reached for her, but she dodged. “No,” she said, “let me finish.” She steadied herself. “You do not have to pretend anymore, Logan. No one is watching. I would rather have the truth, even if it is ugly, than another pretty lie.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then, so quickly she had no time to prepare, he pulled her to him and kissed her.
It was nothing like the first, awkward press of lips on their wedding night, or the offhand, duty-bound peck he gave her in public. This was consuming, all heat and demand, and the kind of honesty that cannot be performed.
She did not resist. She could not have, even if she wanted to.
He broke away, breathing hard. “That is the only thing I cannot fake. I have tried. But it is always real with you.”
She was dizzy, as if she had run a race. “You are infuriating,” she managed.
“I know.”
She touched his face, and he closed his eyes.
“Does this mean—” she began, but the words dried up.
