Page 98 of Duke of Iron
Logan came to her side, eyeing the gruel bowl with disapproval. “What is this abomination?”
“Dr. Langley’s recipe. You approved it yesterday,” May said. “You signed off on the carrot, the oats, and the tablespoon of clotted cream.”
He leaned in, his lips quirking as he peered at the baby’s besmirched face. “No one could approve of this. It is a crime in three counties.”
May matched his stare. “If you wish to try, do oblige me.” She handed him the spoon.
Logan accepted it with a show of great reluctance, then offered it to Rydal with a flourish. “Here you are. Take pity on our dear May.”
Rydal, who had spent the entire negotiation watching Logan with an expression of growing calculation, opened his mouth obligingly. He swallowed the spoonful and reached for Logan’s finger, which he immediately gummed in approval.
May watched the tableau, her chest tightening. “He never does that for me.”
“You are too soft. He senses it,” said Logan, but his eyes never left Rydal’s face. “If you do not enforce the rules, you will soon be overrun.”
“I will be overrun by love and small hands,” May muttered, more to herself, “and I do not mind.”
She watched Logan, her heart a sudden tangle of wishes she would not name.You look at him as if you might love him, if you dared.
He relinquished the spoon, then straightened, shaking his head. “It is not my place to correct you, Duchess. You are the expert.”
She snorted. “Expert? I have been at this for precisely a fortnight.”
Logan smiled at that, then, with a more careful tone, said, “I have an errand for you this afternoon, May.”
She eyed him. “Am I to visit the bookseller? Or perhaps spy on your enemies?”
“Neither. You are to receive the Beamonds at two o’clock. They have asked to see the child and to meet you.”
May’s fingers went stiff around the bowl. “Why?”
“To see the baby,” he repeated.
She gave a half-laugh, but the sound was hollow. “Will they… do they mean to take him?”
“No.” Logan set both hands flat on the table, leaning down until his face was level with hers. “They wish only to visit.”
“Of course,” May said, but her mind had already run ten laps of the room, picturing every possible outcome and none of them ending with Rydal still in her arms.
Logan studied her. “You need not be afraid.”
“I am not afraid,” May lied.
He smiled as if he could see straight through her. “He will not be taken from you.”
She dipped her chin, not trusting herself to look up again. “Thank you.”
Logan straightened, smoothing his coat as if the moment had not unsettled him at all. “If you need anything?—”
“I will not,” she said, more forcefully than she meant. “We will be ready.”
He nodded and left. May regarded the baby, who was now industriously gnawing on the wooden spoon, and whispered, “You are not going anywhere, my darling. Not if I can help it.”
Rydal gave no answer, but May imagined he agreed.
At precisely two o’clock, May sat on a sofa in the drawing room, Rydal perched on her lap in a dress of soft white muslin and apair of hand-knitted socks so violently blue they could blind a modest clergyman.
“Do I look tolerable?” she asked Miss Abbot, who was fussing with a tray of cakes at the far sideboard.
