Page 9 of Duke of Iron (Unyielding Dukes #2)

Nine

“ Y ou are cheating.”

May looked up from her cards with a gasp. “I am doing no such thing.”

June narrowed her eyes. “You coughed just now. You always cough when you draw a good hand.”

“I had a tickle in my throat.”

June leaned across the settee. “You had an ace in your sleeve.”

“I did not! You wound me.”

Their laughter filled the drawing room while upstairs, the rustle and clatter of their mother’s toilette carried on with no end in sight.

“You are far too cheerful for someone about to be shackled,” June said, reshuffling the deck.

May smiled down at her lap, smoothing a crease from her skirt. “I know.”

“Aren’t you meant to be nervous? Panicked? Swooning in corners?”

“I have had quite enough swooning for a lifetime, thank you.”

June tilted her head. “So, what will it be like?”

May opened her mouth. Then closed it. “I have no earthly idea.”

The wedding was in two days, and she did not know what married life would be like. Not truly. They had not discussed it, not in practical terms. Not on any terms.

“I imagine,” she said slowly, “that we shall be pleasant for a while. Pretend. Then perhaps the ton will lose interest, and he will have returned the baby to its family. And I suppose we shall go our separate ways. As planned.”

June froze with a card halfway to the table. “As planned?”

May took a breath. “You must swear not to repeat this.”

June sat up straighter. “Always.”

May nodded. “The engagement was not real. Not at first. A babe was left at his doorstep. He believes it is not his—and I do believe him—but the ton caught wind of it and began to whisper. About me, about him. After I… after I accidentally climbed into his carriage that day?—”

“You what?”

May winced. “It was a mistake. I mistook it for my brother’s. But by then, the gossip was unbearable. So he proposed. Publicly.”

June stared at her. “To protect you?”

“Yes. And himself. It gave the ton something else to gnaw on.”

June blinked. “You are telling me that a baby was left at a duke’s townhouse, and rather than explain it, he got engaged to you?”

“That is precisely what happened.”

June flung her cards onto the table. “You have outdone all our family scandals.”

May tried to laugh. “You do believe me, do you not? About the baby not being his?”

“I believe you,” June said slowly. “But him? He is a rake, May. And rakes tend to sire surprises.”

May’s stomach twisted. She had not asked. Not really. She had not wanted to know, had not wanted to give voice to the possibility. But June’s words planted an awful seed.

What if it were true?

Her gaze dropped to her hands. “He said he is trying to find the parents.”

June reached over and squeezed her fingers. “You trust him, then?”

“I… I think I do.”

Their mother swept into the room at last, all brocade and perfume. “Girls, are we ready? We shall be dreadfully late.”

May rose, brushing down her skirts. Her thoughts were already elsewhere.

It will be fine. We have an agreement. That is all.

The ballroom sparkled with light and chatter, the orchestra soaring above it all. May entered on her mother’s arm, aware of the curious glances and whispered greetings. Yet unlike before, she did not feel exposed. Or perhaps… she did not mind being seen.

Logan arrived minutes later.

He came straight to her.

He looked—well. Frustratingly well. Cravat pristine, hair neatly combed, his expression just this side of warm.

“Lady May,” he said, taking her hand and bowing over it. “You are radiant.”

Her breath caught. Right. Besotted.

She smiled. “You are late.”

“Worth the wait, I hope.”

He placed her hand upon his arm. “Shall we take a turn about the ballroom? It should dissuade any eager bachelors from claiming you.”

She let out a light laugh. “No gentleman would dare approach me while you stand guard like a fortress.”

“Good. I make an excellent fortress.”

They walked, slowly, eyes following them as they passed. Logan leaned in to murmur something that made her laugh again, and she could feel the flutter of fans behind them, the scrape of whispers.

Then a gentleman with silver hair and a marquess’s sash approached.

“Forgive me, Irondale, but might I have a word?”

Logan nodded and turned to May. “I shall return. Save me a dance.”

“I suppose,” she teased. “If no one else asks.”

He chuckled and disappeared into the crowd.

May made her way to June, who stood near the potted palms with a glass of lemonade. “He really does play the part well,” her sister said.

“I do not think he is playing,” May muttered before she could stop herself.

June arched a brow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Before she could say more, their mother appeared. “Let us take the air. The gardens are beautifully lit.”

“Of course, Mama.”

They wandered the gravel path, May and June trailing ahead. The night was still, the lamps casting a soft glow over clipped hedges and marble statuary. Their mother admired the lanterns while the girls kept just ahead, their slippers crunching lightly on the path.

May had just plucked a petal from a rose when she heard a familiar voice.

“…this marriage is purely to quiet the scandal.”

She froze, for that was Logan’s voice. May held up a hand, stopping June mid-step. They both turned, pressing lightly against the edge of the hedge.

“I do not want her hurt,” August said, his voice low and firm.

“She will not be,” Logan replied. “We are to be civil. Nothing more.”

May felt something pinch inside her chest. Civil?

August did not sound convinced. “She has always been hopeful. Do not mistake her silence for indifference.”

“I made no promises,” Logan said. “She agreed to this. And she will be satisfied with it.”

Satisfied.

May’s hands clenched at her sides. The warmth of the evening seemed to vanish from her skin.Beside her, June’s eyes were wide, while their mother, a step behind them, looked between the girls and the voices beyond the hedge.

May turned silently and began to walk, sayingnothing because she did not want Logan to know she’d heard any of this.

Back inside the ball, May followed silently as their mother led them to a smaller salon tucked just off the main hallway. It was quieter here, lit by a pair of wall sconces and a modest chandelier. The scent of roses drifted in from an open window, but May scarcely noticed it.

Dorothy turned on them the moment the door closed.

“You are not truly marrying him, are you?”

Her voice was sharp, but not unkind.

May swallowed. “I am.”

Dorothy took a step closer, her brow drawn. “I suspected it was not the great love match you let me believe, but I did not think it was…” She trailed off, searching May’s face. “So very devoid of emotion.”

“It is an arrangement, Mama. That is all.”

Dorothy’s lips parted in dismay. “Darling, no. An arrangement is something one makes for flowers. Not for a life.”

June remained quiet beside her, her hands clasped.

“You do not understand,” May said softly. “I made this choice to help him. To help myself. There is no scandal, no ruin.”

“There is no happiness either,” Dorothy said. “We shall bear the scandal. We have endured worse. I would rather see you in tatters and joyful than gilded and heartbroken.”

May looked at her mother, at the worry that lined her face. “You think I will be heartbroken.”

“I think you already are.”

Something twisted inside May. She felt it as though someone had tied a ribbon about her chest and yanked it taut. She lifted her chin. “I appreciate your concern, truly, but I am content with my choice.”

A lie. A neat, practiced one that almost sounded convincing.

“Content,” Dorothy echoed, her voice hollow. “That is not the word I hoped to hear from you, not tonight.”

June finally spoke. “You truly mean to go through with it?”

May nodded. “The wedding is in two days.”

“And what happens after that?” June asked.

“We go our separate ways. Once the ton has tired of the gossip and the child is returned to his family, Logan will have no need of me.”

“Is that what you want?” her sister pressed.

“It is what I agreed to.”

Dorothy looked at her with something like heartbreak in her eyes. But at last, she nodded. “Then I shall say no more.”

They returned to the ballroom shortly after, and May did her best to don her mask again. She smiled. She greeted old acquaintances. She pretended not to notice the stiffness between her brother and her intended as they rejoined the crowd.

Logan approached with a bow. “May I have this dance?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

He led her onto the floor, his hand warm against hers. The music began, a familiar waltz that normally brought her some joy. But tonight, her feet felt strangely heavy.

“You are quiet,” Logan said as they began to move.

“I am merely tired. And perhaps nervous. It is all happening rather quickly.”

He studied her a moment before a slow smile curved his lips. “Look into my eyes, May. We are meant to be besotted, remember?”

She raised her eyes, and her heart kicked against her ribs. “How could I forget?” The words slipped out too easily. He always knew how to make her talk.

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting impishly. “Was that sarcasm, Lady May?”

“Do you not think I am capable of it, Your Grace?”

“Oh, I think you are capable of many things. But I suspect your sharp tongue is reserved for only the luckiest few.”

She snorted softly. “Consider yourself honored, then.”

“I do.”

They turned, the waltz drawing them in like a tide. Her steps matched his with unsettling ease. He leaned in slightly.

“You dance as though you enjoy being close to me.”

“And you speak as though you are astonished.”

“Perhaps I am. You have that effect.”

Drat him.

He smiled at her again, that infuriatingly charming smile, and coaxed a laugh out of her with an utterly ridiculous remark about the cellist’s hair. Then he had the gall to compliment her performance.

Except it was not a performance. Not entirely. Not anymore.

And he had not even needed to ask. He merely looked at her, and her heart betrayed her, her eyes softened, her lips curved.

What a terrible, arrogant man.

The worst part was—he was good at this. At pretending. At making her feel seen, admired.

And he would not mean a single moment of it.

He leaned in just enough to whisper, “Very convincing, Lady May. You almost look as if you enjoy being in my arms.”

“And you look as though you enjoy hearing yourself speak,” she murmured, her lips barely moving.

He chuckled. “Careful. Someone might think you are flirting.”

I might be.

She held herself together until they returned home. Until she and June had climbed the stairs and entered their shared chamber. Until she undid the pearl pin at her nape and set it down with trembling fingers.

Only then, without turning around, she asked softly, “How am I supposed to do this?”

June was silent for a long moment. Then she said quietly, “I do not think you know what you truly want. And that is what frightens me the most.”

May could not answer… because there was no answer.