Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
They lay together, naked bodies entwined, and Iris had never felt so at peace. Or rather, she would do, was it not for one small problem.
“Be sure to let me know when you are ready to try again,” Philip said to her. She had an arm draped around him and he played with her fingers as he kissed the back of her hand.
“Again?”
“Oh yes,” he said seriously. “Surely, you did not think that once would be enough?”
“For a child, you mean?”
He laughed at that. “Well, yes. Often it takes a while to conceive. But I did not mean only for a child, Iris.” He shifted and propped himself up on his elbow so he could better look at her.
“My meaning is that tonight, seeing as it is still early, that we could…” He let his eyes drift over her naked body.
She gasped. “A second time?”
“And a third, if you are willing.”
“Oh, I am most willing,” she laughed and rolled her eyes. She found that she was no longer nervous about the subject, enjoying it now because she knew how much pleasure it brought the duke. And herself, for that matter. “I just worry about you.”
“About me?”
“That you are physically capable.” She pushed herself up on her elbow so she could better look at him. “I fear that you might be all worn out. I would hate to break you.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Certainly not,” she said rightly. “Merely an observation. You are a little older than me, after all. I know how tired old men tend to become.”
“Careful,” he growled.
“Or what?”
In answer to her question, he pounced on her. She screamed playfully, letting him climb on top and pin her down as his showered kisses upon her neck and face.
It should have been perfect. Indeed, it just about was. Not only had their first time been beyond comprehension, but Philip appeared even more enamored with Iris than he had been before. No sense that he might grow bored. No indication that he thought this to be a mistake.
If things continued as they were doing, then the only place this marriage had to go was forward. And yet…
There is that feeling in the pit of my stomach that will not go away. Gnawing at my conscience because despite everything, there is still one thing which stands between the two of us. One last obstacle we need to overcome…
Iris wanted to spend the rest of the night with the duke. Naked. Kissing. Perhaps a repeat performance… or two, if Philip’s word was to be believed. But before she could allow for such a thing, she knew that she had no choice but to tell the duke the truth.
And then, she had to hope that he not only forgave her, but that it did not tear them apart as she feared it might.
“Wait…” Iris leaned back and gently pushed Philip from her.
“What’s wrong?” Philip asked, playfully trying to overcome the way she pushed him.
“Before we do, there is something we need to speak of.”
“There is?” he frowned. “I thought the time for such things had passed.”
“It has,” she said. “Or it will do, once I…” He hesitated, taken by shame and guilt because in this instance she knew that she was in the wrong. Not purposefully so, but that hardly seemed to matter.
“Iris, what’s wrong?” he asked, seeing the change take her.
Iris sat herself up and pulled the blankets to her chest. Then she faced forward, unable to meet the duke’s probing eyes. There was no use lying to him. No use trying to talk around it. She needed to be honest and forthright and pray that was enough.
“It concerns Percy,” she said.
“It… it does?” he blinked. “What has my brother got to do with this?”
“Not this,” she assured him. “My meaning is, there is something you should know.”
“Which is?”
She took a deep breath. “The day that Percy arrived, you remember how he and I took a walk together? Through the forest.”
“I do.”
“Well, when we did, we spoke about a lot of things. I told him of my past, your other brother, and how this marriage came about. And in return, he told me of…” She hesitated, feeling the nerves take her. “I did not pressure him or try and trick him into telling me.”
“Telling you what?” His tone turned flat, and he leaned back as if he knew.
“About his birth,” she said with a sigh, bowing her head. “His mother, his father, and how he was raised. He told me everything…”
Silence fell between them.
Iris kept her head bowed, unable to look upon Philip as she wanted to do. She could feel his eyes on her, his glare probing, the realization of what this meant settling between them both.
“So, all this time…” he began, letting the implication settle.
“It was not on purpose,” she hurried to explain, forcing herself to look at Philip. Her eyes were pleading, and her tone was just as much. “And truly, I did not think about the implications when he told me. He wanted to tell me, and I was happy to listen.”
“I am sure you were,” he said sharply.
“Not like that,” she said. “It just came up and I… and I… I was not thinking.”
“And after?” Philip asked, tone still sharp. “You never thought to tell me what you knew? Were you trying to hide it from me?”
“What? No!”
“But you knew you had done the wrong thing.”
She winced. “I did not want to make it appear as if I was snooping or trying to pry. I wanted you to want to tell me. I wanted to wait until—”
“But you did not wait,” he said harshly. “And earlier today, when you saw Percy come home in tears. You knew the reason. And earlier tonight, when I told you…” His glare hardened. “When I told you that I was not ready to divulge that side of my life, you already knew everything.”
“Philip…” Her body was shaking. “I did not do it on purpose. I did not mean to… I never meant to trick you or make you appear… as if I was trying to disobey you.”
“But you did anyway,” he said. “You were happy to pretend as if you understood me, that you were willing to wait until I was ready. But only because you already knew.”
“It is not like that!”
“Then how is it?” he demanded. “Iris…” His voice growled and she leaned back as if from a snapping dog. “From day one, I told you—I made it as clear as I could, that you were not to snoop around my personal life. Did I not say this?”
“You did, but—”
“And did you stop to think about why that was? Did you even care?”
“I do care!”
“Clearly you don’t. If you did care, you would not have let Percy tell you what he did.
And even if you could not have stopped him, you would have told me that you knew, rather than…
rather than…” He shook his head. “Rather than acting as if you and I were in the same place. I mean…” He scoffed.
“All this time, I thought that we were. That we understood where we were coming from. But that isn’t true, is it. How can it be?”
“It is, Philip.” In an act of desperation, Iris reached for his hands. Philip yanked them back and that action alone hurt more than anything.
“No, we are not. This is why…” He shook his head to himself, body shaking. “It doesn’t matter. I suppose that nothing does.” And then, without looking at her, Philip climbed from the bed.
“Philip!” she scrambled after him but stayed on the edge of the bed. “Where are you going?”
“Oh, do you not know already?” he shot back. “You seem to know everything else.”
She reared back in shame. “I am sorry, Philip. I really am.”
He had one blanket wrapped around his waist as he strode for the door. He reached it, opened it up, and then stopped. Head bowed, he did not turn back to look at her. “I know you are, Iris. But it makes little difference to me.” And with that, he walked from the room.
Iris stared blankly at the closed door. Still on the edge of the bed, still with the sheets pulled to cover her naked body.
She thought to chase after him. To try and explain herself better. Explain what? There is nothing else to tell. I did as I told him and his reaction, sadly, is just what I expected.
It hurt her to consider. Worse than that, it brutalized her, broke her down so that she wanted to crawl into a ball and cry.
Finally, her marriage was finding its footing and had reached a good place.
Finally, the duke was willing to admit that he felt for her was she did for him.
Finally, she had a real chance at happiness.
She had ruined everything. And to drive the knife in that little bit deeper, it was all her fault.
Philip paused outside the closed door as he fought back his anger. No, it wasn’t anger. It is betrayal that surges through me.
He turned and looked at the closed door and as he did he pictured Iris on the other side. In bed, no doubt in tears as she struggled to reckon with how he had reacted. Was she confused? Was she upset? Was she angry…
Philip did not know why she should be that. In this singular instance, he felt justified because for once he was not the one who had made the mistake. For once, he had done everything that he could to make this marriage work and Iris was the one who had ruined everything.
Even still, Philip found himself hesitating. He imagined Iris sitting on that bed, tears streaming down her face, and he wanted to go to her. He wanted to pull her into his arms if for no other reason than to stop her hurting. Wasn’t that what this marriage was about? His need to protect her?
And now, when she needed it most, where was he? Doing as I always do…
His mind fought his body as he reached for the door handle… but he stopped himself from going inside. Philip knew that if he did, despite wanting to do the right thing, that would surely not be the outcome.
Thus, he released the handle, turned, and stormed down the hallway.
Still, he could not believe what she had done.
And after he had made it so clear how he felt about her prying into his personal life.
The strange thing about it all was that Philip wasn’t even that upset that she knew his secret.
He wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed as he thought he might be.
Rather, the reason he grew to anger was because he could not escape how betrayed he was feeling.
Philip had never wanted to marry. After what his mother had done to his father, he had spurned the concept, not able to see it for the good that people said it brought, only able to focus on the pain that he had witnessed firsthand.
Some might have yearned for a happy ending, but Philip had never been of that mind.
But Iris… she had almost made him believe. It had been hard. It had been a constant struggle. But with her, he had let down his walls, allowed her in, and started to wonder if perhaps in this instance things might be different. Now, he knew better.
Would he forgive her one day? Likely, he would. She had not done it on purpose. She had not meant to hurt him. But then again, his mother had not meant to hurt his father. She still did, and that had killed him.
It was a shame, and Philip lamented what this would mean for Iris and him. Could they come back from such a thing? Did he want to—was it worth the risk? Or was this the final nail in their coffin, the sign that was needed to tell him what he always knew: That she and he could never work.
And to make matters even worse still, it happened just when Philip was starting to care for Iris like he had never known he could. Dammit, he might have even been willing to say that he was falling in love with her. He supposed now that he would never know for sure.
This marriage, for how well it had gone, was in his mind, officially over.