Chapter 6
“Where is he?” Iris whispered to Mrs. Henkings.
The housekeeper looked around conspicuously before she quietly said, “In the study, my lady.”
Iris had foolishly hoped that returning to Hentley House would restore some sense of normalcy. But the moment she stepped inside, she knew nothing would be normal again because she sensed that he was there.
“I will go to him, alone.”
The elderly woman looked at her uncertainly but politely nodded with understanding.
Iris stomped her way to the study where the Duke of Knoxford sat as though he owned it, although technically he did.
The fireplace was the only source of light, and its glow contoured the sharp lines of his face, making him unfairly irresistible.
Iris felt a strange tinge of jealousy for the harsh shadows that clung to his skin.
He lounged in her chair with one ankle crossed over the other, and a cigar resting lazily between his fingers.
Smoke curled upward in slow, deliberate ribbons, filling the room with an unfamiliar tobacco scent.
The sight of him sent a treacherous heat through her. Iris had the sudden urge to crawl to him and ask him to press her against the wall again and kiss her until she forgot her own name.
“Did you say something, Little Blossom?” She nearly stumbled at the sound of his voice and could hardly believe where her own mind had been wandering.
Of course, he heard me.
His gaze slid slowly over her body, lingering on her traveling gown. He did not bother to stand up to greet her. Before she could gather a single word or demand why he was still in her house, in her study, and in her chair, he spoke again.
“I have some good news,” he said slowly with an infuriating smirk plastered on his face.
“Are you finally leaving?” Iris asked, flashing him the fakest smile.
His eyes darkened when they landed on her lips, and she involuntarily gulped.
“No, Little Blossom. Fortunately for you, you are stuck with me.” He winked and placed the cigar in his mouth.
Iris briefly imagined how his lips would feel against hers. She crossed her arms over her chest stubbornly and watched as His Grace’s eyes traveled to her bosom.
“Well? What is it then?” she asked him impatiently.
A cloud of smoke surrounded his face as he said slowly, “Your debts are paid.”
She had been repairing Hentley House bit by bit and had never imagined restoring it all at once, let alone hearing those very words.
“I beg your pardon?” she managed to ask in a small voice.
He tapped ash into the tray, utterly unbothered. “The debts your husband left for you.” He spoke slowly, as if to a child. “They are gone.”
She stared at him, unable to move.
“Gone?” she repeated. “The debts I have been working hard to pay off for the last seven years are gone in a matter of hours?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
Iris felt as though she should be grateful, but a hot, sharp anger flared in her chest. She had fought to keep this house standing and to keep herself afloat with whatever little money she had left.
It took her seven years to prove herself.
Only for someone to undo it all with a signature and a shrug.
“You do not seem happy about this news?” he cocked his head, and she ignored the warmth she felt low in her belly whenever he looked at her.
Iris lifted her chin and struggled to keep her composure. “You can afford to do that because you inherited the title.”
His expression darkened instantly. “Do not insult me with assumptions after I have done you a great favor.” He leaned forward, eyes catching the firelight like a predator’s as he placed the cigar down gently onto the ashtray.
“I have no reason to use my title to get my way. I was the second son, and I have been working for two decades to make my own fortune.”
Her breath caught. She had not known that.
His Grace continued coldly. “I expected a thank you for resolving the debt issue.”
Iris swallowed.
He is… right.
“Thank you,” she muttered, barely above a whisper.
His mouth curved into a wicked smile. “You are most welcome, Little Blossom.”
She wanted to throw something at him.
He picked up the cigar and took another slow drag. “It must be nice, I imagine. To be taken care of, for once. After your husband tricked you.”
Her heart stopped, and her face heated with anger. She was about to retort with something sharp or clever, but the words died.
“How do you know that?” she asked as calmly as she could while everything collapsed around her.
“I make it my business to know the truth about the people I intend to help.”
“Who told you?” Her voice rose slightly.
“Your solicitor.” His Grace stood at last, and the room seemed smaller for it.
“You spoke to Mr. Earnest?”
“Yes. Do not fret. I have a plan for you, Iris.”
“I do not need a plan because I have my own plan already.” Iris tilted her chin defiantly. She could hardly believe what was happening to her.
The duke nodded but did not acknowledge what she said. “You will have an allowance large enough to live comfortably in the city,” he said matter-of-factly. “While I repair this mess of a house.”
Iris’s throat tightened painfully as tears gathered in her eyes.
“This house may seem neglected to you, but I have been the one to sustain it through my own efforts. Without my care, it would have fallen into ruin years ago. Yes, it is in disarray, but it is my responsibility to restore it, and I must do so if I am to find purpose.” The duke listened silently to her as she choked slightly on her words.
Iris kept her head up and her gaze level with his. She could not tell him how worthless she would feel if she lost Hentley House, but she hoped that he would, at the very least, understand her need to complete what she had started.
“Iris,” he eventually said with an unreadable expression. “I care little for sentimentality. Right now, I need efficiency.”
* * *
She believes a house would give her purpose.
Blaise’s jaw ticked with pent-up frustration that his cousin had left behind a beautiful wife with nothing but burdens and that he had made her feel responsible for all of it. He hoped the old geezer was twisting in his grave.
Blaise watched Iris’s amber eyes fill with tears, and he hated that he had to be hard on her. She had lived seven years alone, and he would be damned if he did not help her. But he was aware that she was not a woman who accepted help easily, and he respected that while also finding it maddening.
“What is the rush?” Iris asked at last, her voice was unsteady, but her defiance did not leave her expression. “Why must everything be decided tonight?”
He took a slow drag of his cigar, letting the smoke curl upward before answering. “Because my nephew will live here once the house is in better condition.”
Her eyes widened with hurt. “Your nephew?”
“Yes.”
“And he will live here? With me?”
“With us, until you move into your own home.”
She stared at him blankly.
Why can she not see that this is a blessing in disguise?
“If you are the second son. Then… your nephew is the true duke?”
Blaise both admired and felt wary of her honest observation. He stubbed his cigar, letting the smoke flow freely into her study before he strode toward the fireplace.
“I do not need to explain the details of my private life to you,” he said calmly without looking at her. “But my nephew cannot inherit anything as things stand.”
“Why not?” She sounded genuinely curious.
“Because our family considers him a bastard.”
She frowned. “That is a strange way to say someone is illegitimate.”
“It is the way they termed it,” Blaise replied. “And I am merely repeating it.”
But she was not finished. He could sense it in the rebellious lilt of her voice. She was not going down without a fight, and that excited him, but he would not discuss his family with her. All she cared about was this house, anyhow.
“How convenient then,” she said softly, “that you were next in line to inherit the title.”
Blaise chuckled darkly and stood in front of the fireplace.
He felt the fire blaze behind him, outlining his frame in a heat that mirrored his growing agitation toward her.
He must have looked terrifying because Iris gulped audibly as she stood near a bouquet of handpicked flowers on the side table.
The delicate blossoms matched her softness, a stark contrast to the fire that burned behind and within him.
“If you keep playing with fire too much,” Blaise spoke slowly, watching with satisfaction as her body reacted to the hum of his voice. “You will get burned, like the fragile little blossom you are.”
Her lips parted, and she bit her lower lip. That unconscious gesture drove him insane and always struck him with surprising force.
“Stop doing that,” his voice boomed.
She looked surprised and asked innocently, “Stop doing what, Your Grace?”
“Stop biting your lip,” he growled.
She released it at once, but Blaise was already stepping toward her.
“You think you have a strong exterior,” he said lowly. “But I can see right through you.” Her breath hitched as he continued to stalk toward her. “You want to appear as someone who has everything under control. Someone who manages every detail, every crisis, and every burden without faltering.”
He stopped a few feet from her. Close enough that the warmth of her body tempted him.
“But I know that you are tired of carrying it all alone.”
Her eyes widened.
“You want to let go of this prison of duty and propriety,” he continued. “You want to breathe. To rest and to stop fighting every battle by yourself.”
“Stop,” she muttered breathlessly.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the side table.
“And right now,” Blaise whispered, “you are imagining what it would feel like to completely let go.”
Iris inhaled sharply as Blaise dropped his gaze to her frantic pulse in her slender throat.
“You are imagining what it would feel like to let someone else take all the weight you have been carrying for seven years.” he knew he was relentless. “To let someone else handle the things you should never have had to handle so that you can stop feeling worthless.”
Iris gasped.
“I did not say that I felt that way.” Her words were soft but held an edge. “And you do not even know me.”
He agreed. Though he did not truly know her, he understood her in a way few others could.
He knew too well what it meant to search for purpose in every part of life.
Blaise watched as her throat worked when she swallowed, and he followed the motion hungrily.
How he would have loved to taste her and feel her pulse flutter like a trapped butterfly beneath his tongue.
He took one more step toward her, close enough that he could smell her sweet scent.
His gaze slid slowly down Iris’s body, tracing the rapid rise and fall of her full breasts.
He could practically taste her skin already.
“I see the truth in you, Iris,” he murmured, closing the distance between them, letting the heat of his body press against hers, and basking in the sounds of her shallow breath. She closed her eyes.
“Please,” she begged him.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded her, and she obeyed him.
Good Little Blossom.
“If you let me take control, I can give you pleasures you have never experienced since your husband died. Deep… filthy… relentless pleasures.”
Her breathing grew more erratic, and his manhood grew in response.
“I can give you everything you have been starving for,” his husky promises made her shiver.
Blaise watched the flush crawl up her neck and the way her lips parted on a shaky breath.
She looked naked already, stripped bare by nothing more than his words.
He shifted even closer until the hard, thick ridge of his shaft strained against his trousers and brushed deliberately against her hip, causing her to shudder.
He throbbed with the need to bend her over the nearest surface and bury himself inside her welcoming heat.
Her arousal was unmistakable, and it drove him insane.
Iris’s voice came out breathless against his. “Your Grace.”
“Yes?” he leaned closer to her expectantly.
“I… I…”
“Go on, Iris. Tell me what it is you desire.”
“I need a month!” she blurted.