Chapter 16
“The carriage is ready, Your Grace,” Kennedy announced as he met Blaise in the entrance hall. The young, loyal footman stood rigid in his presence, but Blaise noticed that his confidence was slowly growing. “The bay team is fresh, and the bags are stowed.”
“Thank you, Kennedy.” Blaise nodded, adjusting the cuff of his traveling coat. “Where is Lady Hentley?”
Kennedy shifted on his feet nervously. “I believe she is in the library, Your Grace… with Mr. Earnest.”
Blaise’s jaw tightened.
“Earnest?” He exhaled sharply.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Very well. I will see to it before we depart.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, his boots echoing sharply against the polished floors.
Blaise heard the low murmur of voices drifting from the library, and he immediately set his instincts on edge.
He did not bother knocking; instead, with a firm push, he shoved the door open, letting it swing wide and clang loudly against the wall.
“What is the meaning of this?” Iris’s sweet voice rang through the room before he saw her.
“I should be asking you that,” he shot back.
Iris stood near the writing desk opposite Mr. Earnest. The solicitor clutched his hat tightly in both hands, and his face paled when Blaise glared at him.
“Your... Your Grace,” the solicitor stammered, offering a hasty bow.
Iris’s amber eyes flashed with annoyance, although she tried to compose herself. “Mr. Earnest was just leaving. Thank you for your time, sir.”
The old man needed no further encouragement.
He mumbled a quick farewell and hurried past Blaise as though fleeing the scene of a crime, his footsteps retreating rapidly down the corridor.
Blaise closed the door with a deliberate click, then turned to face Iris fully.
The library suddenly felt far too intimate with just the two of them, and the air was charged with the remnants of whatever conversation he had interrupted.
“Care to explain what that little meeting was about?” he asked, leaning back against the closed door and crossing his arms over his broad chest.
Iris lifted her chin in that defiant way he had come to both admire and find endlessly frustrating. “It is a private matter between a widow and her solicitor. It does not concern you.”
Blaise’s lips curved into a humorless smile.
“Everything in this house concerns me now, Little Blossom. Especially when my own solicitor looks like a man who has been caught with his hand in the till. What were you two whispering about? More plans to fill my chambers with flowers? Another clever way to ‘misunderstand’ my orders so you could ride me out of here?”
Blaise fought the images of Iris riding him.
Wrong choice of words.
Iris let out a short, incredulous laugh, though her cheeks reddened with irritation. “You truly believe every conversation in this house is a conspiracy against your enormous ego, do you not? Not everything revolves around wounding the great Duke of Knoxford’s pride.”
He pushed off the door and took a slow step toward her.
“And yet I find you huddled with Earnest behind closed doors the moment my back is turned. Forgive me if I find that suspicious. Especially after the wine incident, the furniture rebellion, and the flower invasion that nearly turned my study into a greenhouse!”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “You barge into rooms uninvited and then accuse me of distrust? How very convenient for the man who took over my home without warning!”
Blaise stopped just short of her, close enough to see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts beneath her gown.
“How can I trust you when you clearly do not trust me? What secrets are you keeping, Iris? Are you planning your escape or ensuring you get the better end of our bargain?”
Iris’s cheeks burned brighter.
“How can I trust a man I barely know?”
The accusation struck deeper than he expected. Blaise’s jaw tightened.
“You trusted me enough with your body.” His voice dropped dangerously low. “That is rather an intimate way to trust someone, is it not, Little Blossom?”
Iris looked stung, her features flickering with genuine shame. She turned her face away. The sight of her made him uncomfortable.
I pushed her too hard, too fast.
“I simply just needed reassurance,” she admitted softly, her voice trembling slightly.
“Despite everything, I am still a widow, Blaise. And being alone with a man who is not my husband, unmarried and under the same roof, is new and terrifying for me. Society is probably already whispering about us. I will definitely receive no respectable new proposals now because of the scandal attached to our names. So, I had to make certain that things would work out in my favor. That I would not be left with nothing once our month ends.”
Blaise studied her in silence for a long moment. The woman before him had merely survived for years without any help. Her strength was magnificent, even when it frustrated him endlessly.
“I apologize,” he said quietly.
“You do not even—” Iris’s eyes widened in realization. “You… what?”
“I apologize for making you feel cornered,” he clarified gently. “You possess remarkable strength and pride, Iris. It is one of the things I admire most about you, even when it drives me mad.”
She blinked, clearly taken aback by the sincerity. Before she could think of a response, her gaze dropped to the small travel bag resting at his feet.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
Blaise noted the look of disappointment on her face, and an unexpected pang pierced through his own chest.
“Surrey,” Blaise replied. “One of my stallions is unwell. I do not wish to lose him, so I will monitor his condition personally for a few days.”
Iris’s expression faltered, and Blaise felt the same reluctant feeling to leave echoing in his own gut.
What is this feeling? It both frightened and exhilarated him.
The country house in Surrey would feel strangely empty without her constant, subtle rebellions and fiery glances.
“In the meantime,” he continued, steering the conversation back to safer territory, “I expect a proper line of suitable candidates for Marcus when I return. You need to keep to your side of our promise.”
“You do not trust me to fulfill it?”
Blaise considered the question honestly as she did, and the answer came surprisingly easily.
“I trust you.” The words felt warm and almost foreign as they left his mouth.
Iris’s expression softened. “Then you have my word.”
Blaise turned towards the door but stopped at the threshold.
Two weeks had passed too quickly.
He glanced back at Iris one final time, taking in the graceful line of her neck and the way her hands twisted nervously at her skirts. He longed to read her thoughts just then.
“The month is almost over, Iris.” It was more of a warning than a reminder, and he noticed the slight shiver that ran through her body.
“I know,” she replied softly.
* * *
Dearest Camelia and Pamela,
I hope this letter finds you both in good health and spirits. I have the house to myself, finally, and I find myself missing your laughter and lively conversation more than I can express. Please come visit soon. I long for an afternoon of tea, gossip, and your company.
Pamela, bring your latest sketches; I should very much like to see how your poetry-inspired drawings are progressing. And Camelia, I hope the little one continues to thrive. I have so much to tell you both.
With all my love,
Iris
Iris set her quill down for a moment, staring at the letter on the desk. The study felt vast and hollow around her. The deep emerald walls Blaise had chosen now seemed to absorb what little warmth remained in the room, and the heavy draperies blocked out much of the afternoon light.
“The man has no taste.” She scowled and muttered under her breath.
Despite her dismay, she had to admit that the house was too quiet without his commanding footsteps and the low rumble of his voice issuing orders.
Iris even missed the sharp banter that always left her flushed and breathless.
It seemed she had grown used to his presence and the tension that crackled whenever he entered a room.
Even just thinking about him made her body respond.
And now that he was gone to Surrey, the loneliness pressed in on her like a physical weight.
“What has he done to me?”
With a soft sigh, Iris picked up the quill again, intending to finish the letter to her sisters when an idea struck her.
I have to get rid of every thought of him, somehow.
Her hand moved of its own accord. She reached for a fresh sheet of parchment, dipped the quill in ink, and began to write. Not to Camelia, nor Pamela, nor Margaret.
Blaise,
I sit in the study you claimed as your own, surrounded by the changes you have wrought, and I cannot stop thinking of you. The house is too quiet without your presence filling every room, but even in your absence, I feel you here.
I find myself remembering every moment with you. The weight of your hand in my hair as I knelt before you, the heat in your cold eyes as you sketched me and watched me touch myself. Even your voice haunts me, and I find myself looking forward to you praising me.
My body aches for you in ways I never imagined possible.
I have never been touched before, and yet I dream of your hands sliding beneath my skirts, parting my thighs, and claiming what you have promised will be yours.
I imagine your mouth on my skin, tracing fire down my neck, across my breasts, lower still, until I am trembling and begging for more.
Although I have to admit I do not know what ‘more’ means…
All I know is that I want you to bind me with silk in that red room of yours and do as you please.
I want to feel the leather and iron. I want to surrender completely to your will.
I want you to ruin me so thoroughly that I forget every year of my loneliness and humiliation.
I simply want to be pleasured by a man like you because for too long I ran away from what thrilled me and, oh, how you thrill me, Blaise—
Iris’s heart hammered so violently she feared it would burst from her chest. She read the letter again, cheeks burning with mortification and raw desire.
The words were shameless, intimate, and dangerously honest. She should burn it.
Tear it into pieces and scatter the ashes.
Instead, her fingers trembled as she held the parchment, unable to let go.
A soft knock at the door made her jolt.
Panicking, Iris quickly folded the scandalous letter and shoved it into the top drawer of the desk, slamming it shut just as Mrs. Henkings entered with a tray of tea.
“My lady,” the housekeeper said warmly, setting the tray down. “I thought you might like some refreshment. You have been working in here for hours.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Henkings,” Iris managed, albeit unsteadily.
She folded her hands in her lap to hide their trembling as the older woman poured the tea with practiced care, studying Iris with gentle concern. “You seem troubled, my lady. Is everything all right?”
Iris gratefully took the cup, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.
“The house feels too quiet,” she admitted after a moment.
“Blessedly quiet or…?” Mrs. Henkings gave her a sly smile, and Iris chuckled quietly.
“I will say blessedly for now.” Iris motioned toward the chair opposite her. “Please sit, Mrs. Henkings. There is much I need to say.”
“Yes, my lady.” All traces of humor began to fade as Mrs. Henkings sat quietly in the chair.
“I may not be here much longer, you know. Once the month is over… things will change.” Iris began softly. “I want you to know that you may stay on at Hentley House. His Grace’s nephew will need loyal staff.”
Mrs. Henkings shook her head firmly. “No, my lady. Where you go, I go. I have served you through the worst of times, and I will not abandon you now.”
Iris felt her heart clench painfully.
“You have been more than loyal. But I will not be able to afford your wages, and His Grace will pay you far better. You deserve security, Mrs. Henkings.” Iris’s eyes stung with tears.
Mrs. Henkings was more than a housekeeper; over the years, she became a mother figure to Iris, but it would still be selfish of Iris to ask her to come with her. As if Mrs. Henkings read her thoughts, the elderly woman reached out and gently squeezed Iris’s hand.
“Money has never meant as much to me as finding a mistress who treats me with respect. You have always done that, even when we had nothing, and that is why I will stay loyal no matter what comes.”
The two women sat in emotional silence for a long moment, the bond between them deeper than that of employer and servant. Iris’s vision blurred with unshed tears.
“Thank you,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I truly owe you my gratitude for the years of service and company.”
“It has been an honor, and will continue to be an honor, my lady.” Mrs. Henkings smiled brightly at her, and Iris felt the woman’s warmth envelope her. “If that is all, my lady, I will oversee your luncheon preparation now?”
Iris wanted to beg her to stay with the duke, but she knew that Mrs. Henkings was more stubborn than herself. She had even stayed loyal to Lord Hentley in all his years.
“There is one more thing.” Before Mrs. Henkings could leave, Iris picked up the letter to her sister and held it out. “Would you see that this reaches Camelia and Pamela? I have invited them to visit soon.”
“Of course, my lady.” Mrs. Henkings took the letter with a kind smile and quietly shuffled out of the room.
Alone once more, Iris stared after the elderly woman and felt her heart soften. She stood abruptly and decided to walk around the gardens before Blaise changed everything there, too. She grabbed her coat and left the study, her scandalous confessions all but forgotten in the top drawer.