Chapter 17
“Benjamin!” Blaise heard his own voice echo harshly through the Surrey woods.
The memory of his screaming his brother’s name was raw and ragged as he stood at the tree line staring into the dense maze of oaks and undergrowth. The sound seemed to mock him, bouncing back unanswered.
“Your Grace?” Thomas, the groom, approached cautiously from the stables.
“Has something happened?” Blaise tensed.
“No! The stallion’s recovery is going well. The fever broke overnight.” Thomas grinned.
Blaise let out a breath of relief. “Tell me everything, my friend.”
“Where do I begin?” Thomas feigned exasperation.
Blaise chuckled. “How bad was the leg wound this morning?”
Thomas fell into step beside him as they walked toward the stables. “The swelling has gone down considerably, Your Grace. He is putting weight on it again. Another few days of rest and he will be sound.”
“Any heat left in the joint?” Blaise asked, his tone clipped.
“Very little, Your Grace, but the poultice is doing its work. He is a fighter, that one.”
Blaise nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.
The stallion would live. But Benjamin had not.
One wrong step, one moment of distraction, and his brother was gone forever. The guilt clawed at him again, sharp as ever, whenever he came to Surrey.
They reached the stable yard, and Thomas continued, “Shall I prepare him for light exercise in a week?”
“Yes. But keep him on soft ground only so there are no risks,” Blaise ordered.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Thomas went to the black stallion at once.
Blaise touched the animal’s head softly, looking into the abyss of its glassy eyes.
“You will be all right,” he whispered, but the words were mostly for himself.
The horse neighed weakly in response.
“I shall leave it to you then, Thomas.”
The groom nodded firmly as he dressed the horse’s leg with a large bandage.
Blaise walked toward the country house and tried to push his brother’s memories aside by thinking of Iris. The image of her came unbidden and vivid.
Iris on her knees before him in the dining room, skirts rucked up around her waist as she pleasured herself under his gaze.
How beautifully she had shattered, crying out as her climax took her.
He imagined her now, alone in his study, perhaps slipping her hand beneath her skirts again while whispering his name—
His shaft reacted instantly against his trousers. The memory of her calmed the storm in his chest but stirred a far more dangerous hunger.
Perhaps I should only think of her at night.
“Everything all right, Your Grace?” the butler asked, noticing his distraction at the entrance of his country house.
“All is well, thank you, Jerry,” Blaise replied gruffly. “Make certain that Thomas keeps me informed on the stallion. I will check on him again before I leave.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The butler bowed and went to his station.
As they reached the study, a footman hurried over with a bundle of letters. “These arrived for you, Your Grace.”
Blaise took them and flipped through them quickly.
Business matters, a note from Alistair, several invoices, but nothing from Iris.
Disappointment stabbed through him, sharper than he cared to admit.
It has only been two days, but he still expected her to reach out with news about a potential bride.
He shook it off with a low exhale. It should not trouble him as much because she was probably busy fulfilling her part of their bargain.
Or perhaps a suitor approached her and—
“You are being ridiculous, Blaise,” he muttered to himself.
Yet, the lack of even a brief note still lingered.
Another week was nearly gone, and soon he would return to Hentley House to collect what Iris had promised him.
He doubted she would leave before then, but he still had to try; even though his nephew was being difficult, there was no more time to delay.
Blaise hardly prayed, but as he thought about what awaited him in London, he let out a soft prayer filled with hopefulness.
“God, help me.”
* * *
“Shall we fill the study with flowers again before His Grace returns, my lady?” one of the new maids asked, barely hiding her smile. “We still have plenty of roses in the garden.”
Almost a week had passed since the duke left, and the house had settled into an odd, expectant rhythm. Iris stood in the hallway near the study with the two new younger maids whom Blaise had hired and Mrs. Henkings.
“We could make it especially grand this time,” Mrs. Henkings added.
Iris couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. They all shared knowing looks and a secret understanding. For a moment, Iris was tempted to make one last act of defiance before Blaise returned. But something in her chest had shifted over these past days.
“No,” Iris said gently. “Not today. Let the study remain as it is.”
The women looked surprised but curtsied and hurried off to their given duties. Iris could hear their soft giggling echoing down the corridor as they disappeared around the corner. She shook her head while a strange mix of fondness and guilt settled over her.
“What was that about?” Camelia asked, sipping her tea and raising an eyebrow at Iris.
Camelia had arrived for a visit earlier that morning and now sat patiently in the study. When Iris finally joined her at the desk, she had a curious look on her face, and one brow arched in expectation.
Iris sighed deeply and sank into the chair opposite her.
“Very well. I shall tell you everything.”
“And leave no detail out.” Camelia beamed.
Iris hesitated before she began to confess the truth. “We tried to sabotage the duke.”
Camelia gasped. “What do you mean, Iris?”
“It was harmless, little jests like weak tea every morning, and the furniture and flowers mysteriously returning after he ordered them removed. The staff and I orchestrated every small rebellion we could think of to make him uncomfortable and unwelcome.”
Camelia’s eyes widened in shock, her mouth falling open for a moment. Then delight sparkled brightly in her gaze.
“You wicked thing! I cannot believe you turned the entire household into a campaign of polite sabotage. And he tolerated it?”
Iris gave a small, rueful smile, her cheeks warming at the memory.
“Barely,” she admitted with a reluctant smile. “But I am beginning to reconsider whether any of it was worth it. Or even fair. I have been far too reckless, Camelia.”
Camelia leaned forward, intrigued. “You sound as though you are rethinking the entire arrangement.”
“I am. And staying under the same roof with a man while unmarried… is just not proper and not safe.”
“Then marry him,” Camelia said simply.
Iris frowned. “No.”
“Why not? Does the idea of marriage with him sound that terrible?”
Quite the opposite.
Iris brushed the thought away quickly.
“No. Marriage to Blaise is not something I even wish to contemplate.”
“Blaise?” Camelia’s lips curved knowingly. “And when did you begin calling him by his name?”
“That hardly matters,” Iris muttered but felt her skin burn with embarrassment.
“It does, and you are denying it.” Camelia teased. “Well, it is disappointing to hear that you are not interested in marrying him. He does seem rather charming in that dangerous, brooding sort of way.”
“He does?” Iris asked her sister sarcastically.
“Oh, hush! Where is he, by the way? I had hoped to meet him again.”
“He has been away for a few days,” Iris replied softly as she fought the excitement that bubbled up inside of her for his return.
“Did something terrible happen?” Camelia asked with a troubled look.
“I believe so. He received word about one of his horses in Surrey, and he left rather suddenly.”
Before Camelia could press further, the sound of the front door opening drew their attention, and footsteps echoed in the entrance hall.
“That must be Pamela,” Camelia said brightly. “She said she might join us after her lesson.”
“A guest for Lady Hentley,” Blaise’s butler announced.
Iris frowned; she did not expect any visitors.
“I will see who this is,” Iris said, rising. She smoothed her skirts and stepped into the hall, walking briskly to the entrance.
Iris stopped short when she saw a young man standing just inside the doorway. He was tall and lanky with dark hair and blue eyes that reminded her of someone. He looked around the house with mild confusion, and he was startled when he saw Iris.
“Lord Vale. His Grace, the Duke of Knoxford’s nephew.” The butler’s voice boomed in the silent hallway.
Iris smiled politely at the young man before she curtsied, and he bowed. The butler did not bother to announce her.
“You are not my uncle,” the handsome young man said with a small, familiar smirk as he tried to hide the surprise on his face.
“No, I am not.” Iris let out a soft laugh.
Lord Vale blushed and shook his head. “I apologize; I received a letter from my uncle with this address, and I assumed he was living here.”
Iris offered a warm, calming smile. “You must be Marcus then.”
“Yes, you know me?” He seemed surprised.
“Yes, of course, your uncle talks a lot about you.” Iris beamed at him.
Marcus’s expression shifted from delight to awkward discomfort. His gaze flicked over Iris. “Are you… his…?”
“Oh, no!” Iris said quickly, understanding at once. “Goodness, no. I am Lady Hentley. Widow of the late Lord Hentley. His Grace inherited this house through the title. We have an… arrangement of sorts while the property is being prepared for you. Nothing improper, I assure you.”
She felt heat flush her face; ‘improper’ was actually the only word to describe her situation with Blaise.
Marcus cleared his throat. “I see, so this is your house?”
Iris shifted uneasily under his gaze. She could see that he was most definitely raised by Blaise with the way he stood tall and looked down at people from the bridge of his nose.
“By law, it is your house,” Iris finally spoke. “But please, do not fret over that. Come in for tea. You must be tired from your journey.”
Marcus hesitated, then nodded stiffly. “That will be nice, thank you.”