20
Iris didn’t know what had prompted her to agree to Oliver’s suggestion. To say she had been surprised would have been an understatement. There had been a full minute when she was able to do nothing but gape speechless at him.
Yet here she was not an hour later, bag in hand, standing just inside the front door of the gamekeeper’s cottage with Oliver at her side.
What had she been thinking? No matter that her initial response once she had regained control of her tongue had been to agree, no matter that after their first shock the other Widows had deemed it a prudent option, she couldn’t stay here, not after what had happened between them.
He must hate her. God, how he must hate her.
But if he hated you, why did he want to protect you so badly?
The small voice in her head, one that had grown louder with each beat of her heart since he’d voiced his need to keep her safe, would insist on being heard.
And just as before, she ruthlessly squashed it.
She would think of the facts and the facts alone in this ridiculous situation:
One, Lord Durand knew who she was, and was determined to make her “rue the day” she crossed him.
Two, Oliver wanted her to leave Sussex, but as she had refused to do so, he had offered her a place to hide until the night of the exhibition.
Three, the other Widows, while surprised at his suggestion, had ultimately agreed it was the best place for her to be to keep her safe.
Four, their plans to infiltrate Lord Durand’s home and locate and retrieve her mother’s work on the night of the exhibition were still going forward, the only difference being her location during the planning.
The rest, she was certain, she could ignore. She took a steadying breath and clutched her bag closer to her body. Though judging by how completely and totally aware she was of him in the close hallway, that would be easier said than done.
Oliver, too, seemed to be highly uncomfortable—a word that did not begin to encompass the energy that was currently bouncing back and forth between them.
He cleared his throat, shifting her second bag, the heavier one with all her books and lock-picking tools, in his arms. “I’ll just fetch my mother and Verity, then,” he mumbled.
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than his sister called out from the top of the stairs, “Oliver, is that you?” And then she was there, peering down at them. Her face broke out in a surprised smile as she hurried down to them. “Iris, I did not think I would see you today—”
Her words cut off as she spotted Iris’s bags.
Stopping in her tracks, she looked from Oliver to Iris in confusion.
“But what is all this?” True to form, however, she was quick to continue before anyone could so much as draw breath.
“Iris, are you staying with us? Is she truly staying with us, brother?” And then, “But this is splendid. Mother! Iris has come to stay with us.”
“What are you talking about, Verity?” Mrs. Archer asked, hurrying from the direction of the kitchen. “Oh! Mrs. Rumford. But what is all this? Have you truly come to visit?” She stilled, gaze taking in Iris before swiveling to her son. “Oliver, what has happened?”
“What do you mean, what has happened?” Verity asked, even as she bounced on her toes in her excitement. “Iris has come for a visit as I suggested. Isn’t that right, Iris?”
“Oliver?” Mrs. Archer prompted, ignoring the exuberance of her youngest.
“Why don’t we have a seat?” Oliver suggested, voice low and even though vibrating just beneath the surface.
His mother quickly understood something was not right. Without a word she led the way into the sitting room, sinking down into a large, worn armchair, waiting as the rest filed in. Verity, looking as confused as Iris had ever seen her, perched on the edge of her seat like a nervous bird.
Iris expected Mrs. Archer to immediately launch into questions on why they were there together in the state they were in. But she did not, instead waiting patiently as Oliver, having deposited Iris’s bag on the floor, began to pace.
Verity, however, was not as patient as her mother. “Oliver, what is going on?” she demanded.
“Verity,” her mother admonished gently before returning her attention to her son. “Whenever you’re ready, dear.”
But Iris’s growing tension, a beast that was digging its claws deeper and deeper into her muscles, would not allow her to remain silent a moment longer.
“Oliver has brought me here so I might hide from Lord Durand.”
Which, she realized after she had said it, should have perhaps been broken to them in a more considerate manner.
Mrs. Archer blinked while Verity stared at her as if she’d grown two heads. “I?.? .? .? see,” the older woman said, though it was obvious even to Iris she absolutely did not.
Oliver sighed, taking a seat. “I cannot explain the whole of it,” he said. “But what Mrs. Rumford has said is true. She needs a place to?.? .? .? conceal herself for the time being.” He looked at his mother helplessly. “This was the only place I could think of.”
The questions fairly screamed from Mrs. Archer’s eyes.
But instead of voicing them, she said, voice steady with certainty, “Of course you should have brought her here. We will do everything in our power to help. And we will wait for you to tell us the rest of it when, and if, you are ready to,” she continued more firmly, with a speaking look for her daughter.
Then, standing, she went to Iris and wrapped her arms about her.
Iris froze, gaze flying to Oliver, only to find him staring at her with a mirror of her own shock stamped on his face.
“Don’t worry, my dear,” the woman said, a strangely stirring fierceness in her tone. “You shall be safe here.”
Tears burned Iris’s eyes and a small, hiccupping sob lodged in her throat.
Why did this family constantly find ways to make her feel cherished?
From Mrs. Archer’s caring kindness to Verity’s exuberant friendship, she had never felt she did not belong within their small, tight-knit circle.
Even Oliver had made her feel part of something special.
No, especially Oliver. Though he was most definitely furious at her deception, he had proven, in deed and word, that he cared for her.
Mrs. Archer pulled away and smiled down at her. “But let us get you settled, and then we shall have a nice, fortifying dinner when you are done. Verity?”
“Of course,” Verity said, jumping to her feet, looking confused yet trying not to betray it as she held her hand out to Iris. “You shall stay in my room with me.” She grinned. “It will be just like having an older sister.”
Before Iris could fully take in just how special that sentiment was, she was whisked off. But not before she caught sight of the look on Oliver’s face, an expression that was saturated with a soft, tender emotion that made her feel perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
It did not escape Oliver’s notice that the very thing he had feared when Verity had made the suggestion several nights ago that Iris stay with them had come to pass. Here Iris was, about to take meals with them and sit and read with them in the evening.
And sleep in a bed only one room away from his.
And though they would not be keeping the same hours, though he would be absent for most of those things, it was already every bit as horrible as he’d dreaded it would be.
No, worse. Now he knew her intimately, what her skin felt like and how she tasted and what noises she made when her body came around him.
Which was not conducive to good sleep. Or any sleep at all, really.
But he had finally managed that elusive sleep after several hours of tossing and turning.
He was exhausted, having been awake and overwhelmed in body, mind, and spirit for a good twenty hours by the time he finally closed himself off in his room to rest before he had to return to his duties at Durand Manor.
Unfortunately that exhaustion led him to do something he never did—oversleep.
By the time he finally peeled his eyes open and pulled the heavy curtains back from his window, the sun had already set.
He frowned in confusion, rubbing at his eyes, peering out the window again.
But no, his eyes were not playing tricks on him.
It was most certainly past sunset. Muttering a curse, he hurried to dress, nearly knocking over the washbasin in his haste.
Why had no one roused him? Whatever the reason, he had to leave as soon as possible.
That plan, however, was waylaid the moment he ducked into the kitchen to grab a bit of food to carry with him—only to find the source of his chaotic thoughts sitting at the small table.
“Iris,” he breathed.
She gasped, gaze flying to his, her fingers convulsing around the steaming mug she held in her hands.
She was covered from neck to toes in a modest white nightgown, the tips of her slippers peeking from beneath the hem, a shawl of some soft material draped around her shoulders, her curling hair tamed in a braid.
He swallowed hard. The sight of her in such a state was so much more beautiful, so much more alluring than any of his pathetic attempts at imagining it.
Her cheeks darkened under his silent perusal. “Ah, you are awake then,” she said awkwardly.
He blinked, his mind still not having caught up to the situation he found himself in. “Yes.” A pathetic answer, really, for it was obvious. But then again, her comment had been obvious as well, hadn’t it? He cleared his throat. “Where are my mother and sister?”
“They have retired for the night. They had considered waking you, but thought you needed the sleep more.” She squirmed slightly in her chair. “As I could not sleep, and did not wish to wake you or anyone else, I came down here for a warm cup of milk. But I will leave if you require privacy.”
She made to stand. “No,” he blurted, stepping forward, hand outstretched to stall her. Why he did it, he didn’t have a clue. Being here with her like this, in such an intimate, domestic type of moment, was not conducive to his mental health.
But now that they were here alone together, he couldn’t conceive of letting her go.
She sat back slowly, eyes wary. Her knuckles, he noticed, were white as her grip on the mug tightened.
“I suppose it’s best if I stay,” she said.
“I have not had a proper chance to apologize to you.” She took a steadying breath.
“I never meant to deceive you, Oliver. Well, that’s not entirely true.
I had meant to deceive you. Or, at least, to hide from you the facts of why we are in Sussex and why I was sneaking about Lord Durand’s property.
You are his guard, after all. I cannot very well let you know what I’m about, can I? ”
She looked at him expectantly. Amused despite himself—truly, how could she be this adorable?—he fought a smile and muttered, “No, I suppose you could not.”
She nodded, satisfied, before continuing.
“So you see I had no choice but to deceive you. But then I got to know you and care for you and it became harder and harder to justify keeping such a pertinent bit of information from you, even though I knew it was necessary. The whole purpose of your job is to guard Lord Durand’s property.
Yet here we are, planning to infiltrate his home and steal from him.
Not that what we need to steal is his in the first place.
I suppose it is not stealing at all, but rather reclaiming.
Even so, you do not deserve to be deceived, and I am sorry for it. ”
She looked at him again, equal parts anxious and expectant. He, however, had hardly heard her after one very important admission.
“You care for me?” he asked quietly.
She blinked. “Of course I do. I would hardly have lain with you if I did not.”
Warmth spread through his chest, thawing what had previously been frozen. It was accompanied by a melting relief, an easing of the doubts that had cropped up since he’d first learned of her deception.
“I feared it might have had another purpose,” he said.
She frowned. “Another purpose?” And then, understanding dawning, “You believed I seduced you so you might let down your guard?”
He could not answer. She rose, leaving her mug behind as she came to stand before him, and took his hand in hers, pressing it warmly.
“I swear to you,” she said softly, “it was never like that. I lay with you for no other reason than I wished to.”
She released his hand. Then, smiling sadly at him, she dipped into a shallow curtsy and made her way out of the kitchen, leaving him with nothing but the memory of her touch and a lingering, aching need in his chest.