Chapter 7
The scarred duke frowned down at her; confusion riddled his expression. “A month for what?”
“I… I want to be the one to repair this house,” Iris continued shakily, her words tumbling out too fast because he was too near. “And after that… I will leave you alone.”
His Grace smirked and leaned in until his mouth hovered just beside her ear.
“You think you can be near me for thirty days?” he whispered roughly, and Iris almost lost her balance.
His hand ghosted around her waist, causing her to shiver again.
“Do you plan to ruin me, Your Grace?” she asked haughtily.
He released her immediately.
“Quite the opposite, actually,” he said cockily.
Two can play that game.
“You plan to marry me then?” Iris shot back dryly.
She almost laughed at his surprised expression.
“I plan to pleasure you if that is what you desire.” He leaned closer to her.
Iris looked at him with panic-stricken eyes.
She placed her palms on his chest to stop him from drawing closer to her again because she could not trust herself, and she whispered, “All I want is to be the one to repair this house. I want to finish what I started. And after that…” She swallowed as she looked at his tempting lips. “I promise that I will leave.”
Blaise froze and stared at her in awe. He exhaled slowly, and she felt his muscles coil under her palm.
Perhaps touching him was a mistake.
“Why would you want to prove your worth through suffering?” he raised a dark brow at her.
Iris let out a dry laugh. “This is far from suffering for me. You would not understand.”
But the duke’s eyes held an understanding there, which Iris brushed off as pure imagination.
“Will repairing this house prove something?” This time, he seemed genuinely curious.
“It will,” she said, without thinking.
“To whom?” he asked. “To me? To society? To your dead husband? To yourself?”
Iris flinched and backed away from him.
“Iris,” His Grace called her name, but she looked away. “If I give you a month, what will I gain from this?”
She thought about it for a second until an idea struck her.
“I will help you find a bride.” The words escaped her lips before she could reconsider their madness.
Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears. She was breathless and felt far too bold for the woman who had spent seven years cloaked in widow’s black and quiet duty. Yet here she stood facing the Duke of Knoxford with her heart hammering against her ribs like a wild animal seeking escape.
The duke’s dark eyes narrowed before his scarred brow lifted in a mixture of surprise and unmistakable amusement. Although she backed away from him, the heat of his body still seeped through the thin fabric of her traveling gown and lingered deliciously.
“You?” he drawled, his voice laced with that wicked humor that both infuriated and thrilled her. “You will help me find a bride in one month? How invaluable you think your assistance is, Little Blossom. I assure you, I am quite capable of selecting a duchess without any aid.”
Heat flooded Iris’s cheeks, but she refused to look away from him this time.
I have to stand my ground.
“Not just any bride,” she pressed. “I will find someone who does not want you only for your money and your title. I will find someone who sees… you.” The admission slipped out softer than she intended, and she cursed the way her gaze drifted to the scar again, tracing its vicious path from brow to jaw.
She remembered that she had called him a murderer, yet even then, she could not imagine those hands committing such a betrayal.
His expression shifted, and something unreadable flickered across his features before that lazy smirk returned. He stepped further back just enough to give her breathing room, though the absence of his body felt like a sudden loss.
“The bride… is not even for me.”
Iris blinked back her surprise until the realization dawned on her.
“Then who—”
“The bride is for my nephew,” he cut her off.
His tone darkened with protectiveness. “The boy has been through enough without the weight of bastardy hanging over him like a noose. A suitable marriage will do him good. He will need a bride who will strengthen his position even without the title. It would probably help silence the whispers. It may be the only path to securing his future properly. I simply intend to see that my nephew is restored in every way that matters.”
Iris’s mind reeled, and she was unsure why she felt a sudden sense of relief. The man before her carried layers she had not begun to unravel. He was no simple duke who built pleasure rooms for sport; there was duty there for his illegitimate nephew, too.
His duty tangled with his pain. The realization softened her feelings toward him.
“I can still help you find a bride for your nephew. My sisters and I know the very best and proper young ladies in the ton.” Iris could not give up. She would do anything to finish what she had started.
“And that will benefit my nephew greatly. But I ask again, what will I gain from this? I need efficiency, remember?” he looked at her keenly.
Iris took a deep breath, and before she could temper the impulse, another offer spilled forth from her lips—a reckless and irreversible offer.
“I will let you take me to… that room.” She locked eyes with him as a wave of courage, which she had not known she possessed, crashed over her. “I will let you take me to your red room, Your Grace. I will let you do whatever you want with me.”
The air between them thickened with a tense silence. The duke went utterly still, his dark eyes sharpened in her direction. The scar seemed to pull tighter as his jaw clenched, and she watched the slow rise and fall of his chest as he processed her words.
“That,” he growled, and his voice sent shivers racing down her spine, “is a dangerous offer, especially for someone with so little experience.”
Iris swallowed hard, but her throat felt dry.
Am I certain about this?
The memory of the silk fabrics, the iron rings, and the sketches had made her body thrum with forbidden curiosity. She had spent years alone. Written off in a marriage that had ended before it truly began, untouched and aching in ways she had never named.
“It is true that I have no experience,” she admitted quietly, the confession hanging vulnerably between them.
“Your cousin… he died on our wedding night, as I am sure you have heard. But what the ton does not know is that he died before anything could happen. I am untouched, Your Grace. Completely untouched.”
An animalistic sound escaped him as the impact of her words visibly struck him. His eyes darkened to near black, and she saw the way his hands flexed at his sides, as though fighting the urge to reach for her.
“You have no idea what you are asking for, Iris,” he growled, stepping closer once more until the scent of him enveloped her. “I am not a gentle man in that room. I would ruin you thoroughly and show you pleasures that would leave you trembling and begging.”
She should have been terrified. Instead, a thrill coursed through her veins while hot liquid pooled between her thighs.
She never knew she had craved this danger until she met him.
Her nipples tightened painfully against her bodice, and she knew he could see the evidence of her arousal in the flush spreading across her skin.
“I told you that I am not afraid of you, Your Grace,” she said bravely with a lifted chin.
“Iris, if you are about to enter my red room, you have every right to call me by my name.”
He smirked and leaned closer to her until their lips were inches apart. Iris inhaled sharply.
“Go on, Little Blossom, say my name.” His voice was dangerously low, and it sent a shiver down her spine.
“Blaise,” she whispered his name almost pleadingly.
The duke grinned devilishly, and Iris gulped as his hand came up slowly. His fingers brushed her jaw, tilting her face up to his. The calluses on his fingertips scraped lightly against her soft skin, a reminder of the hard labor he had mentioned.
“Say it again,” he growled.
Iris’s body was drawn completely to him. She parted her lips, and his name escaped on a soft moan: “Blaise.”
Before she could form a thought, his mouth claimed hers. Blaise growled deeply when she kissed him back; the raw, animalistic sound vibrated through her chest and straight down to her core.
“Iris,” he rasped against her lips with barely leashed hunger. “You have no idea what you just offered me.”
Their lips clashed together again, and the kiss was anything but gentle.
All of Iris’s thoughts scattered as his taste filled her senses.
It was ravaging. His lips were firm and demanding, slanting over hers with a savage hunger that stole the air from her lungs and set her blood on fire.
Iris gasped into his mouth, and he seized the opening like a man starved, plunging his warm tongue inside to devour her with devastating thoroughness.
He tasted of smoke, sin, and wicked promises, stroking deep and possessively until her head spun.
One of his large hands fisted tightly in her hair, dislodging pins with rough urgency and sending curls tumbling wildly down her back.
The other gripped her waist hard enough to bruise, yanking her flush against his powerful body so she could feel every rigid inch of him.
His thick, insistent arousal pressed boldly against her belly, hot and heavy even through their clothes, grinding once with deliberate intent.
“Feel that?” he growled into her mouth. “That is what your innocent little offer does to me. You have one month, Little Blossom. One month until you will be screaming my name and begging for more.”
A needy whimper escaped her.
“Blaise, please,” she called out desperately.
“Yes, just like that, Iris,” he groaned and devoured her mouth again.
Iris needed more of him, but she was unsure what more meant.
All she knew was that this was exactly the thrill she had been craving.
His mouth moved with expert skill, nipping at her lower lip, the very one he had scolded her for biting, then soothing the sting with his tongue.
Heat spiraled through her, making her knees weak and her core clench with empty longing.
She clutched at his hair and his big, strong shoulders, fingers digging into the fine fabric of his coat as she surrendered to the dizzying sensation of being wanted so fiercely.
When they finally pulled back, they were both breathless.
“You taste just as I imagined.” He grazed his thumb over her wet lips and sucked on it as if he were savoring her.
Iris’s lips felt swollen, and her chest heaved as she stared up at him.
Blaise’s scar stood out starkly against the faint flush on his own cheeks; his dark curls were disheveled where her hands had gripped them.
He looked every inch the dangerous duke, yet there was a flicker of tenderness in his gaze.
“We have a deal, then.” his voice was rough with restraint.
“A deal?” Iris completely forgot what they were talking about.
Blaise chuckled. “Yes, Little Blossom, you get one month to say goodbye to this house, but… I will overlook everything.” He held a hand up to stop her from protesting.
“You will help me find a suitable bride for Marcus, someone with genuine character who is fitting to become a duchess. And at the end of the month... you will give yourself to me. Completely. In my room, under my terms.”
Iris nodded, unable to speak. Her mind was a whirlwind of desire and dread.
“Do we have a deal?” Blaise repeated as he stepped back fully from her, and she had the sudden urge to reach for him.
He straightened his coat with deliberate calm, though his eyes still burned right through her.
“Y… yes,” she stammered.
He nodded once.
“Enjoy your last night alone in Hentley House, Little Blossom,” he murmured, the endearment soft yet possessive. “Because I will return tomorrow, and every day after. This place will be filled with workmen and my presence, and I pray you do not think to run from it.”
He turned toward the door, but Iris stopped him. “Workmen?”
Blaise stopped and glanced back at her. “Yes, the men will be under your command, of course.”
Before she could respond, he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor until the house fell into a heavy silence once more.
Workmen? Under my command?
Iris sank into the chair he had vacated; her legs were no longer steady. She had been fixing one thing at a time in Hentley House and never imagined fixing it all at once.
She pressed trembling fingers to her swollen lips, replaying every moment. She had made the offer to buy herself time and to delay the inevitable displacement. But after that kiss, the bargain felt less like a desperate plea and more like a promise she desperately wanted to keep.
What could he do to me in that room?
The images from his sketchbook flashed through her mind: arched backs, parted thighs, and surrendering women sketched in exquisite lines. Her body throbbed at the thought. Surely, she would not go through with it.
Rising on unsteady legs, Iris made her way to her chamber. Tomorrow, the duke would return, and everything would change, including her.
Iris pressed her palms to her eyes and groaned softly.
“God, have I struck a deal with the devil?”