Chapter 26
“Ihad almost forgotten,” Blaise murmured into Iris’s ear as the muffled roar of the house returned gradually.
She stirred next to him, and his body immediately reacted.
“Forgotten what?” Iris murmured sleepily.
Her back was pressed against his chest as they rested on the chaise, and Blaise noticed how her body curled perfectly into his, how her hands were soft against his rough palms, and how he enjoyed watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
“It seems we have both forgotten that I have a house full of guests,” he said as his lips curled into a sly smile when Iris gasped. “I have a ball in progress. A nephew whose marriage prospects I must arrange by tonight. And instead, I am here, corrupting a proper widow in an improper room.”
Iris laughed, and his breath caught as the sound filled the room. “There was no corruption here. I agreed… and quite enthusiastically too.”
Blaise placed his lips against her neck and felt her slowly surrender to him again. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
The words escaped his lips before he could stop them.
Iris turned towards him. She looked dazed, and her skin glowed under the moonlight.
“I believe I do,” she whispered.
Blaise did not expect a woman with a sharp tongue and a deep, unsated hunger to undo him.
Iris made him question everything, unsettling and exciting him at the same time.
He should let go of her and go back to his duties.
But instead, he tightened his arm around her and breathed her scent in.
Her fingers lifted and closed lightly around his wrist, causing his chest to ache.
Blaise watched as her gaze dropped to his hand, up his arm to his jaw. Slowly, she traced his scar with her gentle fingertips.
He went still.
“I have not asked how it happened.”
“Most people prefer to invent their own versions,” he said lightly, although the whispers still taunted him. “I once heard that it was a jealous husband.”
Her mouth twitched. “And was it a jealous husband who did this to you?”
“No, I have no luck with jealous husbands.” He considered telling the truth and, without hesitation, said, “It was a boar.”
Iris shifted, leaning on her elbow, and she looked down at him. The intimacy made him want to kiss her again.
“A boar attacked you?” Blaise could see that she believed him. “Were you hunting when it happened?”
“I was,” he said. “My brother and I were hunting together.” His eyes unfocused with memories of earth and bracken rising like smoke.
Understanding flooded Iris’s amber eyes as she continued to stroke his scar.
“I had just told Benjamin something he did not want to hear,” Blaise continued. “About Marcus.”
“And then what happened?” Iris asked gently.
“Benjamin was on a rant when a wild boar snuck up behind him. We were both so lost in our anger that we had not seen it. We tried to remain calm, but when Benjamin reached for his gun, the beast charged.”
Iris gasped, her hand still on his scar, and Blaise grabbed onto her wrist as he relived the moment.
“I wrestled the boar, earned this nasty scar, and managed to kill it. But I could not save my brother. It had already punctured him before I charged.” His throat closed as he forced the words out.
“You tried to save him,” she said quietly.
Heat prickled behind his eyes, and he swallowed.
“But I did not. You did not see him, Iris. I told him Marcus was ill, and it was like he had been dead for years and suddenly woke up. Then the boar appeared and—” His voice broke. “I should not have taken him hunting.”
Iris slid her delicate fingers into his hair. “Blaise, you did not push him in front of the beast.”
“No. I only—”
“—tried to help,” she finished for him.
Blaise laughed bitterly, remembering his cousin’s accusations about how he liked to play God.
“That is my sin, then? Always trying to help?”
“It is not a sin,” she said simply. “And it is not your burden to carry, just as you said; my father’s mistakes were not my burden.”
Blaise studied her a moment.
She continued gently, “I believed for seven years that if I suffered quietly, paid every debt myself, and never asked for help, then I might redeem my family’s misfortunes.
I believed my worth was how much I could carry without breaking, and if I were a spotless little angel,” her smile turned wry—“someone might finally see me.”
His breath left him. “Iris…”
“I recognize the same sense of martyrdom in you. You think if you fix everything, you will finally be worthy.” Color rose in her cheeks. “And you did fix something. You helped me let go. You cannot know what that means, and I truly appreciate it. Thank you, Blaise.”
Blaise felt odd as Iris spoke. It was as if she were saying goodbye, and he was not ready to let go.
“Iris, you trusted me. I should be thanking you.” His hand cupped her neck as his thumb brushed her hair away. He resisted pulling her close and kissing her again.
“Let me keep helping you,” he said softly. “It would be a tragedy to stop now.”
“Blaise,” she moaned his name softly.
Her lips parted for a moment, and Blaise thought she might laugh, but instead, she slid from his arm and began to sit up.
The warmth from her languid body left him.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
She braced herself on his chest. The contact made his pulse jump.
“Getting dressed,” she said.
He stared at her pale back, the loosened laces of her corset, the sheer chemise clinging to her spine. “Why? Did you not say—”
“I did,” she said, reaching for her stays. Her fingers fumbled the laces before finding the rhythm. Her movements were too careful.
“Stay. No one will come. They do not know this room exists.”
Although he wished he had made love to her in the privacy of his chamber.
“Blaise.” She looked over her shoulder, and the moonlight traced her profile, her flush on her cheeks, and her teeth biting her lip briefly.
“I chose you to help me live again and to stop my shame from holding me. You understand that. But you are the kind of man who has a room like this.” Her gaze flicked to the cuffs, bed rings, and the drawer with his sketchbook.
“You are not the kind of man who becomes a husband, right?”
Blaise looked into her hopeful eyes, and he knew the answer she wanted to hear, but the words refused to leave his mouth.
“I can marry,” he said stiffly. “In the abstract.”
“Do not mock me.”
“I am not. I am just questioning your certainty.”
Blaise could marry her and make her a duchess.
But he saw Marcus in his mind, Benjamin’s ghost behind him, and the ticking lawsuit from Daniel that could strip Marcus of everything.
He did not want the title or responsibilities.
But they were his, and he could not toss them aside for a woman with stubborn pride who made him feel alive.
“You are right,” he eventually said bitterly. “I am not the kind of man who marries. Not now.”
Her shoulders sagged, and Blaise felt all wrong. Hurting her was not on his agenda at all.
Iris nodded sharply. “Then you understand why I must dress and take my leave.”
“We can continue as we are,” Blaise said too quickly. “No one needs to know, and I will protect your reputation. I swear I will protect you.”
He meant every word. His desire to protect her already felt too fierce to contain.
Iris tightened her laces and began pinning her hair. Blaise felt a surge of panic, and he did not understand why. He was usually the one dressing up and leaving, but to be on the other end left him wounded.
“It is too risky, Blaise.” She broke the tense silence. “I cannot maintain that sort of relationship, and I do not want to.”
“What do you want, Iris?” Blaise got up and stood stark naked in front of her.
Her eyes traveled the length of his body.
“I want stability and a home.”
He wanted to argue, but her words settled heavily. Blaise simply could not imagine himself as a husband.
Iris breathed deeply, then straightened. “I will leave Hentley House. Your house. It is no longer mine, and I will go somewhere new. Somewhere I can build a home without ghosts.”
“Do not be absurd,” he snapped. “You do not need to leave. Marcus does not want it, anyhow.”
“Neither do I.”
Blaise frowned in confusion as he began to get dressed, too. “But you fought so hard for that house. Is this about the ton’s gossip? That will eventually die away, Iris.”
Iris laughed softly.
“It has been seven years, Blaise, and the gossip continues. I am sorry,” she said sadly. “I am truly grateful. You have given me more than you know. But I must walk on my own, even if I stumble. And I have not forgotten about finding a wife for Marcus, too.”
He had to admit to himself that he was completely intrigued by her.
“You would still help me?”
Iris was almost fully clothed. “Yes, although I suggest you let your nephew make his own decisions.”
“That’s how you end up with the wrong wife,” Blaise said tightly. “Or none at all.”
“Or the right one, by accident,” she countered. “You cannot control everything, Blaise. If you try, you will lose everyone, including yourself.”
Her words hit hard like a stone wall.
“If you wish,” she said. “I gave my word. I will make inquiries and introductions. I will say the Duke of Knoxford’s nephew is virtuous.”
“Liar.”
Her eyes warmed. “Maybe I will say he has potential if annoyed enough.”
“That is much better.” Blaise chuckled.
Watching her get dressed felt wrong. It was like an offense against some law he did not know he believed in. Iris turned to him, looking composed and impeccable.
Perfect Little Blossom.
Only he knew the marks his hands and mouth left, hidden beneath fabric. Only he knew how she had sounded calling his name, completely uncomposed.
“Thank you,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.
“Do not thank me as if I lent you a book.” The words came out colder than expected.
“If you tire of playing God, remember you can ask for help.” Iris stood up straight, dusted her skirt, and walked toward the door.
Blaise said nothing, although he wanted to stop her and keep her wrapped up in his arms forever.
Instead, he bowed his head in surrender. “I cannot stop you.”
Iris looked back briefly, and Blaise sought to memorize every line and shade in her amber eyes. He truly did not understand her urgency to leave him, but he was not one to ask questions.
“I know. Goodbye, Blaise.” She opened the door, slipped into the dim passage, and closed it with a quiet click.