by Anna Bradley
Iris sighed. Dear God, what a muddle. “Love is dreadful, isn’t it?”
Violet dragged her sleeve across her eyes, then managed a watery smile. “I’ll take care to avoid it from now on, yes. I never planned to marry anyway, as you know. Why, in another month or so I won’t even recall what I saw in Lord Derrick and will be quite reconciled to my original plan of becoming London’s most infamous bluestocking spinster.”
“Oh, dear. Grandmother won’t like that.”
“No, it’ll drive her mad, I’m afraid. Hyacinth will have to land a duke to make up for our shortcomings.”
Between Violet’s disappointment and her own, Iris’s heart was battered beyond repair, but she could see her sister was attempting to put a brave face on it, so she forced a smile. “Come, Violet. I’ve lingered in my bedchamber long enough, and I think we’d both benefit from some fresh air. Let’s go for a ride in Richmond Park.”
Violet brightened a little. “Yes, all right. I’ll change into my riding habit, and meet you downstairs.”
Before Violet could move, however, their grandmother hobbled over the threshold, and pointed her cane at Iris. “Well, miss, I’m pleased to see you’ve put aside this foolishness and risen from you bed at last.”
As far as Lady Chase’s rebukes went, it was a mild one. Their grandmother wasn’t known for forbearance, but ever since Iris had returned from Hadley House and confessed to the disaster she’d made of her courtship with Finn, the old woman had shown remarkable restraint.
Violet gave her grandmother a cautious smile. “We thought we’d take a ride in Richmond Park this afternoon.”
“No, no, that won’t do, I’m afraid. Iris has a visitor waiting for her in the drawing room.” Lady Chase swept a shrewd gaze over Iris, and her lips pinched together with displeasure at what she saw. “You look a perfect fright. Brush your hair and wash your face before you go down, Iris, and for pity’s sake, change that gown.”
With that she hobbled back out the door, leaving Iris and Violet staring at each other.
“A visitor?” Iris’s heart began to race in her chest. “Do you suppose…could it be Lord Huntington?”
Violet gave Iris a gentle push toward the washbasin. “I don’t know, but I hope so. Quickly, Iris. Wash your face, and I’ll help you with your gown and hair.”
By the time Violet had fussed and brushed and smoothed her into ladylike respectability, Iris was so breathless with nerves and anticipation her knees felt as if they would collapse beneath her. She stood outside the closed drawing room door for a moment with her palm pressed to her stomach to calm the flock of birds that had taken up residence under her ribs, then took a deep breath, grasped the knob with damp fingers, and pushed the door open.
And when she saw who it was, her heart plummeted right down into her slippers.
“Ah, Iris. How do you do? Your grandmother tells me you’re out of sorts, so I’ve come to take you for a drive in my carriage.”
“Lady Annabel.” Iris tried to force a smile onto her stiff lips. “I—that’s very kind of you. It’s lovely to see you again.”
“Is it, indeed? But you look a trifle disappointed, though of course I can’t imagine why you would be. Did you expect someone else? No, I can only suppose your grandmother is right, and you’re suffering from low spirits. Well, come along then. Fresh air will cheer you.”
Iris was quite sure nothing less than a handsome, hazel-eyed marquess would ever cheer her again, but one didn’t argue with Lady Annabel, particularly not when she had such a determined gleam in her eyes.
“There now. This is lovely, isn’t it?” Lady Annabel asked, when they were seated in her phaeton and she’d taken the ribbons. “Well, Iris. Lady Chase despises me, as you know, and yet she put aside her dislike and asked me to call on you, and now I see why. You look unlike yourself—so pale and dispirited. Is something troubling you?”
Iris plucked at her skirts. She hadn’t lived up to Lady Annabel’s faith in her, and now she could hardly look her friend in the eye.
“Iris?”
If she said Finn’s name she’d burst into tears, so Iris didn’t say it. “Have you had any news from Charlotte, Lady Annabel? I’ve expected to hear from her every day since my return to London. She said she’d write to tell me how Chaos did, but she hasn’t. I think Captain West must not have been able to save him, and Charlotte doesn’t want to tell me.”
Despite her vow to avoid another bout of pathetic sniveling, tears flooded Iris’s eyes. She couldn’t think of that race, or of Chaos, without a rush of unspeakable grief.
“Now, Iris. Why do you assume the worst has happened? Perhaps it’s not what you think at all.”
Iris didn’t argue, but stared sightlessly ahead and watched one street blur into the next as Lady Annabel guided the phaeton through London.
“What of Lord Huntington?” Lady Annabel asked, after they’d driven for a while in silence. “Has he called on you since his return to London?”
“Lord Huntington is back in London?” For one moment Iris’s heart burst with hope, only to be dashed again when it occurred to her Finn hadn’t called on her. “When did he return?”
“Just last night. No doubt he hasn’t had a chance to call on you yet, but no matter. We’re very near Grosvenor Square, so we’ll just call on him, shall we?”
“What? No, my lady! He won’t want…I don’t think he wishes to see…that is, it isn’t proper for me to call on a gentleman!”
Considering what else she’d done with Finn, propriety was a thin excuse indeed, but Iris clung to it with both hands. What if she appeared on his doorstep, and he refused to see her? Her heart wouldn’t survive the blow if he sent her away—
“Proper?” Lady Annabel waved that away with a tinkling laugh and turned onto Brook Street, where Finn kept a handsome townhouse at the north end of Grosvenor Square. “Oh, what nonsense. I’m certain he’ll be pleased to see you.”
Panic seized Iris, and she gripped Lady Annabel’s arm. “He won’t be, Lady Annabel. I left him in Hampshire without a word of explanation. I don’t know that he’ll ever forgive me.”
“Why not beg his pardon and see? Ah, here he is.”
Iris mouth went dry. Dear God, Finn was standing in the drive watching the phaeton approach, an indecipherable expression on his stern face.
Iris fell back against her seat as every hope of escape evaporated.
“Lord Huntington—how convenient we should find you right here, waiting. I’ve brought you Miss Somerset, as promised. Do hand her down, won’t you? She looks a trifle unsteady.”
Finn’s large hand enveloped Iris’s, and he helped her to alight. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her since he sighted the carriage, but now he tore his gaze away to bow to Lady Annabel. “Thank you, my lady. You’re very kind to bring her to me.”
Lady Annabel raised an eyebrow at that. “I assure you, I’m not kind in the least. I do this for my own amusement only.” She set the horse in motion with a practiced flick of the reins, and disappeared down Brook Street.
Iris and Finn stood in silence for long moments, staring at each other, until at last Finn cleared his throat. “I hope you’ll forgive me for bringing you to Grosvenor Square. The proper thing would be for me to call on you at your grandmother’s house, but I, ah…I have something to show you I hope will please you.”
Iris’s throat worked. Oh, how she wanted to tell him she was pleased already—pleased to be near him, to inhale his clean scent and look into the beautiful hazel eyes she’d dreamed about every night since she’d left him, but a tight ball of emotion welled in her throat, and she could only nod.
He flushed a little when she didn’t answer, and an anxious frown crossed his lips, but he held out his arm to her. “It’s just this way.”
Iris slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, her breath catching at the familiar feel
of his muscled forearm flexing under her fingertips, and let him lead her through a garden still scented with lavender, despite the lateness of the season.
He didn’t pause, but led her through the garden to the mews behind the house and into a spacious stable with a grand, wood-timbered ceiling.
“My lord?”
Iris searched Finn’s face in the dim light, but he only tucked her arm closer against his side and led her down a long central corridor, past rows upon rows of stalls.
At last he came to a halt at the last stall on the left.
“He’s not fully healed,” he said in a rush. “His leg is fragile still, but the gash has closed, and there’s no longer any risk of infection.”
Iris peered into the stall, and for the second time that day, her knees went so weak they threatened to buckle.
Chaos. Finn had brought Chaos to her.
She tried to speak, but all she could manage was a choked gasp as she raised her shaking hand to cover her mouth.
The horse’s sleek gray coat had been brushed to a glossy shine, and his liquid black eyes were as clear and alert as Iris remembered. As soon as he saw her he whinnied impatiently, as if he were scolding her for taking so long to come to him.
“Captain West said the bone is mending much faster than he expected.” Finn shifted from one foot to the other, his uncertain gaze fixed on Iris. “There’s quite a lot that can be done for a fractured cannon bone, it turns out, if one has the patience to see it through.”
She remained silent, still too overcome to speak, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. This was the reason Finn hadn’t returned to London at once. He’d stayed in Hampshire with Chaos, to heal the horse and save him from having to be shot.
He’d done it for her.
“It was a neat trick getting him here from Hampshire without putting any strain on his leg. Have you ever seen a horse van?” The words began to tumble faster and faster from Finn’s mouth when she still didn’t speak. “The famous racehorse Sovereign was brought to Newmarket Racecourse in one last year, and Captain West suggested we try the same with Chaos. It took five days to get from Winchester to London, but you see how fit he is, even after such a long journey…”
He trailed off into an awkward silence, and it was then Iris realized he was nervous. Lord Huntington, the grand marquess, the quintessential English gentleman, was nervous, because he wanted so badly to please her.
And after all, he wasn’t Lord Huntington, was he? Not to Iris. To her, he was Finn, the man she loved, who’d given her the most precious gift she could ever hope to receive.
Himself.
“We’ll have to be careful with him for the next several months, but after that you’ll be able to fly over the ground on his back through Richmond Park, just as you told me you always wanted to.”
Iris gazed up at him, still too dazed to speak. What could she say? How could she ever put into words what this meant to her?
“Iris.” Finn’s tone was pleading. “Say something, sweetheart.”
“I—he’s…this is…” She curled her fingers into his waistcoat and buried her face against his chest as her breath caught on another sob. “There’s nothing you could have done that would mean more to me than this.”
He groaned as his arms closed around her. “I’m so sorry, sweet. That day, in Lady Hadley’s drawing room…I want you to know I never doubted you, Iris. I turned away from you because I doubted myself. It’s haunted me, the sadness on your face that day, and the way I let you leave. I never should have—”
“Shhh.” She touched her fingertips to his lips to hush him. “I turned away from you, too. I left Hampshire without a word, and I’ve regretted it every single day since. What you’ve done for me…” She gestured helplessly at Chaos as she struggled to find the words. “The two gentlemen I love more than anything else are here with me, and I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
He clasped her face in his hands and took her lips in a passionate kiss that left them both breathless.
“I can think of one more thing to ask for,” he said, when he’d eased her away at last.
“Oh? Do you want me to read the rest of School of Venus to you?”
His eyes darkened, and he let out a husky laugh. “Two things, then.”
She traced his lips with a gentle finger, then pressed a kiss to the dimple on his chin. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you, Finn.”
His forehead touched hers. “I love you, Iris. I want you to be mine.”
His. Not just a wife, and not just the Marchioness of Huntington, but his.
Iris rose onto her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I already am.”
Epilogue
Three months later.
“If you don’t stop that at once, my lord, you’ll make me fall, and then you’ll be sorry, indeed.”
Despite Iris’s protests, Finn’s hands strayed further under her skirts, his warm palms sliding from her ankles up to her calves. “If you fall I’ll catch you, sweet, and once I have you in my arms, neither of us will be sorry.”
Iris wobbled on the library ladder, a little cry escaping her lips as his teasing fingers inched up the backs of her thighs. “If you’d just give me a moment I’ll come down, and—Finn!”
“Hmm?”
“Did you just untie one of my garters?”
He let out a husky chuckle as his deft fingers plucked at the second bow. “It was an accident. Both times.”
Iris craned her neck to glare over her shoulder at her husband, but as soon as his playful eyes met hers, her frown dissolved into a smile. Goodness, he was handsome, and he looked so much like a mischievous little boy it was impossible for her to stay cross with him.
“You’re very wicked, Lord Huntington, and nothing at all like the scrupulously proper marquess I was led to believe I was marrying. Now, if you’ll only behave for a moment, I’ll come down, and I’ll bring you something you’ll like.”
“I’d like a number of things right now,” Finn murmured as he tossed aside her garter and teased her stocking down her leg. “And a book isn’t one of them.”
“That depends on the book. Under certain circumstances, I’ve known you to be quite fond of reading.” Iris tucked a large, heavy book she’d pulled from the shelves under her arm, then stood on her tiptoes and stretched to reach a small tome half-hidden between two much taller volumes. “Ah. There it is! All right, I’ve got it. Will you help me down now?”
Finn wrapped firm hands around her waist and lifted her from the top rung of the library ladder and into his arms. “I missed you this afternoon.” He cradled her against his chest and nuzzled his face into the loose hair at her temple with a soft groan. “Good Lord, you smell good. You’re the only woman in England who still smells of jasmine after hours in a dusty library.”
Iris slid her arms around his neck as he crossed the room and sat in one of the large sofas in front of the fire. She brushed a lock of silky hair away from his forehead and settled herself on his lap. “How was your ride today? Does Chaos continue to mend?”
She usually took Chaos out herself each afternoon, but the sky was overcast this morning, and her husband had objected to her riding in the rain. On any other day Iris would have balked at his high-handedness, but this time she hadn’t argued with him, and as it happened, Finn and Chaos had been caught in a cold, relentless drizzle.
“He’s as fit as I’ve ever seen him. It’s remarkable, really. You’d never know he’d been injured. I think we should go easy with him for another month, just to be sure, but after that…” He tugged gently at one of her curls. “You can ride him like a hellion all over Richmond Park if you like.”
A tiny, secret smile curled Iris’s lips. There wouldn’t be any wild rides for her for quite a few months to come. “I’m afraid you must have been soaked when you returned.”
Iris caught her breath at the tantalizing caress. “You’re already warm.”
He caught her earlobe between his teeth, tickling it with his tongue before he dropped a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her neck. “I intend to be warmer still, and you, sweet, will be wet—what the devil is that?”
He’d eased back against the sofa and grasped her hips to pull her on top of him, but now he jerked back up again and reached behind him. “A Genuine Narrative of All the Street Robberies?” He held up the book, a blank look on his face. “You thought this was something I’d like? An account of crimes in the London streets by…” He flipped to the title page. “James Dalton, prisoner at Newgate?”
“No, that one isn’t for you. It’s for Violet.”
“Violet?” Finn’s brows drew together in a frown. “Is she plotting a crime?”
“No, no. Of course not. She, ah…well, I suppose you may as well know. Violet’s writing a book.”
Finn raised an eyebrow. “What kind of book requires a study of criminal activity in London?”
“Well, it’s a bit difficult to explain. She calls it A Treatise on London for Bluestockings. Or is it A Treatise on London for Adventuresses? I can’t recall which, because she keeps changing her mind. The book is filled with stories, drawings and research about London for curious ladies, or any young lady who prefer books to ballrooms, and wishes to explore beyond the boundaries of Almack’s. She has an entire chapter on ghost sightings. It’s really quite clever.”
Finn stared down at the book in his hand, then back at Iris. “Good Lord. Lady Chase approves of this?”
“Well…”
“Iris,” Finn said in a warning tone. “You aren’t encouraging Violet to deceive your grandmother, are you?”
