by Julia Quinn
Calming. But he was not calm, not by any stretch.
“I cannot help you if you will not speak to me,” he said, his voice tightly controlled.
No response.
He had half a mind to head down to the library, where he could access the secret staircase that led to her room. But knowing Fleur, she would have already thought of that. It wouldn’t be the first time she dragged her vanity table in front of the hidden door to block access. Besides, she’d know what he was about the instant he abandoned his current post.
“Fleur!” he yelled, slamming the door with the flat of his hand. It stung, and he swore viciously. “I will saw off the bloody doorknob!”
Again, nothing.
“I will do it!” he bellowed. “Do not think I won’t!”
Silence.
Richard closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He was appalled at what he’d been reduced to, screaming like a madman outside his sister’s bedroom door. He didn’t even want to think about what the servants were saying below-stairs. They had to know something was amiss; no doubt each would have his own lurid theory.
He didn’t care, just as long as no one guessed the truth.
Or rather, what would be the truth.
He hated himself for what had to happen. But what else could he do? When his father had died, he had been entrusted with the care and well-being of his sisters. He was only trying to protect her. And Marie-Claire. Was she really so selfish that she could not see that?
“Richard?”
He nearly jumped a foot. Iris had sneaked up on him while his eyes were closed.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a quiet voice. “I did not mean to give you a fright.”
He choked back irrational laughter. “You’re the least frightening thing in the house, I assure you.”
Wisely, she did not respond.
But her presence made him only more determined to speak to his sister. “Forgive me,” he said to his wife, then once again bellowed, “Fleur!” He pounded on the door so hard, the wall shook. “God help me, I will kick this door down!”
“Before or after you saw off the doorknob?” came Fleur’s taunting response.
He ground his teeth together, taking a shuddering breath through his nose. “Fleur!”
Iris laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Can I be of help?”
“It’s a family matter,” he bit off.
She drew her hand back, and then she drew her body back. “Forgive me,” she said sharply. “I thought I was family.”
“You met her three minutes ago,” he snapped. It was a cruel comment, and completely uncalled for, but he was so furious just then, he couldn’t possibly temper his words.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Iris said haughtily. “Since you’re managing so well.”
“You know nothing about this.”
Her eyes narrowed. “A fact of which I am quite aware.”
Dear God, he couldn’t fight both of them right now. “Please,” he said to her, “try to be reasonable.”
Which was always the wrong thing to say to a woman.
“Reasonable?” she demanded. “You want me to be reasonable? After everything that has happened in the last fortnight, it’s a wonder I am even sentient!”
“Hyperbole, Iris?”
“Do not patronize me,” she hissed.
He did not bother to contradict.
Her eyes blazing, she stepped forward, almost close enough to touch. “First you drag me into a marriage—”
“I did not drag you.”
“You might as well have done.”
“You weren’t complaining two days ago.”
She flinched.
He knew he had gone too far, but he’d lost all of his reserves. He didn’t know how to stop now. He moved closer, but she did not budge an inch. “For better or for worse, you are my wife.”
Time seemed to stop. Iris’s jaw clenched with the effort of containing her rage, and Richard could not take his eyes off her mouth, pink and lush. He knew what she tasted like now. He knew it as well as he knew his own breath.
With a curse, he jerked his head and turned away. What sort of monster was he? In the middle of all this, all he could think of was kissing her.
Consuming her.
Making love to her before she despised him.
“I want to know what is going on,” Iris said, her voice clipped with fury.
“Right now I must deal with my sister,” he said.
“No, right now you will tell me—”
He cut her off. “I will tell you what you need to know when you need to know it.”
Which would probably be in the next few minutes, assuming Fleur ever opened her damned door.
“This has something to do with why you married me, doesn’t it?” Iris said.
He turned sharply to face her. She was pale, even paler than normal, but her eyes were blazing.
He couldn’t lie to her any longer. Maybe he wasn’t ready to tell her the truth, but he couldn’t lie.
“Fleur!” he bellowed. “Open the damn—”
The door slammed open, and there she was, wild-eyed and shaking with fury. Richard had never seen his sister thus. Her dark hair had come half-loose from its pins and was sticking out at odd angles. Her cheeks were high with color.
What happened to the sweet, biddable sister he’d once known? He’d sat through tea parties with her, for God’s sake.
“You wished to speak with me?” Fleur voice’s dripped with disdain.
“Not in the hall,” he said viciously, grabbing her arm. He tried to pull her into the bedchamber she shared with Marie-Claire, but she dug in her heels.
“She comes, too,” she said, jerking her head toward Iris.
“She has a name,” Richard ground out.
“So sorry.” Fleur turned to Iris and batted her lashes. “Lady Kenworthy, your presence is humbly requested.”
Richard saw red. “Do not speak to her in that tone of voice.”
“How do mean, like she’s family?”
Richard did not trust himself to speak. Instead he hauled his sister back into her room. Iris followed, although she did not look convinced that she was doing the right thing.
“We’re going to be very close, I know,” Fleur said to Iris, her smile sickeningly sweet. “You have no idea how close.”
Iris eyed her with well-deserved apprehension. “Perhaps I should come anoth—”
“Oh, no,” Fleur cut in. “You should stay.”
“Close the door,” Richard ordered.
Iris did so, and he tightened his grip on Fleur, trying to pull her farther into the room.
“Let go of me,” Fleur hissed, trying to shake him off.
“Will you be reasonable?”
“I have never been unreasonable,” she shot back.
That was open to debate, but he released her arm. He despised the madman she was turning him into.
But then Fleur whipped around to face Iris, her eyes glittering dangerously. “Did Richard tell you about me?”
Iris did not reply immediately. She swallowed, the motion shuddering down her delicate throat, and her eyes flicked to Richard’s before she finally said, “Some.”
“Just some?” Fleur looked over at Richard, one brow curved in a sardonic arch. “You omitted all the good parts, didn’t you?”
“Fleur . . .” he said warningly.
But Fleur had already returned her attention to Iris. “By any chance, did my brother happen to tell you that I’m pregnant?”
Richard felt his heart drop. He shot a desperate look at Iris. She’d gone positively bloodless. He wanted to go to her, to hold her and protect her, but he knew the only thing she needed protection from was him.
“I’ll be showing soon,” Fleur said, her voice a mockery of decorum. She smoothed her dress down over her body, pressing the pale pink fabric against her belly. “Won’t that be a lark?”
“For the love of God, Fleur,” Richard s
pat, “have you no tact?”
“None,” Fleur said unrepentantly. “I’m a fallen woman now.”
“Don’t say that,” Richard bit off.
“Why not? It’s true.” Fleur turned to Iris. “You wouldn’t have married him if you’d known about his wretched ruined sister, now would you?”
Iris was shaking her head, little movements back and forth as if she could not recognize her own thoughts. “Did you know this?” she asked him. She held up a hand, almost as if to ward him off. “No, of course you did.”
Richard stepped forward, trying to meet her eyes. “Iris, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“I’m sure we can come up with a solution,” Iris said, her voice taking on a strange, almost frantic tinge. She looked at Fleur, she looked at the wardrobe, she looked anywhere but at her husband. “It’s not a good situation, to be sure, but you’re not the first young lady to find herself like this, and—”
“Iris,” Richard said quietly.
“You have the support of your family,” she told Fleur. “Your brother loves you. I know he does, and you do, too. We’ll think of something. There’s always something.”
He spoke again. “I’ve already thought of something, Iris.”
Finally, she looked at him.
She whispered, “Why did you marry me, Richard?”
It was time to tell the truth.
“You will pretend to be pregnant, Iris. And we will raise Fleur’s baby as our legitimate child.”
Chapter Nineteen
IRIS STARED AT her husband with mounting disbelief. Surely he did not mean . . . He would never . . .
“No,” she said. No, she wouldn’t do this. No, he couldn’t possibly be asking it of her.
“I’m afraid you have no choice,” Richard said grimly.
She gaped at him. “I have no choice?”
“If we do not do this, Fleur will be ruined.”
“I think she’s already managed that quite well herself,” Iris snapped before she could even think of tempering her words.
Fleur let out a bark of harsh laughter, looking almost amused at Iris’s insult, but Richard stepped forward with a hot look in his eyes, and warned, “You are speaking of my sister.”
“And you are speaking to your wife!” Iris cried. Horrified by the agonized catch in her voice, she clapped her hand to her mouth and twisted away. She could not look at his face. Not right now.
She’d known he was hiding something. Even as she was falling in love and trying to convince herself it was all in her head, she had known there had to be a reason behind their hasty marriage. But she had never imagined something like this. She could never have imagined it.
It was madness. Madness, and yet it explained everything. From the rushed wedding to his refusal to consummate the marriage . . . it all made perfect, hideous sense. No wonder he’d had to find a bride so quickly. And, of course, he could not risk getting Iris pregnant before Fleur had her baby. Iris would like to see him explain that.
As it was, they would have to claim that Iris delivered the child a month—or maybe even two months—early. And then, when the babe emerged perfectly healthy and large, everyone would assume it had been a forced marriage, that Richard had seduced her before the wedding.
Iris let out a harsh laugh. Dear God, nothing could be further from the truth.
“You find this funny?” Richard demanded.
She wrapped her arms around her body, trying to contain the painful bubble of hysteria ballooning within her. Turning around so that she could look straight at his face, she replied, “Not even one bit.”
He had the good sense not to ask for further clarification. Iris could only imagine the wild look in her eyes.
After a few moments, Richard cleared his throat, and said, “I realize that you have been put in a difficult situation . . .”
Difficult? Her jaw came unhinged. He wanted her to feign a pregnancy and then claim another woman’s child as her own? And he called that difficult?
“. . . but I think you will see that it is the only solution.”
No. She shook her head. “That cannot be possible. There must be some other way.”
“Do you really think I came to this decision lightly?” Richard said, his voice rising with temper. “Do you imagine I did not consider every possible alternative?”
Iris’s lungs grew tight, and she fought the need to suck in great big gulps of air. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely think. Who was this man? He’d been almost a stranger when they married, but she had thought he was at heart a good and honest person. She had let him kiss her in the most mortifyingly intimate way imaginable, and she did not even know him.
She’d thought she might even be falling in love.
And the worst part was, he could force her to do this. They both knew that. In marriage, the man’s word was law, and the woman’s lot was to obey. Oh, she could run to her parents, but they would just send her back to Maycliffe. They might be shocked, they might think Richard was mad to consider such a scheme, but in the end, they would tell her that he was her husband, and if this was his choice, she must go along with it.
“You deceived me,” she whispered. “You deliberately tricked me into marriage.”
“I am sorry.”
And he probably was, but that did not excuse him.
Then she asked the most terrifying question of all. “Why me?”
Richard blanched.
Iris felt her blood drain from her body, and she stumbled back, the force of his unsaid reply a punch to her gut. He didn’t need to say anything; the answer was right there on his face. Richard had chosen her because he could. Because he’d known that with her modest dowry and unremarkable looks she would not have suitors clamoring for her hand. A girl like her would be eager for marriage. A girl like her would never refuse a man like him.
Good Lord, had he researched her? Of course. He must have done. Why else would he have attended the Smythe-Smith musicale, if not to seek an introduction?
Winston Bevelstoke’s face suddenly flashed in her mind, his smile so practiced and suave as he introduced them. Had he helped Richard to choose a bride?
Iris nearly choked with the horror of it. Richard must have asked his friends to draw up lists of the most desperate women in London. And she had topped the charts.
She had been judged. And she had been pitied.
“You have humiliated me,” she said, barely able to find her voice.
No one would call Sir Richard Kenworthy a fool. He had known exactly what he needed in a bride—someone so pathetic and grateful for a marriage proposal that she’d roll over and say yes, please when he finally revealed the truth.
That was what he thought of her.
Iris gasped, clapping her hand to her mouth to stifle the cry that rose from her throat.
Fleur regarded her with a disconcertingly steady gaze before saying to Richard, “You really should have told her the truth before you asked her to marry you.”
“Shut up,” he snarled.
“Don’t tell her to shut up,” Iris snapped.
“Oh, now you’re on her side?”
“Well, nobody seems to be on mine.”
“You should know that I have told him I will not agree to the scheme,” Fleur said.
Iris turned to look at her, to really look at her for the first time that afternoon, to try to see something beyond the petulant, hysterical girl who’d stepped down from the carriage. “Are you mad?” she demanded. “What do you propose to do? Who is the baby’s father?”
“It’s obviously no one you know,” Fleur snapped.
“The younger son of a local baron,” Richard said in a flat voice. “He seduced her.”
Iris whirled to face him. “Well, then, why don’t you force him to marry her?”
“He’s dead,” he replied.
“Oh.” Iris felt as if she’d been punched. “Oh.” She looked at Fleur. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m no
t,” Richard said.
Iris’s eyes widened with shock.
“His name was William Parnell,” he spat. “He was a bastard. Always has been.”
“What happened?” Iris asked, not sure that she wanted to know.
Richard glanced over at her with an arched brow. “He fell over the side of a balcony, drunk and waving a pistol. It’s a miracle no one was shot.”
“Were you there?” Iris whispered. Because she had the most awful feeling he might have had something to do with it.
“Of course not.” He looked at her with a disgusted expression. “There were a dozen witnesses. Including three prostitutes.”
Iris swallowed uncomfortably.
Richard’s face was a ravaged mask as he said, “I tell you this only so you will know what sort of man he was.”
Iris nodded dumbly. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to feel. After a few moments, she turned to Fleur—her new sister, she reminded herself—and took her hands. “I’m so sorry.” She swallowed, keeping her voice careful and soft. “Did he hurt you?”
Fleur turned away. “It was not like that.”
Richard lurched forward. “Do you mean to tell me you let—”
“Stop!” Iris cried out, yanking him back. “There is nothing to be gained by making accusations.”
Richard gave a curt nod, but he and Fleur continued to watch each other warily.
Iris swallowed. She hated to be insensitive, but she had no idea how far along Fleur was—her dress was loose enough to conceal an early pregnancy—and she rather thought they hadn’t many moments to spare.
“Is there another gentleman who will marry her?” she asked. “Someone who—”
“I’m not going to marry a stranger,” Fleur said hotly.
I did. The words came unbidden to Iris’s mind. Unbidden, but undeniably true.
Richard’s eyes made a disdainful roll. “I haven’t the money to buy her a husband, in any case.”
“Surely you could find someone—”
“Willing to take her babe as his heir, should it be a boy? That takes a hefty bribe indeed.”
“And yet you’re prepared to do it,” she stated.
