Chapter 3

" I ris Crampton, what have you gotten yourself into now?"

Iris couldn't help but ask the question out loud as she slipped out the door of her father's townhouse. It was ludicrous, really. After dressing in the simplest frock she could find and donning an old white cap she had secretly borrowed from her maid's bedroom, she had waited until noon, when her father typically took his nap, her sisters were at their pianoforte lessons, and the servants were having their lunch, before sneaking out of her bedroom. She went down the servants' stairs on tiptoe and then snuck out of the back of the house and out into the alleyway between the lanes.

"You've really lost your mind," she muttered to herself as she turned out of the alley and into Grosvenor Square.

At this time of day, the square was quiet. Most ladies slept late and were only breakfasting now. In an hour or two, they would call on friends and acquaintances, and the sidewalk would be busier. Iris would have to be back home before then. But even if someone were to see her, she doubted they would recognize her dressed as a servant. No one paid any attention to maids, especially when they would likely assume she was out on an errand.

This would have been so much faster with a carriage!

It wasn't a long walk to Berkeley Square, but she was nervous the whole way. Every time she passed someone, she kept her head down and skirted around them. In servants' clothes, however, no one looked twice at her, and soon, she had arrived safely at the Duke of Eavestone's townhouse.

Iris had never been to Eavestone House before, but she knew the address. Two years ago, she'd attended a ball at the Earl of Scrampton's house across the square. Lady Scrampton, after several glasses of champagne, had pointed out the Duke's house and stage-whispered that he was as terrifying in person as the scandal sheets insinuated.

Now, Iris hesitated before she knocked on the door. The Duke would not be expecting her, and from everything she'd heard, he could have a nasty temper. But she didn't know what choice she had, and so, steeling herself, she knocked sharply on the ornate front door.

Several long moments passed before the door creaked open. An aging butler appeared on the threshold, frowning down at her.

"Can I help you?" he inquired.

"I'm here to see His Grace," she announced. Her voice came out thin, and she cleared her throat and tried again. "Can you tell him that Miss Iris Crampton needs to speak to him urgently?" she demanded, handing him her calling card.

The butler's eyes widened, and his tone turned deferential. "Miss Crampton, this is highly irregular! You are without a chaperone, after all. His Grace will?—"

"Want to hear what I have to say." Iris fixed him with her most imperious look. "I demand to be taken to him at once."

The butler hesitated a moment longer, then ushered her inside, snapping the door shut behind her. He led her to a small receiving room.

"Please wait here, Miss Crampton," he murmured, before disappearing back into the hall.

Iris looked around. The room was modern and elegant, more so than she'd expect for a house without a mistress. The centerpiece was a grand fireplace, above which hung a portrait of a man and a woman. The woman was very beautiful, with wavy chestnut-brown hair and a warm, dimpled smile that made Iris like her immediately. The man had pale blue eyes and an athletic build, and he was gazing adoringly at his wife.

Iris had never seen a married couple look at each other with so much love, and she was still staring up at them when the door behind her opened and then closed. Turning, she found herself face-to-face with the exact replica of the two people in the portrait.

The Duke of Eavestone was tall, broad-shouldered, and very handsome, with wavy chestnut-brown hair and icy blue eyes that seemed to cut right through her. He could have had a warm smile, had he not been frowning. In fact, Iris suspected he had not smiled in a long time.

"Your Grace," she greeted, sweeping into a low curtsy.

She had seen the Duke before from a distance, but up close, she was shocked by how much he towered over her. In comparison, she felt tiny and delicate. It suddenly occurred to her how this must look—showing up at his house in the middle of the night. Would he think she was as wanton as the gossip sheets had made her out to be?

"Miss Iris Crampton, I presume," the Duke said. His voice was deep and rich, and she was reminded of drinking hot chocolate at Christmastime with her mother—a long, long time ago. "You should not be here."

"I know." She took a deep, steadying breath. "But I had to see you. It seems that our fates have been tied together, and while I cannot change what has been said about us, I am determined to take my future into my own hands."

The Duke stared down at her, unblinking and stony-faced. "And how do you intend to do that?" he asked.

"By asking you to marry me," she said simply. "I heard you speaking with my father this morning. I cannot pretend to understand everything you spoke of, but it seems you asked for an exorbitant dowry, and he refused you, calling off any potential arrangement in the process."

"I asked him only for the amount he owes me," the Duke corrected. "I would not call that exorbitant. Nor do I look kindly upon young ladies who eavesdrop outside of doors."

Iris flushed but didn't look away. "This is my life, Your Grace, and I will not have it decided by men behind closed doors."

The Duke blinked, then inclined his head. "Please continue."

"I came here to beg you to reconsider my father's offer. Your Grace, if we do not marry, my reputation will be ruined forever. I will have no hope of ever making a good match. And while I have never desired marriage, I have two sisters to consider. This scandal will ruin them, and then they will never be able to escape my father's clutches. Or worse…" Iris hesitated. She had to be honest if she were to change his mind. "My father will marry them off to men he knows they'd hate out of vengeance."

This, at last, seemed to penetrate the Duke's mask. His eyebrows knit together, and his frown deepened. "Why would your father want to exact revenge on you?"

"He wants me to spy on you," Iris admitted bluntly. From the startled look on the Duke's face, she suspected he hadn't seen this coming. "He started the rumor about the affair so that you would marry me and I could report back to him. If I do not cooperate, or if you refuse the match, then he will ensure my sisters suffer for it. Please, Your Grace. I beg you, do not resign my sisters to that fate. They are sweet girls and innocent in all of this."

"And what about you?" the Duke asked. His eyes were searching her face, as if looking for clues as to what lay underneath. "Are you innocent in all this? Or did you conspire with your father to start this rumor so that you could at last secure yourself a husband?"

Iris bristled. She had been expecting some sort of accusation, but it still stung. "I would never conspire with my father for anything," she spat. "I have never desired a husband, least of all you. Your reputation precedes you, Your Grace. What kind of woman would want to marry a man known for bankrupting multiple members of the ton?"

The Duke looked amused at this. "Believe me, they only got what they deserved."

"So you really are heartless?"

His jaw tightened. "You say you don't desire a husband, and yet here you are, begging me to marry you."

"It's that or watching my sisters' lives be ruined," she said sharply. "What did you think? That because I'm a spinster, I'd be grateful for the opportunity to marry you? I'm not as desperate as you imagine. I enjoy my quiet, simple life. But I will do anything to save my sisters. Anything."

A moment of silence passed, during which Iris held her breath. Then the Duke turned away and walked to the sideboard, where he poured himself a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter.

Gesturing toward the decanter, he asked, "Do you want one?"

"What is it?" she asked tentatively as he handed her a glass.

"Whiskey." The Duke brought his glass to his lips, then downed it in one gulp. She couldn't help but notice how strong and thick his neck was as he swallowed the liquor. Looking back down at her, his eyes glittered. "I'd suggest you sip yours."

Iris took a small sip and nearly choked. The whiskey was strong and burned her throat on the way down. Eyes stinging, she forced herself to take another sip. After a moment, she was able to appreciate the aftertaste as a warmth spread throughout her body, making her relax slightly.

"I don't know exactly why my father wants me to spy on you," she said after a moment. "Although he seems to think you have plans to ruin him."

The Duke made a noncommittal sound.

"Regardless, I don't trust him. And I don't want to spy on you. In fact, I believe we could have our own arrangement. One that would make my father only think I'm on his side."

She reached into her reticule and produced a piece of paper. From what she'd gathered after listening in on their argument earlier, this was the contract the Duke had refused.

"I took this from my father's office," she explained. "But I need to return it before he notices its absence. I see here that my father offered you a stake in his mining business. Why did you refuse?"

"Because that land is mine," the Duke replied at once. "And I won't settle for a tiny fraction of what is my birthright."

"Well, my father doesn't have this much," Iris said, pointing at the figure he had written. "At least, I very much doubt he does, considering how much he has been cutting back in recent years. But I think you and I could come to an agreement."

The Duke made a small, impatient sound. "Such as?"

"You accept a smaller sum—not a stake in the mines, but a lump sum that will make him think you've agreed to his terms but that won't bankrupt my family and drain my sister's dowries. And in exchange for accepting less than you wanted, and for helping my sisters and me, I will help you take down my father once and for all."

A deafening silence followed this pronouncement. If Iris had hoped to shock the Duke, she had certainly succeeded. He was staring at her with undisguised interest, and she flushed under the intensity of his gaze.

"Let me get this right," he began slowly. "You would act as a double agent against your own father? Why?"

"Why not? He is selling me off to a man the entire ton fears without any consideration for my feelings. Why should I help someone who would do that to me?"

The Duke shrugged. "He is still your father."

"You and I both know he is a bad man."

It took a great deal of strength for Iris to say this. Even after everything her father had done to her, it still felt disloyal to speak of him this way to a stranger.

"I don't know exactly what happened between you two, but I sense that you have as much reason as I do to want to stop him from hurting people."

The Duke didn't respond at once. Crossing the room, he poured himself another drink, which he sipped more slowly.

"And what if you are here on his behalf right now?" he asked finally, turning to face her.

"You'll just have to trust me," she said with a half-smile.

He didn't return the smile. "Ah, but I don't trust you," he pointed out, swirling the whiskey in his glass.

"And I don't trust you," Iris snapped. "But what choice do we have?"

"Well, I have a very easy one," he offered. "I could refuse you now, allow you to be ruined, allow your sisters to be married off, and not even think twice about it. I owe your family nothing, and you are not my responsibility. Tell me, Miss Crampton, why should I risk everything to help you?"

Iris wasn't sure what sense of desperation possessed her to do it. All she knew was that suddenly, she was crossing the room to where the Duke stood and placing a soft hand over his. His skin was warm, and up close, she could smell his woody, masculine scent. She could also see a small scar on his left cheekbone, a thin white line like a cat's scratch, which she had never seen before.

"How did you get this?" she asked, distracted by the sight, and without thinking she reached up to touch the scar.

Before she could do so, the Duke had seized her wrist. For several tense heartbeats, they stared at each other, his hand tight around her wrist. His eyes blazed, and Iris felt as if all the wind was knocked out of her.

Finally, he let go, and she shrank back. But the Duke didn't look angry. If anything, he looked shaken.

"You'll help me," she whispered, "because I think, deep down, underneath all the stories about you and rumors about your villainy, you just might be a decent man who goes after men who take advantage of others. Or was I mistaken in noticing a pattern?"

The Duke of Eavestone was gazing at her, his attention rapt. His pale blue eyes seemed impenetrable, but the harder she looked, the more she realized they weren't as cold as she'd originally thought. There was warmth in them. Under many, many layers.

Then he blinked, and the moment was broken.

"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Crampton," he acknowledged, setting his glass down on the sideboard. "I find I cannot disagree with you. But don't go filling your head with foolish notions of my chivalry. I am agreeing to this not out of the goodness of my heart, but because you are offering me something I need—insider information on my enemy. Nor does it hurt that you are accomplished, smart, and beautiful. All desirable qualities in a wife."

Despite herself, Iris felt her heart flutter.

He thinks I'm beautiful?

"So, yes," he continued, "I will accept a smaller lump sum from your father, and yes, I will marry you. In exchange, you will work with me to bring your father to justice for the ways he has harmed me. I will also offer protection to your sisters as part of this arrangement. Do we have a deal?"

The Duke held out his hand, and after a brief hesitation, Iris grasped it. They shook hands, and then he nodded at her whiskey glass. "Seems like I am to have a wife who's unable to even finish a glass of whiskey."

I am to have a wife .

The words sank into Iris as she lifted the glass and drained it in two large gulps, refusing to back down from a challenge.

The Duke smiled. It looked, to her, like a wolf leering at a lamb.

After a lifetime of fearing marriage, and four years of being on the shelf, during which she had determinedly established herself as a spinster, Iris Crampton was going to become a wife—with everything that entailed. She would have a husband, a man she barely knew but whose reputation for ruthlessness was legendary, and who would have legal control over every aspect of her life.

The prospect was terrifying, and as she took her leave of the Duke moments later, she had the awful feeling that she had made a terrible mistake.

Iris, what have you gotten yourself into?

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