10. Chapter 10

Chapter ten

The heat from the fire pressed into Rowland’s sore and scraped skin. It had been a while since he had gotten involved in a brawl, especially against such a small gang. But he hadn’t needed to since he got back from the war and re-established himself in the city. A couple of Bishop Goddard’s men were in the pub, as expected, and they put up a good fight. But they were lying face down on the street or consumed by the flames now. Rowland wiped his lip with the back of his hand. A stain of crimson smeared across it.

“That was exciting,” Ezra said, running a hand through his hair.

He was just as bad off—bruises already blooming over his jaw and cheekbones, top lip busted and bleeding, his clothes torn and tattered. Rowland noticed a particularly sharp swipe in his brother’s shirt.

“I’ll say.” He picked up a scrap hanging down. “Jesus, did they pull a knife on you?”

“Yeah,” Ezra said. “But it only nicked me.”

He got a couple cigarettes out of his pocket and held one out to Rowland, who took it. He needed it now more than he had any cigarette as of late. Exhaustion tugged at his body, now that the high of a good fight was waning.

“D’you think they’ll get the message?” Ezra wondered.

“For now, but this one is stubborn,” Rowland said. “Until Bishop Goddard is dead and buried, we don’t stop.”

“Not even if he wants to make a deal?”

“After threatening Claire and destroying our merchandise, there’s no deal he could offer that I would trust.” He took a long drag. “Mercy is for priests. And we’re Devils.”

Ezra chuckled. “True enough.”

Rowland returned his gaze to the building as the roof crumbled inward. It reminded him somewhat of Iris when he saw her that morning. He’d never seen her so defeated. Her crestfallen face stirred up a mad desire within him to fix it. To make her happy at any cost. To be the man who ensured she never looked that way again.

“I’m going back to Yorkshire,” he said, flicking his cigarette away.

“Now?” Ezra questioned.

“Right now.”

“There aren’t any trains until morning.”

“I’ll drive.”

Ezra raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I need to make a purchase.”

***

Deed to the schoolhouse in tow, Rowland drove up the gravel drive of Buckland Hall. He tossed the keys to the chauffeur and marched up to the door. Mr. Oliver’s familiar frown greeted him. Rowland smiled.

“Mr. Sinclair, I’m afraid Lord Pembleton is out, you will have to come back another time.”

“Actually, it’s Lady Iris I came to see.”

The corners of Mr. Oliver’s mouth turned further down. “What business do you have with Lady Iris?”

“I’ve got a present for her.”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“Who is it, Oliver?” Iris’s voice echoed from the entrance hall.

Rowland watched Mr. Oliver hesitate before answering. “It’s…it’s Mr. Sinclair, my lady.”

“Oh? Did you tell him Hugh isn’t home?”

“I did, my lady, but he says he’s come to see you.”

Iris appeared in the doorway within seconds, her brow knit together. To his delight, he saw she was wearing the ‘medal’ that Claire made her as a brooch. “What’s this about?”

“I’ve got something for you,” Rowland said.

“Oh. All right. I was just about to go for a walk through the gardens. Would you care to join me, Mr. Sinclair?”

“I’d be delighted, my lady.”

He saw some color rise to her cheeks, and she cut her gaze to address the butler. “We’ll be back in time for luncheon, Mr. Oliver.”

She came through the door, the disapproving frown on Mr. Oliver’s face ignored. Rowland tipped his hat and followed her. She wore a simple pink blouse and cream skirt, but the modern style, so it swished and swayed around her legs. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get over those legs. Pushing those thoughts down, he fell into step beside her.

“How did the, er, bonfire go last night?” she asked.

He chuckled. “It went well, thank you for asking.”

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of Mr. Oliver, but you look like you’ve been in a fight.”

“I was. Several at once, as a matter of fact.”

She came to a stop, her eyes raking over his face. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“Why, Lady Iris,” he said with a smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re beginning to care for me.”

“No,” she said quickly, and cleared her throat. “It’s just—oh, never mind.”

She turned on her heel and kept walking. The grass was still damp with morning dew, the droplets flicking on to their clothes as their shoes disturbed each blade. A few yards ahead, a large gate came into view, opening into a stately walled garden. Blooms of color spotted the lush green bushes under the May sunshine, with a few buds still clinging to sleep. All along a pathway that matched the drive up to the front of the estate. Iris stopped at the first one—a rose bush—and combed it over with her eyes.

“They’re lovely,” Rowland said, stopping next to her and glancing around. “Your gardener deserves a raise. These all look to be in good shape.”

He didn’t know much about gardening since he had grown up in the city, but it all looked beautiful to him. Especially the woman in front of him.

“Our gardener is wonderful,” she agreed. “My mother chose him. She had a real eye for this sort of thing. And she loved flowers. More than jewelry or gowns, even.”

He watched her face soften as she spoke of her late mother. He wondered if they were close. If her mother was involved in marrying her off or if she would have stepped in to defend her daughter. He hoped so. Iris deserved to have an ally in the home other than Sybil.

“Is that why she named you Iris?” he asked. “Her love of flowers?”

“Yes. She almost named me Rose, but thought Iris suited me better because of my dark blue eyes.”

“Right she was, too. ”

A fleeting smile claimed her lips. “Apparently, she wanted to give Hugh a nature inspired name at first, but my father didn’t allow it. He said the heir to earldom should have a dignified, traditional name.”

“Speaking of names,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I’ve got something with yours on it.”

Her brow furrowed, but she said nothing as he withdrew the deed and held it out to her. Her eyes landed on his face. “What’s this?”

“Deed to the schoolhouse,” he said. “I bought it and put it in your name.”

Her eyes went wide, and she took a step back. “You what ?”

“I bought it for you.”

“Mr. Sinclair, you—I don’t—I—I can’t accept this!”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Because!” She cried, pressing her fingers into her temples as she walked away. He followed her like a shadow. She came to an abrupt halt by some daffodils and whirled around, her expression thunderous. “My brother and I are already in a massive amount of debt to you, I couldn’t possibly pay you back!”

“This isn’t a deal, it’s a gift,” he said.

“And that’s something you ordinarily do, is it?” she scoffed. “Give whole buildings as gifts?”

“Well, no, but this was special.”

“Why?”

“Because—” he stopped short. How would he explain it? He wanted to make her happy? She’d question that too, and then they would be entering territory neither of them were ready to explore. “Because I believe in what you’re trying to do.”

It wasn’t a lie. He did admire her efforts in providing a safe space for women. It just wasn’t the only reason he wanted to help.

She raised a skeptical brow. “You do?”

“Sure, I do. I know it’s not easy for women. And when I think about my niece and the world she’s up against, it makes me want to be a part of improving things. Even on a small scale.”

She glared at him. “Is that the only reason?”

Damn, she had a good read on him. “Honestly?”

She rolled her eyes. “If you think I’ll marry you just because you bought me the schoolhouse, I won’t.”

“Do you seriously think I’d propose to you with a fucking building?”

“You shouldn’t propose to me with anything, I won’t say yes.”

“If I propose to you, it’ll be with a ring big enough to tip you over and I’d be down on one knee, all proper.”

“And I still would not say yes.”

He grinned. “You haven’t even heard my speech yet.”

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

“Take the damn deed. What does it matter if I have a slight— slight —ulterior motive? It gets you what you want, doesn’t it?”

She folded her arms over her chest with a stubborn jerk of her chin. “I’m not comfortable with the ulterior motive.”

He sighed, exasperated, questioning why he was still determined to win her favor. Straightening his shoulders, he offered an alternative. “Okay, how about a deal?”

“I’m listening.”

“I sell you the schoolhouse for say…twenty pounds. I’ll be partial owner of the shelter, and when you establish a business or foundation or what have you to run it, it will be under the Sinclair Syndicate for protection.”

“Fifty pounds, and you can be partial owner, but we’re free of the Sinclair Syndicate. I’ll pay you back in installments, same as a mortgage, until it’s my own. Independently.”

“Fine. But I’m not charging you interest.”

“Fine.”

She extended her hand, and he took it. He noticed her eyes widened at the bruises blooming across knuckles. She started to draw her hand back, but he held it in place, not ready to be longing for the next time they might touch after they let go.

“It’s not me you should be worried about when I’m fighting,” he said.

“I see,” she replied.

Her thumb brushed over a cut, but he didn’t flinch. In fact, the sting was almost soothing. Like ice after a burn. He cleared his throat and handed her the deed once more.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Lady Iris.”

Finally, she took it. “Pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Sinclair.”

When a satisfied smile replaced her doubtful frown, he considered it a job well done. When she offered to show him the rest of the garden, he accepted. He wasn’t sure when he might have a peaceful moment with her again. He would have to savor this. And he did.