17. Chapter 17

Chapter seventeen

August, 1920

Iris took her gloves from her maid and thanked her quietly before slipping them on. She didn’t see why she had to participate in the driven grouse shooting her brother was leading. She had hoped to head down to the schoolhouse and check on the progress of Rowland’s boys. But alas, she had been summoned as a representative of the earl’s house. When she reached the entrance hall, someone called out to her.

“Lady Iris!”

She turned her head, coming face to face with the Viscount Darrington she’d met at her birthday party. She offered a polite nod as he approached.

“Lord Darrington,” she said. “How wonderful to see you again.”

“You as well. I was most thrilled when your brother sent me an invitation.”

“Are you passionate about grouse shooting?” she asked.

“I enjoy almost all country sports, as any gentleman should,” he answered. “But mostly, I had hoped you might accompany me on this outing.”

She searched her mind for a reason to refuse him, when over his shoulder, she spied Rowland, dressed for the hunt, and speaking with a young lady she recognized. Nineteen-year-old Lady Marjorie Hunt, daughter of a duke, with a reputation among the women for pursuing men below her station purely to get a rise out of her father. Which appeared to be precisely what she was doing with Rowland.

He was the perfect target for her—a notorious gangster from the streets of Liverpool was a stark difference to the marquess her father had his eye on for her. Their engagement was all but announced, yet Marjorie was determined to be a rebel.

Iris’s stomach turned to acid when Marjorie touched Rowland’s arm as she laughed at something he said. And worse, Rowland smiled back at her. Politely, but it was enough to narrow Iris’s eyes.

“Pardon me, my lord,” she said to Darrington, and stormed off before he could reply.

Donning a saccharine smile, she approached Rowland and Marjorie as the latter threw her head back and laughed again.

“Lady Marjorie!” Iris said with the least genuine enthusiasm.

Marjorie’s head swiveled around, a frown nearly taking over before she forced a smile as well. “Lady Iris!”

They pecked each other’s cheeks, Iris giving Marjorie’s hands a hard squeeze.

“You look lovely,” Iris said.

“As do you,” Marjorie replied. “I was just telling Mr. Sinclair how I admire your family’s acceptance of him. More of our class should be friends with the self-made, don’t you think?”

“I do,” Iris said. “Though I’m not sure your fiancé would agree. Is he joining us, by the way?”

Marjorie blanched. “H-he is. Though I wouldn’t call him my fiancé yet, nothing is official—”

“Nonsense. The only thing left is the formal announcement,” Iris said with a wave of her hand. “Everyone here is aware of the arrangement. Are you hoping to be a spring or summer bride?”

Marjorie’s face turned redder with every word Iris spoke.

“The spring would be excellent weather, but summer would give you almost a year to plan,” Iris continued. “Though I suppose your mother and father will be more in charge of the affair than you will. That’s how it was when I got married.”

“Yes,” Marjorie said shortly before a wicked smirk ticked her lips up. “But that was a long, long time ago.”

Iris ignored the jab. “Yes, things have changed. I was certainly not allowed the liberties you have been given.”

Rowland raised a curious eyebrow as Marjorie scrambled for a response. “I was—”

“Marjorie!” a gruff voice called from the library. The duke, Marjorie’s father, emerged, scanning the group for his daughter. “Marjorie, you will be joining the marquess for the hunt. Don’t dawdle now.”

Marjorie sent a desperate look toward Rowland. “Perhaps I’ll see you at dinner tonight?”

“I think your time would be better spent with your fiancé,” Rowland replied.

Marjorie shot Iris a glare before her father dragged her off. Iris waved at her with a cheeky wiggle of her fingers.

“Good riddance,” she muttered.

“You don’t really think I’d want that child, do you?” Rowland teased.

Iris pursed her lips, her glare still fixed on Lady Marjorie’s disappearing form.

“Iris,” he said more firmly, and she finally met his gaze. “Do you?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, each word torn out of her. “Most men—”

“I am not most men,” he said, and quickly added, “Sorry for interrupting. But do you honestly think that girl could hold my attention when you were across the room?”

Her scowl melted away and her brows unfurled as her eyes went wide. He said it lightly, but his eyes told her that he meant it. It didn’t feel like flirtation, it felt like an honest admission. And against her better judgment, she was flattered.

“Understood,” she said. A flush crept up her neck. “I’m sorry I behaved that way, it was…unbecoming.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t apologize. I enjoyed seeing you get jealous. It means my endeavor to win you over is working.”

“I was not jealous , I was—” she stopped herself to shove his hand away, irritation simmering in her belly when he smirked. Her face burned under his knowing gaze. “Fine. I was jealous. But that doesn’t mean this is working or that anything will happen.”

“Whatever you say, Lady Iris.”

“I mean it, Mr. Sinclair.”

“I’m sure you do.”

She wished she could punch that sarcastic look off his face. That annoyingly handsome grin still lingering on his lips was driving her mad. She opened her mouth to rebuke him again, but he spoke before she could.

“Be my partner for the shooting?” he asked.

She closed her mouth before opening it again. “All right.”

“Lovely. Let’s be going.”

He offered his arm, and she took it, letting him lead the way to the waiting cars.

It wasn’t far to the moorlands of Buckland Hall, which suited the men in Iris’s family. Even as a child, she remembered her father taking them out, no matter how hot or cold it was, to teach them the ways of grouse shooting. Hugh was the main pupil, but the old earl did let his daughter shoot every once in a while. After she turned fifteen, that stopped altogether, and he insisted on her behaving in a manner more becoming of a young lady.

Walking through the grass with Rowland, Iris briefly recalled the first time Lewis had joined grouse shooting. It was just before their wedding. He was a dreadfully poor shot, but plastered a good-natured smile on his face whenever her father was around. But it was the first time she had gotten a glimpse into who he really was—a deeply insecure man with a terrible need to prove himself worthy of taking part in the English aristocracy.

She detected no such desperation from Rowland. In fact, he whistled as he tucked his shotgun (loaned from Hugh) under his arm and loaded it. Iris carried the extra shells in her pocket.

“Have you ever done this before?” she asked, curious about his ease.

“Nope,” he answered with a shrug. “I’m not much of a hunter. I don’t believe in killing innocent creatures.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You eat meat, don’t you?”

“Sure, but it’s not me who does the killing for my dinner, is it?”

“I see. So it’s not the act of killing innocent creatures that bothers you, it’s when it’s at your hand.”

“I’ll never begrudge a butcher for earning his keep like the rest of us. But I killed enough innocents in France.”

The blunt force of the statement nearly made her stagger. Rowland was so playful and open, she often forgot he carried the burden of the war. Until moments like this, or the one they shared in the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have teased you.”

“Jesus, Iris,” he sighed, and she met his gaze, squashing the urge to remind him to use her honorific title. “I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty. I said it as an invitation.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re free to ask me questions, to tease me, to challenge me,” he said. “I want you to know me.”

She took a step back. It should have been a romantic thing for him to say, but it only made her stomach swoop with nerves. The last time she’d gotten to know a man, he turned out to be a monster. And yet, to most people, Rowland was outwardly a monster. Perhaps he was inviting her to discover the man within. Either way, it was a risk she wasn’t sure she could take.

“And I won’t punish you for it,” he went on.

Her eyes blew wide before they misted over. She cleared her throat and shook her head.

“Rowland, I…”

Before she could finish her thought, the sound of a shotgun echoed around them. Whoever was nearby was already getting underway. Iris startled at the sound, but Rowland only turned his head toward it.

“I guess that means I should make a show of this,” he said, and as he did, more shots rang out.

He aimed the double barrel at the sky and fired after Iris covered her ears.

“Aren’t you worried about coming back with nothing?” she asked when the noise died down.

He shrugged. “Not really. I’m a city man, not one of your country lords.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Why agree to this if you’ re so opposed?”

“Your brother extended the invitation, and I thought it would’ve been rude to decline after he let me stay in his home while I was recovering.”

“You could argue that after being shot in his home, you were less inclined to remain any longer than necessary.”

“I could, but that would mean considerably less time with you.”

She let her smile loose at that and released a giggle. “You are relentless, aren’t you?”

“I told you, I get what I want,” he said, grinning back at her.

Iris only rolled her eyes. Within moments, Hugh and his wife emerged from the foliage, Hugh glancing between them, that familiar sparkle to his eye that he always had when shooting.

“Any luck, you two?” he asked.

“Not so far,” Rowland answered. “You, my lord?”

“Yes, it’s going smashing,” Hugh said. “I had a fine shot, didn’t I, Cecilia, darling?”

“A spectacular shot, love,” Cecilia said with a proud smile as she patted Hugh’s arm. She looked at Rowland. “My husband is the best shot in the county.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Rowland said, though Iris detected heavy sarcasm.

“Come now, carry on,” Hugh said excitedly. “There’s plenty for all of us.”

He hurried off, Cecilia trailing behind him, and Rowland and Iris exchanged amused smirks.

“If only he could manage money as well as he shoots,” he said.

Iris snorted out a laugh before clapping a hand over her mouth. Rowland straightened his back and held his shotgun loftily in front of him.

“Pip, pip, cheerio, darling,” he mimicked. “I know this next shot will be cracking!”

Iris tilted her chin up to look down her nose at him, copying some of Cecilia’s mannerisms. “ You’re the best shot in the county, love.”

Rowland opened his mouth to continue the mockery, but froze, his gaze fixed on a tree behind Iris. His smile slowly slipped from his face and his eyes went hard and cold as ice. Iris let her shoulders drop and fixed him with a questioning look.

“Rowland?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he aimed the shotgun at the tree and pulled the trigger. Iris covered her ears a moment too late, so they rang for a few seconds as she searched his face. Following his stare, she saw a crow fly out of the tree and take off away from the danger.

“…just a bird,” she heard him say as her hearing returned.

“Were you worried it was something else?” she asked.

He finally met her gaze. “I thought it might be…never mind.”

He turned to go, but she caught him by the arm and forced him back to face her. “No. Tell me what you suspected.”

“It looked too large to be a bird. I thought it might be one of Bishop Goddard’s men keeping watch,” he said, heaving a sigh. “I’ve got reports they’re in the area, so they’re ready when their man moves from the jail to the courthouse.”

She was glad she didn’t have to press him any more than she did, but she was still annoyed he hadn’t shared this concern before.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she demanded.

“Because it’s not important, I’m already taking care of it,” he said.

“But you have reason to believe they’re following you? Even on my family’s grounds?”

“Iris, you saw that I was fully prepared to shoot him. ”

“ Lady Iris, and so what?” she snapped. “If we are to be friends, then I don’t want to be kept out of the loop.”

“All right,” he said simply.

She blinked. “What do you mean, all right?”

“I mean, all right, I won’t keep you in the dark anymore. I’m sorry I made you feel deceived in the first place.”

“Oh,” she said, the wind having quite gone out of her sails. She was still used to bracing herself for the argument. To have to scream to be heard. Yet there Rowland stood with bended ear, always ready and open for what she had to say. Squaring her shoulders, she swallowed. “Well. Good. Thank you.”

He smiled. “Shall we go on?”

She nodded.