Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

" Y ou've been very quiet today," Phineas noted that evening, as he watched his wife picking at her food. "I know it was difficult to see what we saw today."

Iris looked up at him, a surprised expression on her sharp, beautiful face.

"Do you?" she asked, her tone accusatory. "I got the impression that you weren't affected at all by what we saw today."

Phineas raised an eyebrow. Her words stung, although he wouldn't let on that they hurt. "I was acting," he reminded her. "I didn't want to raise the foreman's suspicions by getting upset by what we saw."

"It didn't seem like acting to me," she snapped.

Reaching for her wine, she took an unsteady sip. When she set the glass back down on the table, her eyes were filled with tears.

Phineas took a long sip of his wine before responding. It was a surprisingly good wine for an inn of this size in the south of Wales.

They were in the dining room of the inn, where the innkeeper had insisted they sit at the largest table and enjoy the most lavish meal the cook could prepare—Venison, Phineas noted with pleasure. The innkeeper had been beside himself when he'd realized that a duke and duchess would be staying at his inn. He'd given them the finest bedroom and ensured them that they would want for nothing. The experience might have been relaxing, even romantic, if it weren't for the specter of the mines hanging over them.

Iris's sadness was not unexpected. Her care for others was part of what Phineas admired so much about her. She always put other people first. Watching her today speaking to the young boy in the tunnel had moved him more than he cared to admit. Not only had it touched him deeply that she'd been so concerned for the boy, but he couldn't help but think what she might look like talking to their own son… Not just talking to him, but protecting him from the cruelty of the world, advocating for him just as she'd clearly wanted to advocate for the boy in the mine.

In truth, the image had affected Phineas so powerfully that it had taken a great deal of strength not to ask for a moment alone so that he could collect himself.

But of course, he hadn't. If he had, Mr. Greaves might have been suspicious and kicked them out of the mines.

"It was very difficult for me not to say anything," he said. "I was disgusted by what I saw in those mines. The exploitation and abuse not only of children but of all the workers… It sickens me. This is not what my father had in mind when he thought about converting the land into mines."

"Do you mean it?" Iris croaked, her eyes still wet.

"Of course I mean it," he said, a flare of annoyance coloring his voice.

Who does she think I am?

"There were moments during that tour when I wanted to break character and tell Mr. Greaves exactly how long I'd make sure he went to prison for what he was doing to those children. Him and your father, of course."

Iris was gazing at him with a strange expression on her face. It was almost like admiration, and it emboldened him further.

"In fact, I might have, if it hadn't been for you."

"Me?" She looked taken aback. "What did I do?"

"You spoke to that little boy. If you hadn't, I wasn't sure I could bear it. But once I saw you speaking to him, I knew that I had to keep Mr. Greaves distracted so you could get the real story. It gave me purpose."

Iris was quiet for a moment. "I'm very impressed," she said finally. "You are a good man, Phineas."

Phineas almost choked on his food. No one had ever said this to him before, and to his horror, he realized he was blushing. Iris seemed to notice because she changed the subject quickly.

"I always knew my father was evil," she rushed to say, "but I never really knew the extent of it until today."

"Unfortunately, he isn't that different from most other landowners," Phineas said, eager to seize the new topic. "Many gentlemen I know would use their land and positions of power in exactly the same way. And the truth is, coal mining is difficult and dangerous work. It has revolutionized the country and keeps our fires lit and our houses warm, but the cost to human life and dignity is severe."

Iris set down her fork and knife, her expression troubled. "Then what can we do? Close down the mine?"

"That's one option." Phineas frowned. "But then the miners would lose their jobs. Many of them, in fact, would be against the closure of the mines."

"Even if it improved their quality of life?"

"Their quality of life would hardly go up if they had no income," Phineas pointed out.

Iris fidgeted in her seat, clearly trying to wrap her mind around all this. "But the way things are… they can't go on."

"No, they can't," Phineas agreed. "The way your father runs his mines is particularly egregious. The miners should be receiving three times what he is paying them, and child labor should be banned."

"But won't the parents object to losing that income?"

"Not if the adults are paid what they're worth."

"Hmm…"

Iris stroked the rim of her wine glass, lost in thought. It struck Phineas suddenly that the last time he'd watched her thinking, he'd thought she looked eerily similar to her father. But he no longer thought this. Whenever he looked at his wife now, he saw only her. The resemblance to her father was gone.

He wondered if he had imagined it, or if he simply was starting to associate her thoughtful expression with her loveliness and intelligence and not her father's villainy.

"We could probably report to the authorities the unsafe working conditions of the mines," Iris suggested after a moment. "Get inspectors out here from the government. Even alert child labor charities in London. They could picket the mine, make running it so unprofitable and cumbersome that he gives it up—or at least sells it to someone better."

He leaned forward so that no one around them could hear him. They weren't alone in the dining room, although the other diners were giving them a wide berth. Most, he suspected, had never seen a duke and duchess before.

"That's not a bad idea," Phineas said, impressed by her astute thinking.

Iris smiled and picked up her fork again. All night, she'd been picking at her meal, unable to eat. Now, she finally began to eat in earnest, and Phineas was glad to see some color return to her cheeks. She looked so beautiful when her pale cheeks were stained red from happiness, embarrassment, or…

Phineas swallowed. He couldn't let himself think about how else he'd like to see his wife blush scarlet.

"You really thought I didn't care about the miners?" he asked, trying to force himself not to let his mind wander in a dangerous direction.

She blushed, and his thoughts immediately became unwholesome again.

"I didn't know what to think," she admitted. "There are not many wealthy dukes who would spare a thought for poor, miserable miners. And especially dukes with…"

"With my reputation?" he finished, trying not to sound resentful.

She looked up sharply, clearly afraid she had offended him, and he gave her his most ironic state. She laughed.

"You are not exactly known for your kindness and generosity," she pointed out. "Although in the days since our wedding, I have never seen you act in any way that would justify the cruel rumors about you."

Her gaze was soft, and Phineas felt the back of his neck tingle. "You know I have ruined people," he muttered, his voice a low rumble. "You once accused me of bankrupting innocent men."

"Yes… but if they were anything like my father, then I know now that they deserved it."

"They did. But It's important you know this about me, Iris. I am not a saint."

She stuck her chin out defiantly. "I know that. But I don't want you to be a saint. I just want you to be open with me."

"I am open," he said, a little taken aback. "Open enough."

"Not enough," she retorted. "I want to know the full you, Phineas. All the good and all the bad. I'm tougher than you think. I can take it."

"I think you're tough," he whispered.

She smiled, a hard, sly smile. "Then show me."

Phineas was finding it difficult to breathe. The force of her gaze, and the honesty and bravery of her words, winded him. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but the idea of opening up to her even more was terrifying. But if she could tell him what she really wanted, surely he could be open with her as well.

"What is it?" she asked, leaning instinctively toward him. "You can tell me."

Phineas exhaled slowly. Her eyes were beseeching, even tender. They were trying to tell him he could trust her. And he wanted to, so badly.

"You know my parents died when I was young," he said at last. She nodded, her eyes still wide. "What is less commonly known is that they were killed during a tragic carriage robbery. The men who set out to rob them also robbed them of their lives."

Iris clapped a hand over her mouth. When she lowered it, she whispered, "Phineas, I'm so sorry…"

"It was a very difficult time." He swallowed. There was a throbbing pain in his chest, as there always was when he spoke of his parents' deaths, and he had trouble meeting her eyes. "I was plunged into a deep state of melancholy. For weeks, I could not sleep or eat. I was like a ghost, half-dead, haunting the halls of Eavestone Castle. I couldn't think, I couldn't handle the responsibility of the estate."

"You were grieving," she murmured.

"Yes. During that time, your father was a comfort to me. He'd been close to my father, and I thought he was on my side. But it turned out that he used his closeness to my family to sell off many of our valuables, as well as small parcels of land, to his friends. It started small at first, little things I wouldn't notice or miss, so he could gain favor with other powerful business owners. It ended with this land—the land with the mines. And this, your father kept for himself. It was the real prize, I understand now. The thing he had wanted all along."

Iris shook her head. "So you have spent the last ten years going after the men who bought what my father stole?"

Phineas nodded. "Your father is the last among them. He is also the most well-protected, which is why it has been harder to take revenge on him. His wealth has insulated him from attacks. He employs protection officers and has many of the Bow Street Runners on his payroll. And he and his friends are well-connected in the ton. Meanwhile, I spent years too angry and grieving to socialize much with the peerage. As a result, I am considered an outsider, an unknown entity. It wasn't hard for your father and his friends to paint me as a dangerous, villainous man, especially when I was so hell-bent on bringing them down."

They were both quiet for a moment, looking at each other. Iris seemed calm and understanding, her breathing deep and rhythmic.

"I am so sorry for all that happened to you," she said at last. "I'm sorry that your parents were killed, I'm sorry for what my father did, and I'm so sorry that you had to spend years isolated and despised, when what you really needed was love."

Phineas's breath caught in his throat.

Did she just say love? Does that mean she…

But he couldn't even finish the thought. It was too much to hope for. After ten years without love of any kind, Phineas could not allow himself to believe that this beautiful, brilliant, compassionate woman could love him.

Iris seemed to realize the implication of the word because she blushed and looked away, and for the rest of the meal, they spoke only of trivial matters.

After dinner, they retired upstairs. The chamber that had been prepared for them was simple but comfortable, with a large bed and a dressing table, water basin, and screen, behind which Iris changed into her nightdress.

Phineas changed quickly as well, and by the time his wife emerged from behind the screen, he was already in bed with a book in his lap. However, he couldn't read. All he could concentrate on was his wife's movements, which he watched out of the corner of his eye. She went to the wash basin, where she splashed water on her face. She then sat down at the dressing table and began to brush her pale blonde hair.

The movements were mesmerizing. Phineas had never known that a woman brushing her hair could be so bewitching. But now, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her delicate wrist, her shiny hair, and the glimpse of her face in the dressing table mirror.

Iris finished brushing her hair, then stood up and came to the bed. She wasn't looking at him as she slipped under the covers. Phineas tried to read the words written in front of him to no avail. All he could think about was the scent of her perfume—like vanilla and roses—and how it was wafting toward him from her side of the bed.

At last, he set down his book and looked at his wife. She was staring determinedly at the canopy above them.

"You were wonderful today," he said. She turned to look at him. "Your care for others is truly inspiring."

"You're the one who cares for others," she returned. "You're the one who is trying to break my father's hold on the mines."

Phineas shook his head. "Yes, but until today, my goal for doing so was purely selfish. I wanted to ruin your father's business in order to take back my family's land. It was about revenge and nothing else. It's not that I didn't care about the plight of the miners, I just hadn't considered it. But after today… Well, I'm not merely fueled by revenge. I'm also fueled by compassion—the need to make the miners' lives better."

Iris's eyes were shining, and Phineas reached out and touched her cheek very lightly. Still, it seemed to send a shiver through her.

"You inspired that," he murmured. "Your concern for the miners changed me. You changed me, Iris. From the moment we met, you have challenged me to think more about others and put those less fortunate before myself. You have made me a better person, and for that, I am forever grateful."

Iris opened her mouth, then closed it again. At last, she murmured, "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything," he said, before he leaned forward and kissed her.

Iris's lips were soft and warm, and the moment he kissed her, Phineas felt as if an electric current had shot through him. He wasn't sure what exactly had made him kiss her, except that he didn't know how else to express the feelings that were welling up inside him. All he knew was that he couldn't go a moment longer without kissing the woman who had changed his life so much.

And what a kiss it was. It was soft and sweet, unlike any kiss he'd had before. For a moment, Iris seemed to freeze beneath him, and he felt a thrill of fear run down his spine. But then she kissed him back. The moment she did, happiness flooded him. This was what he was meant to do—to shower this woman with affection and love. This was his purpose.

Then he stopped thinking entirely, and for a long moment, neither of them pulled away, lost in the kiss and the moment and one another.

At last, Phineas pulled away. He didn't want to push her too far or rush her into anything. He still wasn't entirely sure what he wanted. As much as a part of him desired for them to live together as man and wife, the prospect was still daunting, especially in light of the feelings that were currently raging through him. If he told her how he felt—if he truly put himself out there—she could reject him. And he wasn't sure he could handle the disappointment.

"What was that for?" Iris whispered.

She was gazing up at him with a starry-eyed expression. Her cheeks and neck were red, and it pleased him to see how the kiss had affected her.

"For changing my life," he said. "And that's all I'll do for now. I just wanted you to know how deeply you have changed me. Goodnight, Iris."

"Goodnight, Phineas."

But after he'd extinguished the candle—after Iris's breathing had become shallow and he knew she was fast asleep—Phineas lay awake, wondering what he was waiting for. He was married to the most brilliant, beautiful, and compassionate woman he had ever known. They were partners. They were friends. So why was he hesitating? Why was he holding himself back? Was it only fear?

And by the time he was drifting off to sleep, he'd determined that when morning came, he would tell Iris how he felt. He wouldn't let fear hold him back.

I'll tell her she has brought love into my life . I'll tell her I love her.

The next morning, however, Phineas never got the chance. He woke up to someone shaking him. Startled out of sleep, he pushed them away, then sat bolt upright. For a moment, he looked around in confusion, then he realized that it was Iris who had been shaking him, and he relaxed slightly.

When he saw the expression on her face, however, his worry came rushing back.

"What is it?" he asked at once.

"It's my father," she whispered. "He found us."

CHAPTER TWELVE

"I want to speak to Eavestone now! If you keep me from him, I'll make sure you are out of business by year's end!"

The roar came from downstairs, and Phineas could hear it, followed by more yelling, as he pulled his clothes on as quickly as he could. There was no time to ring for his valet. Lord Carfield was here, in South Wales. He'd discovered what they were up to at the mines—or he suspected what they were up to.

But how? Phineas silently wondered as he hastily tied his cravat. Who could have told him?

Even if the foreman had suspected something, it would have taken another day for a letter to reach London and another day for Lord Carfield to arrive in Wales. The Viscount had arrived just a day and a half after them, which meant he must have discovered that they'd gone to Wales half a day after they'd left.

But who could have told him?

Was it possible that Iris had told her sisters, before they left Eavestone House, that they were going to the mines? Had she foolishly let something slip? Or—it was unthinkable—was it possible that she was still helping her father spy on Phineas?

The thought left him cold, and he tried to put it out of his mind as he threw on his jacket.

At last, Phineas was dressed, and he wrenched open the door and hurried down the stairs with as much dignity as possible, Iris following in his wake. He could feel her fear, could sense it like she was a deer and he a wolf, and it sparked every instinct in him to protect her.

Downstairs, a livid, red-faced Lord Carfield greeted them. The innkeeper was hovering nearby, looking worried and deferential, and Phineas immediately tried to put him at ease.

"Everything will be all right," he reassured him. "Lord Carfield and I simply have business matters to discuss. Can you show us to your parlor?"

The innkeeper nodded and wordlessly escorted them to a small parlor off the main hall. Phineas was careful to keep himself between Lord Carfield and Iris the whole time. Once the innkeeper had ushered them inside, he retreated as quickly as possible, leaving the three of them alone.

Phineas turned to face Lord Carfield. The man looked older and more unkempt than he had at the wedding. Living without his eldest daughter—whom he seemed to have treated simultaneously like a wife and a servant—had obviously not done good things to him. His hair was grayer, his face more lined, and his clothes disheveled.

Lord Carfield's face was still red with fury, but when he spoke, it was with a measured calm.

"Well, I believe felicitations are in order," he said, his eyes flicking between Phineas and Iris. "I did not realize, when my daughter married you, Your Grace, that she was marrying a man she admired and cared for so much."

"What are you talking about?" Phineas asked sharply.

Lord Carfield's eyes sparkled with maliciousness. "It is clear that a bond has formed between the two of you," he snarled. "I'm touched, truly, to see that Iris has found happiness. Especially since I was the one who brought you two together."

The sarcasm of the comment sent a jolt of fury through Phineas.

"Bringing us together is the only good thing you've ever done in your life," he snapped, before he could think better of it.

Lord Carfield's lip curled. "So, it's true. You really are in love. How… quaint." Next to him, Phineas felt Iris stiffen. "I suspected as much, as the reports that I have received of your marital bliss have been exceedingly nauseating."

Phineas's face felt very hot, and he refused to look at his wife. He may have thought the words I love you to himself last night, but this was not exactly the moment for a romantic declaration—especially when it came from Lord Carfield's mouth.

"What do you want, Carfield?" he demanded.

The Viscount sneered. "I heard you were visiting my mines?—"

"—on my land?—"

"On my land. And I wanted to let you know that I know you have combined forces."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

It was the first time Iris had spoken, and she didn't sound nearly as afraid as she had looked upstairs. Her voice was strong, and when Phineas glanced at her, she looked determined.

"It means what it means," Lord Carfield said. "You are no longer spying on Eavestone for me. You are working with him to take me down. It would take a fool not to see it."

Phineas swallowed.

Was it really so obvious?

"Now… I don't know exactly what you are doing here," Lord Carfield continued. "But as soon as I heard you were visiting the mines, I knew that you had decided, together, to try and harm my business. I'm here to tell you that it won't happen. And that you both have been banned from ever stepping foot on my land again. Do you understand? If you come onto my property again—any of my properties—I will have you arrested for trespassing."

He leaned threateningly toward them, and Phineas put a protective hand on Iris's arm.

Lord Carfield's eyes narrowed as he watched the movement. "I also have these," he added as he reached into his bag and pulled out a sheaf of papers, which he shoved toward Phineas.

Phineas took them, and his heart sank as he quickly scanned the front paper.

"What is it?" Iris whispered.

"They're documents certifying that my mines have been thoroughly evaluated and found to be safe and profitable," Lord Carfield replied instead. "So whatever you are trying to do here to undermine me, it won't work. I am a respectable business owner, and if you try to bring false accusations against me, you will see me in court."

He straightened up, then turned to go. At the door, he paused and turned back around.

"And one last thing. You may have blocked my attempts to marry off Violet for now, but you haven't heard the last of me. Good day."

And then he slammed the door shut behind him and left.

After her father left, Iris started to shake. She seemed to have lost control of her legs, and she felt as if she were about to collapse.

Before she could, however, she felt Phineas's arm wrap around her waist, and she looked up to see the calm blue eyes of her husband gazing down at her.

"Are you all right?" he asked, leading her over to the small sofa and helping her down onto it.

"I think my father just said I can never return to my childhood home," Iris whispered. She knew she was in shock. Nothing felt real, least of all her father's words. She looked up, and tears pricked her eyes. "He's banned me from visiting my sisters!"

"Then they'll come to us," Phineas reassured her. He looked so resolute that she felt a glimmer of hope.

"You really think he'll allow it?"

Phineas cocked his head. "I'm a duke, Iris, in case you haven't noticed. I won't take no for an answer."

Despite her panic, Iris couldn't help but laugh. "You're really not scared of him?" she asked.

Phineas shrugged. "I'm wary of him. I don't underestimate him. But no, I'm not scared of him." He frowned, and she could sense that he was less optimistic than he let on. "These documents, however… if they're as airtight as the bill of sale he forged, they may be harder to fight."

"Do you think they're legitimate," she asked, "or forged as well?"

"They have to be forged… There is no way your father's mines are as safe as these say they are. Human suffering is evident to anyone who visits. It can't be legal, let alone acceptable. But he is excellent at forging legal documents, as we know… I'm not sure how we would prove that these are forged, especially if he has paid off prominent solicitors to certify the legality."

"Don't give up," Iris said at once, placing a hand on his arm.

The touch thrilled her, and all of a sudden, the memory of their kiss the previous night flashed in her mind. She blushed and removed her hand. The arrival of her father this morning had pushed the memory of the kiss out of her mind, but now it was difficult to think about anything else. It was her first kiss, after all, and it had been everything she had ever hoped for. It was romantic and sweeping.

It had also meant more to her than she could express that Phineas had stopped after the kiss. After all, there was still so much to learn about one another, and she didn't want to rush anything. But when he'd kissed her, she had felt something she had never felt before—pure contentment and happiness. She had never believed that someone could ever make her feel that way, but with Phineas, she felt sure that he would always protect and respect her. And his kiss had said that perhaps he could do more than respect her… perhaps he could even love her.

"I won't give up," Phineas vowed, pulling her out of her thoughts. "But if we can't shut down the mines, we're going to have to turn to your mother. Do you think you're prepared to speak to her again after all these years?"

Iris swallowed. The idea of speaking to her mother after so long brought up complicated emotions. There was dread and fear, of course, and also anger. Worse still, part of her was also excited and hopeful at the thought of seeing her mother again. But this only made her more angry—her mother didn't deserve it, after all this time.

"I know," Phineas said gently, and she felt a rush of gratitude. "I know it's scary, the thought of seeing her again. But you're brave, Iris. Even after years of your father trying to scare you into submission, you still found ways to fight back against him. And you don't need to be afraid anymore. Not of seeing your mother, and not of your father. Things are different now."

"How are they different?" she asked, although she thought she already knew the answer.

His eyes sparkled, and he reached down and cupped her chin, angling it up so that she was looking directly into his eyes. "Because you have me. And I will never let anything happen to you. Now, what do you say we get back to London before your father has us arrested."

She laughed, despite herself. "I suppose I should reach out to my mother," she said with a sigh.

"Yes," he agreed. "But before that, there's something else I want to do with you."

She looked at him curiously. He was grinning, a mischievous look in his eyes. "What?" she asked cautiously.

"I want to take you to a ball."

"A ball?" She gaped at him, completely shocked by his idea. "Do you think we have time for a ball, when we have so much to do to bring down my father?"

"Iris, you deserve to have a little bit of fun. We're the Duke and Duchess of Eavestone, after all, and the ton is expecting us to make our debut in Society—especially after the scandal of our marriage. And more importantly…" Phineas's eyes glittered, and she felt herself redden again. "I want to show you off."

Five days later, Iris and Phineas attended Lord and Lady Southerby's ball at their large townhouse in Grosvenor Square. As their names were announced, Phineas couldn't help but reflect on the fact that just a month ago, he had been at another ball with Iris, although back then, he had barely even been aware of her existence. But because of that ball, he had been linked to her forever.

While a month ago this had been a horrifying prospect, he was now more grateful than he could ever say for the chance encounter that had brought them together. Accidentally ending up married to Iris was the best thing to ever happen to him.

The Southerby Ball was well-attended. All of London's most fashionable ladies and gentlemen were there. Phineas had been a little nervous that Lord Carfield would be there, but he needn't have worried. The Viscount rarely attended balls.

While Phineas sometimes attended balls, he wasn't particularly comfortable at them. He usually went only to meet with business partners in the back rooms, where gentlemen drank scotch and played poker to avoid dancing. Never before had he danced with a young lady at a ball. More than a few marriage-minded mamas had tried to coax him into asking their daughters to dance. A few had even tried to entrap him. But he had always avoided dancing—and young ladies in general. Marriage had never been something he thought about.

Which is perhaps why so many heads turned in their direction when they were announced and glided into the hall. The entire hall fell silent as people stopped their conversations and turned to stare at them. Then a low buzz broke out again as the onlookers began to whisper to one another.

Next to him, Iris looked nervous. "They're all talking about us," she murmured through her polite smile.

"Naturally," he responded with a chuckle. "We caused quite the scandal in the ton, if you remember, and then married quickly and suspiciously. Of course, we are the topic of many conversations."

"I was hoping there would have been another, more salacious scandal since then," Iris said. "And that everyone would have forgotten about us."

"They'll grow bored of us, once they realize we aren't as interesting as they thought."

Phineas directed his wife over to the lemonade stand. The people around them nodded politely but didn't approach. If anything, they seemed to be giving them a wide berth.

"It's mortifying," Iris added as he handed her a lemonade. "All these people think that I would engage in an affair with a man without the promise of marriage. They probably think you only married me because you got caught. That you are resentful of having to be married to me."

"Hmm." Phineas did not like that one bit. It was important to him that everyone knew he was the most happily married man in all of London. "Then why don't we show them that I'm quite content to be married to you?"

Iris barely had time to look surprised and pleased by his words before he had bowed before her, taken her hand, and pressed it to his lips.

"Duchess," he murmured, "would you do me the honor of the next dance?"

"But… it's a waltz," she breathed. "It's already considered the most scandalous of dances."

"Which is exactly why I want to dance it with you."

She laughed even as she blushed. The sight made his heart beat faster in his chest. She looked so adorable with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes.

"It's unseemly for married couples to dance with one another," she pointed out, although she didn't sound convinced by her own argument.

"I don't care." Phineas was determined, and she could tell.

The music from the previous dance ended, and with another blushing smile, she set her cup of lemonade down on the table and allowed him to steer her to the dance floor. They took their positions, the music began, and they started to waltz.

"For someone who never dances, you're quite good at this," Iris remarked as he whisked her across the dance floor with graceful ease.

"I always loved to dance," he said. "As a child, my favorite lessons were with my dancing instructor."

"That's unusual. Most gentlemen I know hate to dance and have to be talked into it."

Phineas chuckled. "I remember telling my mother once that I planned to be the kind of gentleman hostesses love to invite to their parties because they actually like to dance with all the eager debutantes."

Iris laughed. "You would have been the most popular gentleman in the ton, under different circumstances. You probably never would have noticed me."

Phineas shook his head. "I would have noticed you."

"You didn't," she pointed out. "It took my father's scheming for you to even realize who I was."

"But that's because I avoided marriage altogether. After my parents' deaths and the loss of my land, I became so single-mindedly hell-bent on revenge that all thoughts of romance went out the window. But if I had been allowed to have a normal life—if I had gone to balls without that grief and thirst for vengeance hanging over my head—then believe me, I would have noticed you. And I would have asked you to dance at every single ball. Twice."

He twirled her expertly, and when she faced him again, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were soft.

"It would have caused much gossip," she murmured. "I think you would eventually have had to marry me."

"There is no alternate version of life where I don't marry you," Phineas said.

He hadn't meant for this to come out with quite so much heaviness, but the moment he said it, he could feel the air between them grow warmer. It was the closest he had come to confessing his feelings for her, and from the way her eyes grew wide, he knew she'd taken it as a declaration of sorts.

And then suddenly Phineas couldn't bear it any longer. He couldn't wait a moment longer to tell his wife exactly how he felt. If anyone knew that life was short, it was him. And he wasn't going to waste any more time he spent with her without telling her what was in his heart.

"Iris," he murmured, "there's something I have to tell you."

Iris gazed up at him steadily. He took a deep breath. The words were on the tip of his tongue. All he had to do was say them.

It would be all right. Iris wouldn't reject him. He could do this.

And then suddenly, unbidden, an image of his mother and father flashed before his eyes—the two of them waving goodbye from the carriage as he stood on the steps of Eavestone Castle, their smiling faces, the last time he ever saw them alive.

He couldn't do it, he realized, as he stared down into the hopeful, expectant eyes of his wife. Everyone he loved had left him. It was better to cut off all emotion than to feel the pain of losing those he loved.

His mouth was open, but he didn't know what to say. He couldn't do it.

But then Iris reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. She smiled. "I love you, Phineas," she confessed.

And everything else fell away. Suddenly Phineas didn't feel as if he was in a hot, crowded ballroom, surrounded by onlookers. It was just him and Iris, alone in their little universe.

"I love you too, Iris," he said.

The words rushed through him. Nothing had ever felt so right in his life. Nothing he'd said before had ever been so true.

"I love you!" he repeated, more loudly, as if shocked by the realization. Really, he just wanted to hear it again, to ensure that she understood he was serious. "I love you so much!"

Iris laughed, then stood up on tiptoe and pressed a small kiss to his cheek. It was scandalous, they both knew, for a married couple to show so much affection to one another in public, but clearly, Iris no longer cared.

They gazed into one another's eyes as they finished the dance, completely lost in the magic of the moment.

"Let's go home," Phineas suggested as he led her off the dancefloor. "I want to be alone with you."

"Yes," she breathed. "Let's go home."

"And, Iris…"

"Yes?"

"I know I said that we would not live as man and wife, but I would like to change our arrangement if you are amenable to it. I want to live with you, and love you, as a proper husband. But you can take your time to think ab?—"

"Of course, I want to," Iris interrupted. Her eyes were now shining, and Phineas thought she might cry. "It's what I want more than anything."

"Are you sure?" Phineas asked anxiously.

He wanted to be sure that she meant what she said and that she didn't feel any pressure one way or another.

"I'm sure," she replied, and he could hear the conviction in her voice. "I want to start a family with you, Phineas. To show our child the love that your parents showed you."

Those were the best words he'd ever heard in his life.

In the carriage, Phineas couldn't keep himself from kissing her again, and this time, without anyone watching, they were able to stay entwined for some time.

At last, the carriage arrived home, and the two of them stumbled up the stairs, giggling and finding any excuse to touch each other.

The butler opened the door, and they fell through it. Phineas was about to ask the butler to bring them some champagne when he caught sight of the man's troubled expression.

"What is it, Malloy?" Phineas asked sharply.

"You have a visitor," Mr. Malloy announced, his voice as strained as his expression. "Bridget Crampton, the lost Viscountess Carfield."