Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

" W ell, I rather think you shouldn't go home tonight," Phineas said, staring pointedly at the bruise forming around James's right eye. "The Bow Street Runners might come by to question where you were tonight, and you can hardly answer them looking like you just got into a scrape on the street."

"I did just get into a scrape on the street," James reminded him, frowning sulkily as he sank into the sofa.

"I don't want to hear anymore," Iris warned from where she sat near the hearth, a slight smile on her lips despite her stern tone. "Whatever happened this afternoon, I'm choosing to believe it was all within the bounds of decency."

This made James smirk, and even Phineas had to hide his smile.

It was evening, and James and Nathan Goldwin had joined them for dinner. Since the company was so small, all the ladies and gentlemen were now gathered together in the parlor, Iris and her sisters drinking tea while the men sipped brandy. It had been a pleasant evening, and as Phineas felt tiredness beginning to overtake him, he was able to reflect on how pleasant it was to have his home full of people he cared about. It hadn't happened in a very, very long time.

There had been a cheerful atmosphere in the house since Phineas had announced earlier that Violet would not be forced to marry Lord Redfield. The usually reserved Violet couldn't stop smiling, and he hadn't failed to notice that his wife kept throwing tender looks in his direction. Each time, his heart leaped uncomfortably in his chest.

It felt better than he had expected, to be needed, and to help someone who relied on him. More than that, it left him feeling warm and content to know that Iris was happy.

"I suppose Nathan should stay as well, then," James argued, casting an appraising eye over his cousin. "He got it worse than I did."

Indeed, the Marquess looked worse for wear. There was a bruise on his jawline, and one of his eyes was still half-closed, a cut on top of the lid. Still, he'd been in high spirits all night, flirting a little too obviously with Iris's sisters and making them both flush scarlet.

"Do we have enough room for everyone?" Iris asked, catching Phineas's eye. "I know Eavestone House is spacious, but it's still just a townhouse…"

She was biting her lip, her brow furrowed in concern, and Phineas's stomach fluttered with something he couldn't quite place.

Pull yourself together, man . You're making a fool of yourself.

"We will make do," Phineas replied.

He scanned the room, counting the number of guests. One, two, three, four… Eavestone House had exactly five bedrooms. Which meant that Iris would have to give up her room to Violet and sleep in?—

"Violet and Rose will have to share a room," Iris declared, her voice a little shrill, and Phineas knew that she'd realized the exact same thing at the exact same moment. She looked at him, but her eyes didn't quite meet his.

Phineas felt a small flare of annoyance. His wife would rather make her grown sisters share a bed than sleep in his. Well, he was putting a stop to that right now.

"Absolutely not," he said, his annoyance giving way to amusement as he saw her blanch. "Your sisters have been through an ordeal today, and I wish them to enjoy the finest hospitality we have to offer."

"But—"

"The Eavestone dukedom is known for its generosity, my dear, and I won't have it being said that I made my wife's grown sisters share a bedroom."

Iris opened her mouth to object, seemed unable to think of anything to say, and closed it again. Her cheeks were burning, and Phineas had to swallow a chuckle. His wife was embarrassed to share a bed with him, and he found her embarrassment wonderfully adorable.

Around the room, meanwhile, Phineas was sure he could feel their guests exchanging meaningful glances. He didn't care. Let them gossip about them later. For tonight, he would get to share a bed with Iris. And while he knew that he would respect the agreement they had made to live not as man and wife, he couldn't deny there was a part of him that longed to be so close to her for an entire night.

And from the look on her face, he suspected she felt the exact same way.

"Are you well, Your Grace?" Anna, Iris's lady's maid, asked, as she helped Iris out of her stays. "You're trembling!"

Belatedly, Iris realized that Anna was right. As she lifted her leg to step out of her skirts, she noticed her whole body was shaking. But of course she was. This was the first time she would spend the night in her husband's bedchamber. Phineas had thoughtfully said he would be having another brandy in his library before coming up to bed, giving her time to change into her nightshift without his presence, but still, she felt his presence everywhere.

His chamber was decidedly masculine, from the dark mahogany wood paneling, to the wine-colored velvet curtains around the bed, to the lingering scent of her husband's eau de cologne , which smelled of bergamot and pine. There was also a large portrait of him hanging on one wall. It was a striking likeness, and as Iris stared up into the icy, penetrating blue eyes of her husband, she felt her heart flutter.

"I'm nervous," she admitted at last, turning back to Anna, who was watching her with a puzzled look on her face.

Anna's eyes flashed with understanding, and she tentatively put a hand on Iris's arm. "You're not… frightened of him, are you, Your Grace?"

"No," Iris said, surprising herself by the vehemence of her declaration. "I'm not. Actually, it's the opposite."

Anna frowned, but she nodded as if she understood and scooped up the rest of Iris's clothes from where she'd hung them on the changing screen.

"Well, if you ever feel frightened, you can always talk to me," she offered. "We servants know His Grace's reputation as well as you do…"

"Thank you, Anna," Iris said, and she meant it.

Anna had been with her her whole life, and she knew she meant well. But Anna didn't know the side of the Duke that Iris did. She hadn't seen the way he'd burst into the parlor earlier, declaring that her sister wouldn't marry Lord Redfield. She hadn't felt his strong arms around her as she'd fussed over his injuries…

Iris's heart fluttered again, and she cleared her throat. "Thank you, Anna. That will be all."

The lady's maid curtsied and left the room.

Very quickly, Iris shed her dressing gown so that she was just in her nightshift, then scurried over to the bed. Throwing back the covers, she got underneath as quickly as possible and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

Several long minutes passed, during which she anxiously watched the door. At last, there was a soft knock.

"Come in," she called out, her voice hoarser than she had anticipated.

The door opened, and Phineas entered.

The moment she saw him in the warm glow of the candlelight, her stomach fluttered. Her husband looked so handsome illuminated by the soft orange glow. His chestnut-brown hair looked even richer and more lustrous than ever, and his pale blue eyes reflected the flames.

"Good evening," he said, his eyes sliding over her.

Iris's mouth went dry. "Good evening," she managed to reply.

After a short hesitation, Phineas went to the screen she'd changed behind, and she heard him remove his clothes. When he reappeared, he was in his shirt sleeves and breeches. Iris had never seen a man in such a state of undress, and it made her heart hammer painfully in her chest. He crossed to the chair at his dressing table and sat down on it, then turned to gaze at her.

"Don't be nervous," he said, his voice as soft as velvet.

"I'm not nervous," she lied. He raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her, and she laughed. "Well, all right, maybe I'm a little nervous. We have never shared a bed before, after all."

For a moment, his eyes swept over her, and she saw something sharpen in his expression, almost like a primal hunger.

Then his jaw tightened and he shook his head. "That changes nothing," he said tightly. "Our marriage is still a business transaction."

"Of course," she said, trying to sound as if she hadn't been wondering exactly this. "I know you are an honorable man."

He opened his mouth as if to respond, then closed it again. The look on his face was… touched.

"That is a true compliment," he admitted quietly. "Especially coming from you."

"From me?" She let the covers slip down from her chin as she gazed at him.

"Yes. The way you protect and look after your sisters is very honorable."

"Well, I'm all they have."

"Still." Phineas's eyes blazed. "Family is everything, and I admire your commitment to yours."

"I'm not committed to my father," Iris pointed out, her lips quirking up.

"No," he said with a small snort, "I suppose not. Speaking of which, the solicitor seemed optimistic when I spoke to him today—before you arrived in such a dramatic way and cut the conversation short, I might add."

His expression was difficult to read, but Iris could tell from the slight amusement in his eyes that he was teasing her.

"That's wonderful." In her fear and panic over her sister's betrothal, Iris had quite forgotten the reason why Phineas had been meeting with the solicitor. "What did he say, exactly?"

"Well, apart from admiring your legal knowledge of contracts, he agreed that there may be a case to fight the legitimacy of the bill of sale. Not only was it not notarized, as you pointed out, but he is hopeful your mother could testify that it was forged."

Iris nodded but said nothing. She had a feeling she knew what Phineas was going to ask her next.

He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees as his eyes continued to study her face. "He did worry that your father would be able to intimidate your mother and convince her not to testify. I had to assure him they do not live together."

"Was he shocked by the realization?" Iris asked, unable to keep a touch of bitterness from her voice.

"Perhaps at first," Phineas replied, smirking slightly. "But then he remembered to whom he was speaking, and he adjusted his reaction."

Iris felt a rush of gratefulness for her husband. Even in the smallest of ways, he was always protecting her—even from the judgment of a solicitor whose opinion she should not care about.

Phineas stood up, stretched, and walked over to the basin on the dressing table, where he bent over and began to splash water on his face. Iris watched him covertly out of the corner of her eye. She was impressed that he hadn't asked anything further about her mother.

It felt as if he were trying to tell her that he was willing to listen, should she wish to tell him about the unusual situation, but that he wouldn't pry if she preferred not to. And as she watched his strong hands dab the towel on his face, she felt the powerful urge to open up—perhaps for the first time in her life.

"My mother lives with her sister," she revealed.

In the mirror on the dressing table, Iris saw Phineas freeze. He then slowly raised his head so that his eyes met hers in the mirror. Setting the towel down, he turned to face her. His expression was soft, open, and Iris felt a rush of confidence. He would listen to her, she knew, patiently and without judgment.

"She left when I was thirteen," she continued shakily. "I don't know why she left, even after all these years. Father would never talk about it. Now that I know him better, I realize he must have been difficult to live with. I'm sure she was deeply unhappy in their marriage. But she didn't leave any sort of note, any explanation. For many years, I thought she left because…" Iris felt her throat tighten and tears prick her eyes. "Because of me. And my sisters. I thought she must have hated being a mother."

Phineas moved slowly toward the bed. When he reached the edge, he sank down onto the covers near her feet. His expression was still tender, even a little concerned.

Iris drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest. It made her feel safe to confess these secrets to him when she was curled up into herself like this.

"Father got worse after she left. He was never easy to deal with, but after she left, he became unbearable. That's when he started threatening to marry me off to horrible old men whenever I misbehaved. To be fair to him, I did act out quite a bit after she left. I missed her so much, and I was so angry…"

"That's no excuse for him to make those threats," Phineas said sharply. "You were only a child missing her mother. Of course, you acted out. It must have been terrifying to be threatened with marriage, especially when you were still so young."

"It was terrifying," Iris mumbled, her heart hammering again at the look of righteous anger on Phineas's face. "And you're right, I didn't deserve it."

"You didn't," he agreed, and he tentatively placed a hand on her knee. Even through the blankets, she could feel the warmth of his touch. "I wish I could go back in time and protect you from that," he murmured.

"It was my mother's job to protect me from it," Iris said, "and she didn't. Eventually, I learned that she'd gone to my aunt's. She didn't keep in touch, but my father let it slip once, during one of our arguments. After that, when I realized she was so close, that she could come back whenever she wanted, I became an exemplary daughter. Never again did I get in trouble, except when Father was being unreasonable and blamed me for things I hadn't done. I thought that if I were a good girl, then he might tell Mother, and she would come back."

Iris had to stop for a moment. Her voice was choked, and it took several deep breaths to keep the tears from falling. At the same time, she felt Phineas's hand tighten on her knee.

"But of course, she never came back. She never even wrote. So, I became for my sisters what she should have been for me. I protected them as she should have. And that's why I would do anything to keep them safe."

Phineas nodded as if he understood. "You want them to feel as if they have a mother," he murmured.

"I suppose I do," Iris mused. She'd never quite thought of it that way, but it made sense. "They don't remember her as well as I do—Violet was nine, and Rose was only eight—so they don't miss her as much. And I think I told myself that I could replace her, for them, so they wouldn't have to carry around the heaviness that I carry. The feeling of abandonment."

"You're very strong," Phineas said, and she looked up into his eyes. They were shining with something akin to anger, but she knew it wasn't directed at her. "But you shouldn't have had to be," he added.

Her breath caught in her throat. Phineas heard and leaned forward so that his face was close to hers.

"You were only a child yourself," he whispered. "You shouldn't have had to be a mother for your sisters. You should have had someone protecting you and letting you be a child."

Iris could no longer hold back her tears. As she gazed into her husband's eyes, a single tear finally spilled over, trailing down her cheek. Phineas reached forward and wiped the tear away with his thumb.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for saying that."

He smiled softly at her and then released her. He stood up and pulled the covers back up to her chin, tucking the sides in around her.

"Rest now," he said, his voice as soft as a lullaby. "You're safe."

Iris closed her eyes, and moments later, she felt him lay down on the other side of the bed. He remained above the covers, but all night long, she felt his arms around her, holding her tight.