She banked the fire that was just finally starting to warm the chamber in earnest and slipped into the corridor.
Padraig Boyd was waiting for her in the shadows, leaning his tall, wide frame against the stone wall. He straightened as she pulled the door closed behind her.
Iris glanced up and down the corridor. “Padraig, what are you doing here?”
He walked toward her at once and took Iris into his arms, lowering his mouth to hers and kissing her. She stood dumbly in his arms for a moment, but with her next inhalation, smelling his scent, feeling the roughness of his upper lip against her own skin, his strong arms about her, she relented. Her arms skimmed up his shoulders, mindful of the bulky bandage beneath his shirt, until her fingers were sliding through his hair, holding his head to hers.
His kiss, his embrace, was like shelter to her after so long—decades, it seemed—being on her own, with no one to care for her but herself. Here, now, was this strong man, this good man,who wanted her.
He wanted her, yes, but perhaps that was only because he didn’t truly know who she was.
The thought caused Iris to pull away. “Padraig,” she whispered. “I’m sorry about last night. But we can’t carryon like this.”
“Tell me you’re nae in love with Lucan.”
“I’m not at all in love with Lucan.”
He lowered his head again, as if to continue the kiss, but Iris turned her head and pulled out of his embrace, feeling as though she was dragging the weight of a boulder with her.
“What?” he said. “What is it?”
“I mean it. We can’t do this,” Iris said. “There’s too much at stake for both of us.”
“I say we must do this, for the verra same reason.” Padraig stepped toward her again, but this time he only took her hand. “Beryl, either of us could have died today. It’s clear there are people who will go to whatever lengths they must to see me gone from Darlyrede,dead or alive.”
“I know,” Iris said, her conscience twisting every time he called her by that name—the name of the maid who was dead. The name of the girl who no longer existed, who had never existed in the role Iris was playing. “It’s dangerous for us both. It’s why we must not allow ourselves tobe distracted.”
“Are you telling me I don’t already distract you? That we doona distract each other?”
Iris looked away.
“Is it your past?” Padraig pressed.
She turned her face to look at him again. “Yes.”
True.
“I doona care,” Padraig said with a gentle smile. “I already know, andI doona care.”
Iris swallowed. “You know what?”
“I know about the abbey, and why you were there,” he said.
Her heart pounded in her chest. “I don’tthink you do.”
“Nay, I do,” he insisted. “And I doona care about your station. Whether I win Darlyrede House or nae, nae matter the pretty manners you’ve taught me, I’m still the same man I was when I first arrived here. And nae matter what happens, I want you to know that I intend to make you mine. I wish to take care of you.”
Iris felt her eyes welling with tears. “This isn’t Caedmaray, Padraig. It doesn’t work that way here. And you don’t know me as youthink you do.”
“I know you in the only way that matters,” he insisted yet again. “I know your heart.”
She pulled her hands away. “I have to speak to Lucan.”
Padraig frowned. “Why? Asking his permission, are you?”
Iris shook her head and then looked both ways down the corridor. “No. The masked man in the wood, he told me he killed Euphemia Hargrave. I need to tell Lucan alone.”
“I doona understand,” Padraig said. “You doona wish me present when you’re discussing things that concern Darlyrede?”
