“Thank you, Robyn,” Iris said to the woman who’d arrived with the boy. “Perhaps you could take Henry for a walk in the gardens rather than back to his rooms?”
“That sounds lovely, don’t you think, Henry,” she said. “And you can share one of those peppermint sticks with me.”
The boy gave her a genuine smile, not one of the stilted ones he’d given Monty. It changed his face completely. Suddenly he looked relaxed and happy instead of terrified. He and the woman left the room.
The silence that followed was even louder than the previous one. Iris walked away from him to the window. He guessed she was putting distance between them to collect herself. Monty followed.
“Henry is shy,” Iris said, turning to face him. Her eyes widened when she saw he was close.
“I can see that.” Monty doubted he was just shy. There was a great deal more going on here, but he didn’t want to know what. He couldn’t let himself care about any more people, especially with how soon he was leaving London.
They stood there staring at each other. Strangers who both lived behind a facade. Something about this woman reached that cold, hard place inside him that he’d shut and bolted long ago.
“You… we are very different from who we were,” she whispered.
In that moment, he wanted to be close to her. Needed it when he’d never sought contact with anyone before. In seconds he was cupping her soft cheek, and Iris did not pull away. It felt so warm under his palm.When had he last touched a person like this?
It would have taken ten men to pull him away from her in that moment. Had she flinched or made a move, he would have released her, but she didn’t.
“Theo,” she whispered.
“Iris,” he rasped, and then Monty was lowering his head and placing his lips on hers. The gesture was soft, yet he felt it thawing him from the inside. Need pulsed through him.More.He took her mouth again, soft, seeking. The warmth crept through him as Iris placed a palm on his chest. He couldn’t feel the contact—they wore too many clothes—but it branded him.
He raised his head and looked at her.
What the hell was he doing?
Her breathing was erratic, as was his, and Monty’s heart pounded inside his chest. He’d just kissed a woman, and not just any woman—his childhood friend. He backed up two steps.
“I have what you asked for, my lady.” A footman came in carrying a wooden box.
Monty moved to the seat he’d recently occupied and sat once more.
“Thank you, Bryce,” Iris said, her voice shaky. “Please place it on the floor.”
The footman did and left, and Monty had to fight with himself not to move to her side and touch her. The warmth she had given him was seeping from his body.
“That won’t happen again,” she said, her voice cool.
Monty nodded, still reeling from what they’d done. He never reacted without thought. Never did anything impulsively. Yet, in that moment, he’d needed to kiss this woman as much as he needed his next breath.
“I will look through the contents, and then you can leave.”
“Iris—”
“We never speak of that again.”
“Very well,” Monty said. That he was here, in her house, when clearly, she didn’t want him to be, meant he had to tread carefully.
You kissed her. That is not treading carefully.
He tried to rationalize his behavior. It was because he was emotional. Angry after reading that paper. That was why he’d kissed her. He was not himself.
Conflicted and confused, he sat back to watch as Iris started going through the papers. He’d give her space after this. Leave here and never return. Just as he would leave London at the season’s end.
Or would he? Now that he had clues as to who killed his parents, he may stay. Looking at the woman seated across from him, he wondered if she remained in London if he’d have another reason.
CHAPTERTWELVE
