“Oh, do shut up, Theo,” she snapped, quite out of patience.
“Theo?” Zach asked.
“That’s his name, and as someone who has known him as long as you all claim to have, you should bloody well know that.”
She took Theo’s arm and dragged him toward the house, leaving the guests behind. Those closest were open-mouthed after her outburst.
“Release me. I will get you wet as well.” His voice had dropped several octaves.
“My hand is barely touching your arm,” Iris snapped.
“I’m all right, Iris.”
“Why do you do that? Let them ridicule you and behave as you do?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about?”
“That silly behavior.”
“It’s who I am.”
“Stop lying to me, my lord.”
He gritted his teeth, and the muscles in his jaw bunched.
“Where is Henry? You need to go to him.”
“Ruby is with him. She said she would come and get me if need be. But I can see Henry, and he is having a wonderful time.”
They walked the rest of the way to the house in tense silence. Once inside, she found a servant and asked for some drying cloths for Lord Montgomery.
“I can take it from here,” Theo said, sounding testy just as she did now. “I will not be returning to the celebrations.”
He walked away from her, following the servant who was directing him to a parlor where he could dry off. Broad back, strides long and determined, he looked nothing like Lord Plunge.
Iris followed and found him in a parlor rubbing a cloth over his wet hair, careless of any style it had been in. If he was as vain as they said, surely, he’d care about something like that.
His jacket had been thrown to the floor and now lay in a sodden heap. Pushing the door closed, she approached him.
“Tell me the truth.”
He lowered the drying cloth to look at her.
“Go away, Lady Challoner.”
“I want to know why you are who you are, and yet you are not he.”
“You do realize that makes little sense.” He was trying to use his Plunge voice, but the words came out a deep rasp.
“I was once your friend, Theo. Talk to me.”
“We are no longer friends. We know nothing about each other,” he gritted out, reaching for her. Even in anger, he would never touch her like Renton did. Gentle hands pulled her closer.
They stared at each other, and Iris felt the moment his anger slid into something else. She knew what passion looked like from her late husband but not from this man. Yet when his eyes darkened, and he pulled her closer still so her breasts brushed the hard planes of his chest, she felt a stirring inside her again.
“I’m sorry,” Iris whispered.
“For what?” The word were a rasp.
