“He wanted Lady Honora.”
Iris couldn’t deny this stung. No lady wanted to be a gentleman’s second choice, but in the end, even that made little difference. He must have deemed her an appropriate choice for his marchioness, or he never would have offered for her at all.
After he wagered away the chance to offer for the lady he really wanted.
Iris’s hands clenched until she’d crushed the folds of her pink gown between her fingers. Dear God, she despised this gown. She wished she could squeeze it hard enough to make it bleed.
Not that it would do the least bit of good. The damage was done. Now it was just a question of how to manage it.
Iris took a deep breath and forced her hands to relax. Very well, so he’d wanted Lady Honora. It hardly mattered. He was betrothed to Iris now, and every other young lady in London had spent this entire season wishing she was Iris Somerset. She was one of the lucky ones, and it was nothing but selfishness to sit here and whimper over it. Lord Huntington was a wealthy marquess, who, despite the mistress, had a character beyond reproach.
The mistress, the blindfolds, and something to do with silk scarves, that is.
Blindfolds. Dear God. An image of Lord Huntington with a cravat stretched taut between his hands rose unbidden in her mind, and an unwelcome shiver of…somethingshot down her spine.
Not desire, of course. Fear? Shock, perhaps? Or was it disgust? No, not quite that, either, though Iris would have been far more comfortable if it had been.
But this was all nonsense. Huntington’s disgraceful wager, his lack of affection for her, his mysterious dark desires…what did any of it matter? Her grandmother wanted the match, and that was reason enough for Iris to want it, as well.
She rose from the bench, threw her shoulders back, and raised her chin. There. It was settled. She was betrothed to Lord Huntington, and despite the deep ache in her chest—an ache that would surely fade—she hadn’t overheard anything to make her change her mind about marrying him. She shouldn’t have been eavesdropping at all. She should have remained on the terrace with Honora and Violet and quietly drank her tea like a proper lady, instead of running about the garden like a wild animal.
Really, this entire episode was her own fault—
“Don’t tell me you got lost in the gardens, Miss Somerset.”
Iris whirled around, her heart rushing into her throat at the thought of having to face Lord Huntington so soon, but it was only Honora’s cousin, Lord Wrexley, his lips curved in the charming, careless smile she knew so well.
Relief rushed through her, so profound an answering smile rose at once to her own lips, despite the crushing weight of misery on her chest. “I’ve been in the garden on dozens of occasions. I’d have to be an utter half-wit to get lost in it.”
“Are you calling me a half-wit? Every time I come out here I lose my way. I’ve taken to dragging Honora with me whenever we plan to go further than the rose garden, just to be certain I make it back safely.”
Iris’s smile widened.Dear Lord Wrexley. His amusing nonsense never failed to cheer her. “You ventured well beyond the rose gardens today. Quite a risk, my lord.”
“Yes, well, I came in search of you, and you’re worth the risk.” He swept her a gallant bow, then straightened, and gave her another artless grin. “It’s a lucky thing I found you. I may never have made it back otherwise.”
“I suppose my sister is wondering where I am.” Iris sighed, but there was no point in putting it off. She’d have to face Lord Huntington at some point, and it may as well be now.
Iris reached to take the arm Lord Wrexley offered her, but before she could, his hands landed on her shoulders and he turned her to face him, his smile fading as he searched her face. “You look distraught. Has something happened?”
Iris hesitated. She’d spent as much time with Lord Wrexley as she had with Lady Honora, and he’d become a friend, but even so, she couldn’t discuss Lord Huntington with him. “No, nothing. Just the headache, likely from too much sun this afternoon.”
“But you’re bleeding.” He hooked a fingertip under the sleeve of her gown and tugged it away from her arm. “Right here.”
Iris held her arm out to get a closer look at the cut. “Oh, it’s nothing. I must have scratched it on a tree branch.”
He moved closer, his brows drawn together with concern as he traced a gentle finger over the cut. “If you’re unhappy about something, you can tell me, you know. Perhaps I can help.”
“You can’t.” His offer made tears press behind Iris’s eyes, but she blinked them back. “It’s kind of you to be concerned, but—”
“Miss Somerset!” The deep voice came from behind her, and a large hand caught her elbow and pulled her away from Lord Wrexley. “What are you doing way out here, so far from the house?”
Lord Huntington stood there, his lips white, a look on his face Iris had never seen before. Shocked at his low, furious growl, she stuttered into a reply. “I—I was about to return to the terrace…”
She trailed off into silence, because Lord Huntington wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even looking at her anymore. He was staring at Lord Wrexley.
“She got lost, Huntington. No harm done.”
“Not from lack of trying, I’m sure.” Lord Huntington’s voice was soft, but threaded with cold menace that made no sense to Iris and left a nervous knot in her belly.
