“But indeed there are such gentlemen. Lord Huntington, for one.”
“Lord Huntington?” Lady Annabel looked surprised. “You mean to say he had an opportunity to kiss you, and he didn’t take it?”
Iris covered her mouth to disguise a tiny hiccup. “Yes, but to be fair, he was in rather a rush. His mistress was hiding behind the rose bushes at the time, you see, and she was listening.”
Lady Annabel’s eyes went wide. “Lord Huntington had Lady Beaumont secreted away in the bushes while he was meant to be kissing you?”
He wasn’t preciselymeantto be kissing her, but it was too difficult to explain that to Lady Annabel, so Iris nodded. “Yes, something like that. Lady Beaumont is rather unpleasant, isn’t she?”
“Oh, no. No more unpleasant than a nest of poisonous vipers, that is. But you mentioned Lady Beaumont the other day, when we spoke in your bedchamber. Is she the reason you jilted Lord Huntington? Because many aristocratic gentlemen keep mistresses, Iris. I don’t suppose their wives like it much, but I’m afraid the only acceptable response for a lady is to look the other way. It’s not sufficient grounds to jilt him.”
Iris waved a hand in the air, then frowned down at the splash of red wine she’d spilled on her skirt. “No, no. I realize aristocratic gentlemen often have mistresses. No, it wasn’t that, or even that awful wager he made, though I do think I would have been well within my rights to jilt him for that.”
“Ah. The wager.” Lady Annabel leaned forward. “You mentioned that before, as well. Well, let’s have the worst of it, then.”
Goodness, was her wine gone already? Iris held out her glass to Lady Annabel. “It was a very ungentlemanly business, but I suppose I ended up with the better end of it, since poor Honora only narrowly escaped a marriage to Lord Harley, that scoundrel.”
Lady Annabel poured more wine into Iris’s glass. “You mean to say Lord Harley, Lord Wrexley, and Lord Huntington wagered for the chance to court you and Lady Honora?”
“Yes. As I said before, Lord Huntington lost and got stuck with me, I’m afraid.” Iris laughed a little, but she couldn’t quite ignore the jab of pain in her chest.
“I wouldn’t have thought that of Lord Huntington,” Lady Annabel murmured, more to herself than Iris. “I confess I can see why you might wish to jilt him after that, but I doubt thetonwill be so forgiving.”
Iris held out her hand for her glass of wine, and Lady Annabel passed it to her. “No, but then that’s not really why I jilted him.”
“This is much more complicated than I anticipated. Why, then?”
Iris thought hard. There’d been a reason—something rather heartbreaking, actually, but she couldn’t quite recall it now…
“Oh! Oh yes, I remember. I jilted him because Lord Huntington doesn’t care for me. I just happened to be the season’s belle when he made up his mind to marry, and I suppose one young lady is a good as another, isn’t she? I daresay he spends a great deal more time and care choosing a horse at Tattersall’s than he did his marchioness. Well, the wager shows that clearly enough. But I was wrong to jilt him. I see that now. My grandmother, and my sisters…” Iris stared down into the bottom of her wineglass. “It was foolish and selfish of me.”
What had she expected from a marriage, after all? Love, devotion, faithfulness? Passion, even?
Yes.It was exactly what she’d expected.
No. It was more than that. It was what she deserved, not that it made the least bit of difference now.
Lady Annabel placed her wineglass on the silver tray in front of her and turned a penetrating gaze on Iris. “I confess you surprise me, Iris. I must say, I admire your courage. Not many young ladies in your position would trouble themselves much about anything other than becoming a marchioness.”
Iris smiled over the dry ache in her throat. “Yes, well—just as I said, it was foolish, but it was more than just the wager, Lady Annabel. He refused an innocent kiss from me when we were betrothed, but not half an hour later he was skulking around the rose bushes with his mistress, reveling in his past debaucheries with her.”
That wasn’tquitefair, since he’d been trying to disentangle himself from Lady Beaumont more that he’d been reveling in his debaucheries, but Iris didn’t feel like being fair, and she’d had enough wine she didn’t have to be.
“I just…everything inside me swelled with fury at the injustice of it. For pity’s sake, he tied Lady Beaumont up with silk scarves, then balked at a simple kiss from his betrothed!” Iris drained the rest of the wine in her glass. “I never even had a chance with Lord Huntington. He’d dismissed me before we were even betrothed. He would have made me his marchioness, and in return for that honor, he would have expected utter propriety from me at all times. Unquestioning obedience, as well. I never would have gained his love, or even his respect. I realize I’m meant to settle for the title—to be grateful for it, even—but I knew it was never going to be enough for me.”
Iris fell back against the settee, a little surprised at herself, but as soon as the words came out, she realized she’d wanted to give herself permission to speak them for a long time.
“It’snotenough, or it shouldn’t be. Not for anyone. But you said earlier Lord Huntington did kiss you, so at some point his insistence on propriety must have given way to passion. Unless it wasn’t a passionate kiss?”
Iris’s belly gave a wild little leap as she remembered the way he’d looked at her when she’d challenged him about Chaos, and the feel of his mouth on hers, hot and demanding, his short, ragged breaths. She could have kissed him for hours, days—even now she hadn’t the faintest idea how she’d managed to pull herself from his arms.
It seemed she had some dark desires of her own.
But how could she confess such a thing to Lady Annabel? Proper ladies didn’t have dark desires. At least, Iris had never heard any lady of her acquaintance confess to them, but then a notoriously wicked widow wasn’t justanylady, and Iris had come this far without Lady Annabel falling into a shocked swoon.
“Well, if I can’t confide in a wicked widow about my dark desires, who can I confide in?” As soon as the words slipped past her lips, Iris could have bitten out her tongue. “I mean, notwicked, of course. I don’t think you’re wicked in the least, Lady Annabel. What I mean is—”
She didn’t get any further, because Lady Annabel threw back her head and laughed. “It’s quite all right. I reconciled myself to my wickedness a long time ago.” She leaned forward, her blue eyes alight with humor. “And really, my dear, being wicked is far more amusing than being good.”
