“We have no Scottish cousins,” Fleur said flatly.
“We do now,” he told her.
Fleur looked at him as if he’d gone mad.
“Just recently discovered on the family tree,” he said, with enough false cheer to indicate that he was making the whole thing up. “Hamish and Mary Tavistock.”
“Now you’re inventing relations?” Fleur scoffed.
He ignored her sarcasm. “You are going to enjoy their company so much you decide to stay.” He gave her a sickly smile. “For months.”
Fleur crossed her arms. “I won’t do it.”
Iris looked at Richard. The raw pain in his eyes was almost too much to bear. For a moment she wanted to go to him, to lay her hand on his arm and comfort him.
But no. No. He did not deserve her comfort. He had lied to her. He had deceived her in the worst possible way.
“I cannot stay here,” she said suddenly. She could not remain in this room. She could not look at him. Or his sister.
“You will not leave me,” Richard said sharply.
She turned, not sure if her face belied her disbelief. Or her contempt. “I am going to my room,” she said slowly.
He shifted his weight slightly. He was embarrassed. Good.
“Do not disturb me,” Iris said.
Neither Richard nor Fleur said a word.
Iris stalked to the door and wrenched it open, only to find Marie-Claire, tripping over her feet as she jumped back, trying to look as if she hadn’t been blatantly eavesdropping.
“Good afternoon,” Marie-Claire said with a hasty smile. “I was just—”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Iris snapped, “you already know.”
She brushed past her, beyond caring that she’d made the younger girl stumble. When she got to her room, she did not slam the door. Instead she shut it with a careful click, her hand remaining frozen on the handle. With a strange detachment, she watched as her fingers began to tremble and then shake. And then her legs were shaking, and she had to lean against the door for support, and then she was sliding down, down to the floor where she bent into herself and began to weep.
IRIS WAS GONE for a full minute before Richard could bring himself to look at his sister.
“Do not blame this on me,” Fleur said with low fervor. “I did not ask this of you.”
Richard tried not to respond. He was so damned weary of arguing with her. But he could not see anything but the shattered look on Iris’s face, and he had an awful sense that he’d broken something within her, something he could never repair.
He began to feel chilled, the hot fury of the last month replaced by a devastating frost. His eyes settled hard on Fleur’s. “Your lack of gratitude astounds me.”
“I am not the one who demanded that she commit such an immoral fraud.”
Richard clenched his teeth until his jaw shook. Why could she not see reason? He was trying to protect her, to give her a chance at a happy, respectable life.
Fleur gave him a scornful glance. “Did you really think she was going to smile, and say, ‘As you wish, sir?’”
“I will deal with my wife as I see fit,” he bit off.
Fleur snorted.
“My God,” he exploded. “You have absolutely no—” He cut himself off, raking a hand through his hair as he wrenched himself away, turning to face the window. “Do you think I like this?” he nearly hissed. He clutched the sill with whitened fingers. “Do you think I enjoyed deceiving her?”
“Then don’t.”
“The damage is done.”
“But you can fix it. All you have to do is tell her she doesn’t have to steal my child.”
He whirled around. “It’s not steal—” He caught the triumphant look on her face, and said, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Fleur gave him a stony stare. “I assure you, I enjoy nothing about this.”
He looked at her then, really looked at her. Behind her eyes she was just as broken as Iris. The pain in her face . . . Had he put it there? No. No. He was trying to help her, to save her from the ruined existence with which that bastard Parnell had left her.
His hands curled into fists. If that bloody rotter hadn’t gone and died, he would have killed him. No, he would have marched him to the church with Fleur and then killed him. He thought of how his sister had once been, full of dreams and romance. She used to lie in the grass by the orangery and read in the sunshine. She used to laugh.
“Make me understand,” he pleaded. “Why do you resist this? Don’t you realize this is your only hope for a respectable life?”