Iris had never seen him so angry, had never imagined his body so tightly coiled with fury. Her hand itched to slap him, but she refused to demean herself in such a fashion.
“Why does it matter how it happened?” Richard finished.
Iris’s lips had come together to form words, but the crack in his voice stopped her. Something was not right. She forced her gaze to his face, her eyes meeting his with uncompromising intensity.
His eyes held hers . . . and then slid away.
Chapter Fifteen
HE WAS THE worst sort of bastard.
Richard knew this, but still he turned for the door. He could tell her the truth. There was no reason he couldn’t except that he was selfish and he was a coward, and damn it all, he wanted just a few more days before her displeasure descended into outright hatred. Was that really so much to ask?
“I will leave you,” he said stiffly. And he would have done. If nothing had happened, if she’d not said a word, he would have opened the door and taken himself across the house. He would have shut himself in a room with a bottle of brandy and walls thick enough so that he could not hear her cry.
But then, just as his hand pressed down on the handle of the door, he heard her whisper, “Did I do something wrong?”
His hand stilled. But his arm trembled.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. But of course he knew exactly what she meant.
“It’s—I—”
He forced himself to turn around. Dear God, it hurt to watch her like this, so awkward and pained. She couldn’t get the sentence out, and if he were any sort of man, he’d figure out some way to spare her this humiliation.
He swallowed convulsively, searching for words that he knew would not be enough. “You are everything I could ask for in a wife.”
But the look in her eyes was distrustful.
He took a long breath. He could not leave her like this. He crossed the room and reached for her hand. Perhaps if he brought it to his lips, if he kissed her . . .
“No!” She jerked her hand back, her voice as raw as her eyes. “I can’t think straight when you do that.”
Under normal circumstances, he would have delighted in such an admission.
Iris looked away, her eyes squeezing shut for a second, just long enough for her head to give a little jerk. “I don’t understand you,” she said in a very low voice.
“Do you need to?”
She looked up. “What sort of question is that?”
He forced a shrug, trying to look casual. “I don’t understand anyone.” Himself, least of all.
She stared at him for so long he had to fight the urge to shift his weight from foot to foot. “Why did you marry me?” she finally asked.
“Didn’t we just have this conversation?”
Her mouth came together in an implacable line. She did not speak. She did not speak for so long that he was compelled to fill the silence.
“You know why I married you,” he said, not meeting her eyes.
“No,” she said, “I really don’t.”
“I compromised you.”
She gave him a withering glance. “We both know it started long before that.”
He tried to calculate how long he might be able to feign ignorance.
“Oh, for the love of God, Richard, please do not insult my intelligence. You kissed me that night with the express purpose of being seen by my aunt. You demean me by insisting otherwise.”
“I kissed you,” he said hotly, “because I wanted to.” It was the truth. Not the whole truth, but by God, it was part of the truth.
But Iris snorted with disbelief. “Maybe you did, but the question is why you wanted to.”
Good God. He raked his hand through his hair. “Why does any man want to kiss a woman?”
“I really wouldn’t know, now would I?” she practically spat. “Because my husband finds me repulsive.”
He took a step back, shocked into silence. Finally, because he knew he had to say something, he said, “Don’t be absurd.”
It was the wrong thing. Her eyes widened as they filled with outrage, and she turned on her heel and stalked away from him.
But he was faster, and he caught her by the wrist. “I don’t find you repulsive.”
Her eyes flicked up as she dismissed this. “I may not have the kind of experience you do, but I know what is meant to go on between a husband and wife. And I know that we have not—”
“Iris,” he cut in, desperate to put a stop to this, “you’re upsetting yourself.”