“A stubborn, deluded, catastrophically foolish woman,” Iris persisted, because once started, the words would not stop. “I convinced myself I could enter into an arrangement with a manlike Blaise and remain unscathed. That I could keep my heart and my dignity, no matter what he did to my body.”
Camelia inhaled sharply. “Iris, what sort of arrangement?”
“The sort you expected, I imagine.” Iris dropped her hands and looked at her sister. “Entirely outside the bounds of what a lady ought to do. And it began… with a bargain.”
“You and the Duke of Knoxford made a bargain?” Camelia spoke slowly as she tried to understand.
Iris nodded once. “He wanted my house. I did not wish to relinquish it, as you may have gathered.”
“That much I deduced.” Camelia’s mouth tightened. “What did you promise him?”
Iris exhaled loudly. “I promised him myself.”
Camelia flushed scarlet. “Iris!”
“Yes, yes, I know.” The words tumbled out faster now, and with them a strange lightness, as if every confession burned some of the weight away. “You will be gratified to learn that all your dire warnings regarding married life, which I ignored for seven years, turned out to be entirely accurate when undertaken with a man who knows what he is about.”
Camelia grinned mischievously. “I want to understand how my very respectable sister decided to become a duke’s… a duke’s?—”
“Convenience?” Iris supplied. “Diversion? The word does not signify. I did it because I could not bear to lose that house. Not for the reasons you or he believes.” She swallowed her lie.
Camelia’s eyes shone. “Iris. Then why are you crying?”
“I thought, with Hentley gone, that I could at least turn his wretched house into something worthwhile,” Iris continued, choking on her words. “If I could keep it, make it sound, it would prove I was capable. Worthy, perhaps, of the notice I never seem to command without scandal. So when Blaise appeared and threatened to take it, I panicked. I let him do as he liked.”
Camelia’s brows snapped together. “Did he hurt you?”
“No.” The answer came instantly. “He did not hurt me. And yet…” She broke off, groping for words. “Camelia, I will tell you something unspeakably strange. Being with him felt, at times, like relief.”
Camelia’s hand found hers again, squeezed, urging her on without judgment.
“All my life I have worn this armor of goodness,” Iris said, her gaze turning inward. “I thought if I was very careful, very clean, no one could ever accuse me of failing again. But with him, Ifelt my shame loosen. As if, by daring the worst, I could not be threatened by it any longer.”
Camelia’s mouth parted, but she did not speak.
“I know how it sounds,” Iris added quickly. “I can hear it as if I were one of those ladies at the party, clucking behind my fan. A foolish widow, letting a rake do as he pleases and calling it freedom. But in those moments...” She shut her eyes, memory flickering: his hands, his voice, the delicious, terrifying loss of control. “I could stop being the woman who must always be good. I could simply be… a body. A wanting, flawed, shameless body.”
“And now?” Camelia asked quietly. “Do you regret it?”
Iris opened her eyes as the tears cascaded. She felt them, hot and treacherous, clinging to her lashes.
“I do not regret it,” she said, each word chosen with care. “It is all right that he does not want to marry me; I never expected marriage anyway.”
Camelia’s fingers tightened. “Did you ask him outright?”
Iris gave a shaky laugh. “Yes.”
“And when you left, he let you go.”
“He wanted me to stay, but I could not. Not like that.”
“I cannot believe he was so cold,” Camelia said fiercely. “From what I have seen, he?—”
“He was not always cold,” Iris cut in. “I do not want to paint him in a bad light.”
Camelia brushed a tear from Iris’s cheek with her thumb. “Love does not often honor agreements.
“I am not in love with him,” Iris protested too quickly. But her chest burned, and the word felt thin.
