“You taste just as I imagined.” He grazed his thumb over her wet lips and sucked on it as if he were savoring her.
Iris’s lips felt swollen, and her chest heaved as she stared up at him. Blaise’s scar stood out starkly against the faint flush on his own cheeks; his dark curls were disheveled where her hands had gripped them. He looked every inch the dangerous duke, yet there was a flicker of tenderness in his gaze.
“We have a deal, then.” his voice was rough with restraint.
“A deal?” Iris completely forgot what they were talking about.
Blaise chuckled. “Yes, Little Blossom, you get one month to say goodbye to this house, but… I will overlook everything.” He held a hand up to stop her from protesting. “You will help me find a suitable bride for Marcus, someone with genuine character who is fitting to become a duchess. And at the end of the month... you will give yourself to me. Completely. Inmyroom, undermyterms.”
Iris nodded, unable to speak. Her mind was a whirlwind of desire and dread.
“Do we have a deal?” Blaise repeated as he stepped back fully from her, and she had the sudden urge to reach for him.
He straightened his coat with deliberate calm, though his eyes still burned right through her.
“Y… yes,” she stammered.
He nodded once.
“Enjoy your last night alone in Hentley House, Little Blossom,” he murmured, the endearment soft yet possessive. “Because I will return tomorrow, and every day after. This place will be filled with workmen and my presence, and I pray you do not think to run from it.”
He turned toward the door, but Iris stopped him. “Workmen?”
Blaise stopped and glanced back at her. “Yes, the men will be under your command, of course.”
Before she could respond, he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor until the house fell into a heavy silence once more.
Workmen? Under my command?
Iris sank into the chair he had vacated; her legs were no longer steady. She had been fixing one thing at a time in Hentley House and never imagined fixing it all at once.
She pressed trembling fingers to her swollen lips, replaying every moment. She had made the offer to buy herself time and to delay the inevitable displacement. But after that kiss, the bargain felt less like a desperate plea and more like a promise she desperately wanted to keep.
What could he do to me in that room?
The images from his sketchbook flashed through her mind: arched backs, parted thighs, and surrendering women sketched in exquisite lines. Her body throbbed at the thought. Surely, she would not go through with it.
Rising on unsteady legs, Iris made her way to her chamber. Tomorrow, the duke would return, and everything would change, including her.
Iris pressed her palms to her eyes and groaned softly.
“God, have I struck a deal with the devil?”
CHAPTER 8
“Blaise!” Alistair Fielding, the Duke of Skelton, called out from the dim private salon.
Blaise smiled knowingly when he realized that his cousin and most trusted friend was already ensconced in a favored corner booth, his long legs stretched out lazily beneath the table, and he was already surrounded by a group of blushing women. Alistair’s hair was artfully disheveled, his cravat loosened at the throat, and a glass of half-filled brandy dangled from his fingers. A knowing smirk played on his cousin’s lips when Blaise approached him.
“Or should I say, Your Grace? It still sounds absurd coming from my mouth. One minute you are mucking out stables in Surrey, the next you are inheriting a dukedom and hosting balls that have the entiretonin a frenzy.” Alistair shook his head before dismissing all the ladies.
“Save the formalities for the simpering debutantes,” Blaise replied dryly, sliding into the seat opposite him.
Almost immediately, a striking courtesan with raven hair cascading over her shoulders and a neckline that plunged daringly low glided to his side.
“Your Grace.” She offered a crystal glass of brandy with a sultry smile, her fingers brushing his deliberately. Blaise accepted the drink with a polite nod but waved her away with a subtle gesture.
Tonight, his blood was already stirred by another woman, one with honey-colored curls and amber eyes that haunted him more than they should.
