“The paint you chose looks tacky,” he said flatly. And even then, the sound of his voice and his firm but gentle touch made her stomach flutter.
“It is not tacky; the room is small, and the burgundy will make it look even smaller! You told me the workmen would be undermycommand,” she retorted.
“I know what I told you. But cream is not classy at all. And if we are to search for a suitable bride for Marcus and entertain guests here, this house must look like a duke’s residence,” he argued confidently.
“But it isnota duke’s residence, and your nephew is not a duke.”
She regretted her words as Blaise clenched his jaw.
“You are right, Iris. Right now, it is not a duke’s residence; it looks more like a dead viscount’s forgotten property. And I do not need that reminder lingering in these walls.”
His words stung, and Iris wrenched her arm free. She ignored the tingling in her skin where his fingers had been. The memory of his lean body pressed against hers came to her suddenly and left her shivering. She stepped away from him, heart hammering frantically from her anger and uncontrolled thoughts.
“You are an insufferable man, Blaise,” she muttered, turning sharply again and storming down the hallway. Her blood boiled with frustration as she reached the turn toward the gardendoors, and the words slipped out under her breath. “I hope your cousin haunts the walls you are painting.”
Behind her, Blaise’s rich, amused voice carried clearly. “I heard that, Little Blossom!”
* * *
It was five o’clock in the morning when a soft knock sounded at the study door. Blaise, already dressed and deep into correspondence, called out, “Enter.”
A young footman he had hired stepped in, looking slightly nervous. “Breakfast is ready, Your Grace.”
Blaise paused, then let out a low chuckle, the sound rich with dark amusement.
“Every single morning, I have told you and the rest of the staff that breakfast should be served at nine o’clock. Yet here we are again.”
The footman shifted his weight. “I apologize, Your Grace. There must have been a mix-up in the kitchen.”
Blaise waved a dismissive hand, though his eyes glinted with understanding. “Of course there was. What is your name again?”
“Kennedy, Your Grace.” The young man looked ready to run away in fear.
“Kennedy, remove these flowers from the study before I return from this extremely early breakfast. I have no need for a garden exploding in here.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Kennedy bowed, already moving toward the nearest vase.
Blaise stood, stretching his broad shoulders. An early breakfast was proving to be a good thing. He had been waking before dawn these past days, gaining a solid head start on the renovations and his other responsibilities. The house was gradually transforming under his guidance, and the routine suited him. Maybe he should thank Iris for the unintentional gift of these early mornings. The thought brought a faint smirk to his lips as he left the study.
“Your Grace, where should I leave the flowers?” Kennedy asked before he could escape.
Blaise thought about it for a second. “Leave them outside Lady Hentley’s chambers.”
He winked at the boy before he made his way down the corridor towards the breakfast room. As Blaise strolled, he noticed a soft glow of light spilling from one of the side passages. Curiosity got the best of him; he slowed his steps and followed the light.
Who else could be awake this early?
The closer he drew, the clearer the sounds became. There was gentle splashing of water, accompanied by a soft, melodic humming. The voice was unmistakably feminine and familiar.
Iris.
Blaise immediately stopped just outside the ajar door, one hand hovering near the handle. His breath hitched when he saw Iris’s long, curvy body submerged in the copper tub; her hair was pinned loosely, with damp tendrils clinging to her neck; water glistened on her bare shoulders; and droplets fell on her full breasts. The image of her filled his mind, and his entire body reacted immediately.
Iris continued to hum, innocently and unaware, sending a wave of heat straight through him. His fingers flexed. It would be so easy to push the door fully open, to step inside, and remind her exactly what their bargain entailed.
Instead, Blaise drew in a steady breath and shut the door softly, careful not to make a sound. He turned and continued towards the breakfast room, jaw tight with restrained desire.
Not yet.
