This was her.
Plain, untouched, and foolish for playing dangerous games with a man like Blaise.
Her gaze dropped lower, and she noticed the slick sheen of wetness glistening between her thighs. She grazed her fingers lightly over it, shivering at the sensitive touch.
Unwillingly, Blaise filled her thoughts, and Iris cupped one full breast, squeezing gently, trying to chase the fading heat. Her nipple pebbled under her palm, but it felt wrong.
If only he was the one touching me...
CHAPTER 12
Blaise stood in the center of the newly painted drawing room, and he surveyed the deep burgundy walls with a critical eye. He hated to admit it, but Iris’s original ideas had merit. The color she had chosen might have been safer, but this burgundy, paired with the heavier velvet draperies he had insisted upon, created an atmosphere of refined power. It felt like a duke’s house now, not the faded remnants of a careless viscount.
“Iris is going to hate this,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his dark curls.
The woman was getting under his skin in more ways than one. Her quiet competence, her stubborn vision for the house she had fought to preserve… it was beginning to impress him against his will.
He turned on his heel and strode out of the drawing room, intending to check on the library’s progress. His footman followed closely behind. But the moment Blaise stepped throughthe doorway of the library, his jaw clenched so tightly that the scar on his face began to burn.
“Kennedy, what is this?”
Every piece of furniture he had explicitly ordered removed was back in place, including some from the drawing room.
“I... I am not sure, Your Grace,” Kennedy stuttered nervously.
The old, worn settee still sat against the far wall. The mismatched armchairs still flanked the fireplace. Even the small writing desk Iris favored had been returned to its corner, complete with her ledgers neatly stacked upon it. The room looked exactly as it had before his instructions.
Blaise’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “This is the last bloody miscommunication,” he growled, and Kennedy nodded frantically.
“Yes, Your Grace, I will see to it at once.”
“Let the servants know that their little campaign of petty resistance has crossed from irritating to intolerable,” he instructed the boy before he left.
More discipline is long overdue.
Blaise stormed out of the library, his heavy boots echoing through the corridor like thunder. A young housemaid was dusting a side table nearby. She curtsied and straightened instantly when she saw him, but he was too distracted to notice her or anyone else as he approached Iris, who was reading silently at a table.
“You,” Blaise said sharply, stopping in front of her. “I gave clear orders yesterday to remove the old furniture from the library. Why is it all still there?”
Iris looked up at him, feigning confusion. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace. I had always been fond of those pieces. So, I assumed you could change your mind.”
“Change my mind?” Blaise repeated her words mockingly. “Why would I do that for you? Tell me, do you and the rest of the staff make a habit of assuming my orders mean the opposite of what I say?”
Her cheeks flushed beautifully, and he was tempted to kiss her again.
“Do not blame them. They only wish to serve the household as it has always been run.”
Blaise stepped closer, towering over her. He tried not to picture her in her robe, but he failed as he looked down at her; all he could see was that image of her and the drawing he had left behind.
“The household is under my management. Informyourservants that the next person who ‘misunderstands’ an order will be seeking new employment by nightfall. Is that clear enough, or shall I write it down?”
“That is perfectly clear,” she whispered and smiled dangerously at him.
Blaise exhaled sharply, the memory of her half-naked body still in his mind.
“And another thing, Iris,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “I need you to instruct the servants to serve dinner for both of us tomorrow evening.”
Iris set her book down slowly, folding her hands in her lap. “You are the master of this house, Your Grace. The servants followyourorders. There is no need for me to intervene.”
