“Ah! Our first guests!” he beamed at them, and Iris frowned at his reaction until realization dawned on her.
“These are my sisters,” she said too quickly.
His tall, broad-shouldered frame filled the entrance, where he stopped suddenly. He looked every bit the commanding duke, even in his casual morning attire.
Iris’s heart stuttered at the sight of him.
“Well, all the same. They are our first guests in our new drawing room.” Iris could hear Margaret whispering‘our’to Camelia, who giggled quietly in response.
“Good morning, ladies,” Blaise addressed them as he stepped into the room.
Her sisters rose quickly, curtsying with graceful poise.
“Your Grace,” they murmured in unison.
Blaise’s gaze swept over them appreciatively. “I never knew Lady Hentley had such beautiful sisters. The resemblance to your mother must be remarkable.”
Both Camelia and Margaret blushed prettily at the compliment. Iris felt a sharp, unwelcome twist of jealousy in her chest. She rolled her eyes, trying to hide her reaction, but Blaise’s dark eyes found hers, holding them with unmistakable intensity.
“Do not forget our dinner tonight, Iris.” Without waiting for a reply, he gave the sisters a polite nod. “A pleasure to meet you both. Do excuse me.”
Iris had never seen her sisters so quiet and polite before. The moment he disappeared, Camelia and Margaret whipped around to face her, eyes wide with shock and delight.
“You are having dinner with him?” they asked in unison.
* * *
Blaise sat at the head of the long dining table, opposite Iris. For once, there had been no miscommunication about the time. Dinner was served precisely at seven o’clock, exactly as he had ordered. The food was excellent, the wine well-chosen, and theroom was impeccably prepared. Yet his attention was not on the meal.
It was fixed entirely on Iris.
She sat at the far end of the table in a modest but flattering evening gown, a deep cream color, her hair elegantly swept up. She had been stealing glances at him all evening, specifically at the jagged scar that ran down the left side of his face. Her curious eyes kept returning to it, lingering with a softness that gnawed at him.
Blaise slowly set his knife and fork down.
“Say it,” he ordered, his deep voice cutting through the quiet clink of her silverware.
He must have startled her because her fork paused mid-air while her knife slipped and clanged loudly against the plate. “I beg your pardon?”
“You have been staring at my scar all night, Little Blossom. Speak your mind. I dislike being studied like a creature.”
A deep blush bloomed across her cheeks, traveling down her neck and disappearing beneath the neckline of her gown. Blaise watched it with a hungry fascination, remembering the droplet that ran down her bosom and how jealous he was of it.
“I… I want to know how it happened,” she admitted softly, setting her utensils down. “The scar. You said you killed your brother, but I know you are lying. You did not murder him.”
Blaise leaned back in his chair, studying her.
The woman is far too perceptive for her own good.
“No matter my intentions that day, the result remains the same. My brother is dead, and I am responsible. The details do not change the blood on my hands.”
Iris’s gaze dropped to his hands resting on the table. Her eyes widened slightly as she noticed the fresh bruises across his knuckles. They were just turning into a dark purple from the punch he had landed on Daniel the night before.
“And those?” she asked, nodding toward his fists. “Did they also come from the same kind of… responsibility?”
Blaise flexed his fingers once; the ache was a welcome distraction. “This is from a small tiff at the club. Nothing of consequence.”
He changed the subject swiftly, unwilling to dwell on either his past or his cousin’s vexations. “You do not seem very active in your task of finding a bride for Marcus. I thought perhaps your sister Margaret might be interested. She seems spirited and kind.”
