Dearest Camelia and Pamela,
I hope this letter finds you both in good health and spirits. I have the house to myself, finally, and I find myself missing your laughter and lively conversation more than I can express.Please come visit soon. I long for an afternoon of tea, gossip, and your company.
Pamela, bring your latest sketches; I should very much like to see how your poetry-inspired drawings are progressing. And Camelia, I hope the little one continues to thrive. I have so much to tell you both.
With all my love,
Iris
Iris set her quill down for a moment, staring at the letter on the desk. The study felt vast and hollow around her. The deep emerald walls Blaise had chosen now seemed to absorb what little warmth remained in the room, and the heavy draperies blocked out much of the afternoon light.
“The man has no taste.” She scowled and muttered under her breath.
Despite her dismay, she had to admit that the house was too quiet without his commanding footsteps and the low rumble of his voice issuing orders. Iris even missed the sharp banter that always left her flushed and breathless. It seemed she had grown used to his presence and the tension that crackled whenever he entered a room. Even just thinking about him made her body respond. And now that he was gone to Surrey, the loneliness pressed in on her like a physical weight.
“What has he done to me?”
With a soft sigh, Iris picked up the quill again, intending to finish the letter to her sisters when an idea struck her.
I have to get rid of every thought of him, somehow.
Her hand moved of its own accord. She reached for a fresh sheet of parchment, dipped the quill in ink, and began to write. Not to Camelia, nor Pamela, nor Margaret.
Blaise,
I sit in the study you claimed as your own, surrounded by the changes you have wrought, and I cannot stop thinking of you. The house is too quiet without your presence filling every room, but even in your absence, I feel you here.
I find myself remembering every moment with you. The weight of your hand in my hair as I knelt before you, the heat in your cold eyes as you sketched me and watched me touch myself. Even your voice haunts me, and I find myself looking forward to you praising me.
My body aches for you in ways I never imagined possible. I have never been touched before, and yet I dream of your hands sliding beneath my skirts, parting my thighs, and claiming what you have promised will be yours. I imagine your mouth on my skin, tracing fire down my neck, across mybreasts, lower still, until I am trembling and begging for more. Although I have to admit I do not know what ‘more’ means…
All I know is that I want you to bind me with silk in that red room of yours and do as you please. I want to feel the leather and iron. I want to surrender completely to your will. I want you to ruin me so thoroughly that I forget every year of my loneliness and humiliation. I simply want to be pleasured by a man like you because for too long I ran away from what thrilled me and, oh, how you thrill me, Blaise?—
Iris’s heart hammered so violently she feared it would burst from her chest. She read the letter again, cheeks burning with mortification and raw desire. The words were shameless, intimate, and dangerously honest. She should burn it. Tear it into pieces and scatter the ashes. Instead, her fingers trembled as she held the parchment, unable to let go.
A soft knock at the door made her jolt.
Panicking, Iris quickly folded the scandalous letter and shoved it into the top drawer of the desk, slamming it shut just as Mrs. Henkings entered with a tray of tea.
“My lady,” the housekeeper said warmly, setting the tray down. “I thought you might like some refreshment. You have been working in here for hours.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Henkings,” Iris managed, albeit unsteadily.
She folded her hands in her lap to hide their trembling as the older woman poured the tea with practiced care, studying Iris with gentle concern. “You seem troubled, my lady. Is everything all right?”
Iris gratefully took the cup, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.
“The house feels too quiet,” she admitted after a moment.
“Blessedly quiet or…?” Mrs. Henkings gave her a sly smile, and Iris chuckled quietly.
“I will say blessedly for now.” Iris motioned toward the chair opposite her. “Please sit, Mrs. Henkings. There is much I need to say.”
“Yes, my lady.” All traces of humor began to fade as Mrs. Henkings sat quietly in the chair.
“I may not be here much longer, you know. Once the month is over… things will change.” Iris began softly. “I want you to know that you may stay on at Hentley House. His Grace’s nephew will need loyal staff.”
Mrs. Henkings shook her head firmly. “No, my lady. Where you go, I go. I have served you through the worst of times, and I will not abandon you now.”
