Blaise stroked himself as he leaned over her shivering body and kissed her again. Iris tasted herself on his tongue.
I have to return the pleasure.
Her hand joined his, and Blaise took a sharp breath. Iris’s delicate hand wrapped around his thick length, and she stroked him in time with his movements.
“Am I doing this right?” she asked innocently.
“Iris,” he groaned her name against her mouth. “Your hand feels too good.”
She pumped him faster, driven by the desperate sounds he made. He was so close to ruining her that she could simply guide him to her entrance. But Iris was not ready. Blaise kissed her neck and nipped at her ears until she felt her own desire build upagain. His body was warm and heavy over hers, but she did not mind. It felt right.
They felt right.
Moments later, Blaise stiffened, spilling hot and thick over her fingers and her stomach with a deep, guttural groan. His own release made her moan, too.
They stayed locked together for several long moments, foreheads pressed together and breathing ragged. Blaise kissed her softly once more before stepping back to straighten his clothes, but Iris remained seated on the desk, flushed, marked, and thoroughly unraveled. The reality of what they had just done slowly settled over her, but the shame she expected never fully arrived. Instead, she felt alive, desired, wanted, and powerfully feminine.
Blaise looked at her with dark, satisfied eyes.
“We have a week, Little Blossom,” he reminded her. “And I am counting every single day.”
* * *
“Oh, this guest list is positively going to cause a sensation!” Margaret exclaimed, leaning forward over the large oak table in Camelia’s elegantly appointed drawing room. Dozens of creamy invitation cards spread across the polished surface like fallen petals.
“A grand party hosted by the Duke of Knoxford at his estate in London. Every eligible young lady will be positively desperate for an invitation. I can already imagine the carriages lined up for miles!” Pamela said just as ecstatically.
Iris smiled at the younger ladies faintly as she carefully dipped her quill into the inkwell, her hand moving with practiced grace across one of the cards. It was the fourth week of her arrangement with Blaise, and the upcoming party had become both a welcome distraction and a quiet source of anxiety. The more she helped him, the closer they got to the end of their month-long bargain.
Pamela bounced lightly in her chair as her and Margaret’s youthful energy filled the room.
“I cannot believe I am helping plan a real duke’s party! Do you think there will be dancing until the early hours of the morning? Perhaps even fireworks over the lake? I read about such magnificent events in one of those scandalous novels Camelia hides under her pillow.”
“I do not!” Camelia gasped and laughed softly, her hand resting protectively over her growing belly as she sorted through a stack of acceptance replies. “And slow down, dearest. This is not some wild ball from a novel. It is a carefully orchestrated gathering meant to help the duke secure a suitable match for his nephew. We must remain tasteful and strategic.”
Iris glanced at her youngest sister before speaking softly to Camelia, choosing her words with care. “His Grace is more noble than I initially thought.”
Camelia cocked her head and whispered back, “What do you mean?”
“He is going to great lengths for his nephew. And that boy has faced significant challenges, too. His uncle is just determined to secure his future with dignity and care.”
Pamela’s eyes widened with intrigue, though a small frown creased her brow. “Marcus?”
Iris winced as she remembered their encounter, but she kept her tone steady and gentle. “Yes, he is the duke’s nephew, and we are simply helping to find him a kind, respectable young lady to marry.”
Margaret grinned mischievously, nudging Pamela with her elbow. “Perhaps we should make a match between you and him, Pam. You are both full of spirit and fire. It would be vastly entertaining to watch the two of you try to out-stubborn each other.”
Pamela’s cheeks flushed a bright, indignant pink just like the day she crashed into Marcus, and Iris smiled knowingly.
“Margaret!” Pamela yelled. “That is not funny. I am not even out in society yet. Besides, I would never consider someone whoseems terribly brooding and difficult, and exactly the sort of man who would ruin a perfectly good party.”
Camelia shook her head with fond exasperation, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Pamela is far too young anyhow for any such considerations. Her debut is only next year, and she will have her pick of suitable gentlemen then. There is no need to rush her into anything.”
The sisters continued working on the invitations for some time, as the room filled with light laughter and the scratch of quills on paper. Margaret and Pamela eventually became engrossed in their own playful argument at the far end of the table, their voices rising in familiar sibling banter.
“You would look absolutely lovely standing beside his nephew,” Margaret teased, waving an invitation card like a fan. “Imagine the scandal sheets! ‘The Firebrand and the Mysterious Heir… A Match Made in Shadows.”
