* * *
August could feel the imprint of every one of her fingers against his hand. He had missed Iris over the past week, but he had questioned whether or not he had any right to approach her after he had practically accused her of being the same type of woman as Amelia. But it seemed she was, thank goodness, the forgiving sort.
“Come,” she said, tugging at his hand. “You have walked this beach one time too many. I’ll take you somewhere else.”
“Intriguing,” he said, winking at her. “Though I have come to rather enjoy this beach.”
“Are you not a man who appreciates something new now and again?”
“You have come to know me too well, Iris,” he said with a grin. “What would make you surmise such?”
“You are an Earl who went to work for the Crown as a spy,” she said, throwing a shrewd glance his way. “What reason would you have to do such a thing?”
“Why, for my country,” he said as patriotically as he could manage.
“And not at all for the thrill?” she asked, as she led him past the village, then up away from the beach beyond it.
“Very well,” he said with mock chagrin, “it seems you would make a fine spy yourself.”
“I would be magnificent,” she said with some flourish. “Unfortunately, no one ever asked me.”
“Well, if a recommendation is ever requested of me, I will be sure to provide your name,” he said, and they shared a smile, all seemingly forgiven.
Soon they entered a wooded area, though it was not at all dense, but filled with greenery and orchid blooms wherever August looked. He couldn’t help but stop to take it all in.
“This is beautiful,” he said, awestruck, and Iris giggled.
“I told you there was more to see than the shore.”
“Do you spend much time here?”
“Not as much as I should,” she said, looking around her as though appreciating it herself for the first time. “Marigold loves the outdoors the most of all of us. Daisy had her own secret place somewhere, though she never shared it with any of us. I do enjoy coming this way now and again, the odd time I wish to be alone.”
“You do not strike me as a woman who often enjoys such,” he said, willing himself to remain serious.
“Not really,” she said. “I do enjoy company. I shall show you where I sometimes convene with friends.”
He nodded and followed once more, wondering as he did what she meant by ‘friends.’ They turned around a copse of trees, and in front of them stood a small shack.
“What is this?” he asked, walking around it, while Iris went right to the door.
“I’m not entirely sure why it was originally built,” she said. “For hunting, perhaps, or as a small cabin, I have no idea. I’m sure someone in the village would know, but we didn’t want to ask for fear someone would come be rid of it. It is rather ghastly.”
She was right. The timbers were peeling and some of the boards seemed about to fall out, gaps between some of them now gaping holes. If anything, he would imagine it was likely something of a worry for fire, but Iris seemed fond of it, so he wouldn’t voice his concerns.
“What do you use it for?” he asked, wondering if he wanted to know the answer.
“Mostly for when we’d like to speak of things we do not wish others to hear,” she said with laughter in her voice and a spark in her eye when she caught his. Suddenly she let out a shocked laugh. “You did not think— oh, but you did.” She bit her lip. “I may like to flirt now and again, August, but I am certainly not that type of woman.”
Her laughter had quickly faded, and he realized he had insulted her.
“I never said you were.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“I was not, Iris.” Except, he had wondered. “I would be a fool to think such thing of you.”
She narrowed her eyes as though she knew he was lying, but then she dropped her head as she scuffed the toe of her half-boot in the grass at her feet. “I have apparently given the wrong impression, for someone such as Ernest Abernathy to think he could take me in the apothecary, or of you wondering such things of me.”
“Iris, I—”
“I understand, truly, I do,” she said with a sad smile. “It is a lesson for me, I believe.”
He sighed. He certainly wasn’t going to win this war of words, he realized, nor likely any others to come with her.
“I can, at times, leap to conclusions when I become jealous, Iris.”
“You are jealous? Of whom do you have to be jealous?” she asked, spreading her hands out in front of her.
“I’m not entirely sure,” he said honestly. “I do not know your past. I only know that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, and I desire nothing more than to come to know you better.”
She stepped closer to him, raising her hands to the lapels of his jacket.
“What would you like to know?”
“At the moment…” he said with an ache in his chest, “a reminder of what your lips feel like upon mine.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I would love to appease you, my lord, but then you may receive the wrong idea of me — that I am a wanton woman.”
“I would not,” he promised, but she still seemed wary. “Very well,” he said with a sigh, “we shall do nothing of the sort. Come, let us return to the inn.”
She nodded and they began their walk back in companionable silence. When they neared the village once more, she stopped suddenly and he turned to ask her what was the matter. Before he could get the words out, however, she stood on the tips of her toes and brought her lips to his. After a moment of surprise, warmth flooded through him at not only the sensations her touch evoked but also her enthusiastic approach and the fact that she didn’t hesitate to take what she wanted, when she wanted.
She was something, this woman, he thought as she touched her tongue to his lips and he opened to her, to taste her and tease her in turn. He grasped her about the waist, pulling her flush against him, and he determined they were fortunate they had not stopped at that ramshackle building in the woods for it was likely that neither of them would have had the good sense to stop when they should.
It was simply that Iris was too soft, too sensual, and altogether too tempting. He was not a man who easily said no, particularly when the reward far outweighed the risk. And Iris was more reward than he could ever fathom.
He dug his fingers into the soft curls of her hair, feeling tendrils escaping the pins as he did so. He groaned as he pushed her back against one of the trees, hearing her soft yelp into his mouth when she must have come into contact with a sharp branch behind her.
One of August’s hands began to drift, down the soft fabric of the dress covering the top of her arm, over the skin below it, lower still to the bodice of her dress. He ran his hand over the fabric that covered her ample breasts and would have loosened it to see what was underneath if he hadn’t heard a shout from beyond their hiding place.
He broke away from her quickly before realizing it was the sounds of children, likely playing near the water beyond these secluded trees. He looked back to Iris once more, but though she was smiling, the moment was lost, and he inwardly cursed though he knew it was likely fortune looking upon them.
She took his arm, giving it a quick squeeze before they continued to walk once more, though August had difficulty returning to any thoughts but her. Iris Tavners — the daughter of an innkeeper.
Interesting, he hadn’t had once thought of Amelia since he and Iris had begun their walk earlier that afternoon. He hadn’t questioned her, hadn’t wondered if she would betray him as Amelia had.
He was falling in love with this woman. She had his heart — could she take his mind as well?
15
Iris hummed a merry tune as she cleaned the floor of the guest dining room. It was not a task she especially enjoyed, but it seemed over the past two days, since she and August had found peace between one another and kissed in the cops
e, that nothing was as disagreeable as it usually was. She loved him. She could feel it in her very soul, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
Oh, she had imagined herself in love before, but now she knew that what she had felt for others had been infatuation. August had captured her heart, and she was determined that before he left, whenever that day came, he would know the extent of her feelings and would take her with him, wherever he must go.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she was startled when the door to the room swung open to reveal Violet and Marigold standing in the entrance.
“Oh!” Iris said, her hand clutching her breast. “My goodness, the two of you startled me.”
“I’m so sorry, Iris,” Marigold said, and Iris snapped her attention to her sister. It was only then that she noticed the two of them wore matching expressions of pity as they looked down at her, and she quickly stood to face them.
“What is it?” she asked quickly, her eyes flitting from one of them to the other. “Is it Mother? Father? Daisy?”
But no. For then they would be equally as upset instead of standing there looking at her with such sympathy.
“Perhaps we should sit down,” Violet said, gesturing to the table, but Iris shook her head impatiently as she flung the rag she was holding down on the floor next to the bucket of soapy water.
“Tell me,’ she demanded, ire growing along with her impatience.
Wordlessly, Violet reached into her skirts and pulled a piece of paper out from her pocket. She began to circle it within her fingers, so much so that it took all Iris had within her not to snatch it out of her hand, as Marigold intervened to explain.
“Iris, Lord Westwood has departed.”
Iris stared at her sister.
“Pardon me?”
“He left urgently this afternoon. Apparently, he no longer required a room here and left town.”
Iris felt her mouth fall open but it was no longer within her power to close it. Suddenly it felt as though her knees were going to buckle, but her sisters were prepared and quickly drew her down to one of the dining chairs.
“He did not… he could not have,” she managed, wanting to wipe those stupid expressions of pity off of her sisters’ faces.
Marigold placed her hand on Iris’ knee.
“Had the two of you… made any promises to one another?”
Of course they hadn’t. They had been too busy stealing kisses and murmuring flirtatious lines. But she couldn’t say that to her sisters.
“No,” she said, choosing the quick truth instead. “I had thought, however…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence, for she realized that whatever she had thought, it had clearly been of her own imaginings. She and August had had their fun, but obviously that was all it was to him — fun. All he had said to her was that he was not interested in a relationship after what had happened to him, that he would not and could not trust her. As much as he had apologized for saying so, never had he declared any other thought.
Tears burned the backs of her eyes, and a lump began to form in her throat. As much as she knew she could be rather prone to hysterics, she didn’t want to cry about this, which caused her heart to ache so desperately, in front of anyone — not even her sisters. She gestured to the paper in Violet’s hands.
“What is that?”
“He left this for you. I found it in his room when Father sent me to clean it.”
Iris wanted to ask how long they had known of this, but did it really matter? He was gone and clearly had no desire to take her with him.
When Iris made no movement to take the paper, Violet placed it down on the table in front of her.
As though sensing her need to be alone, Marigold patted her arm as she rose from the chair next to her.
“We will be outside if you need us, Iris,” she said gently. “Please do not hesitate to ask.”
Iris nodded mutely and then picked up the note before her.
Iris,
I greatly enjoyed our time together, but unfortunately, I must now leave Southwold and return to my former life. I apologize I did not have time to say farewell, but an urgent matter arose. I will remember our time together.
Yours,
August
She flung the paper back down on the table in disgust. That was it? No words of love, no admission of any feelings toward her besides the fact that he had enjoyed their time? Well, good riddance to him then. It was the most impersonal note she had ever read, and she picked it up and threw it in the grate. Very well. If that was all she meant to him, then she would relegate him to the very same status in her mind.
She picked up her rag and returned to her task once more, only this time there was no song on her tongue but rather rage in her mind and hurt in her heart as she attacked the floor below her.
* * *
August gritted his teeth as he attempted to overcome the pain of the rope as it dug into his wrists while he cursed his own stupidity.
Iris had been right. She would have made a far better spy, for she had intuition — something he clearly lacked.
The light through the gaps of the wall was becoming dimmer, and he wondered how long he would remain tied here, without food or water. Why hadn’t the man simply killed him instead of leaving him here alone?
As he began to eventually drift off despite his best efforts, he heard the steady beat of horse’s hooves on the ground, which before long were replaced by a man’s footsteps on the stairs leading up to the door of his prison.
“Lord Westwood!” Thomas Cooper said, walking in the door as though he was calling upon him in his sitting room. “Did you miss me?”
The man’s voice was nearly unrecognizable now as he allowed his natural accent to return, no longer concerned with hiding his identity.
He took the container of water off of his shoulder and chucked it at August, who of course had no capacity to catch it with his arms behind his back. It connected with his stomach before dropping into his lap, and Cooper laughed.
“Ah, pardon moi. Allow me to help you, mon seigneur.”
He laughed again, and August’s blood began to run hotly through his veins. He attempted to deny the water when Cooper began to pour it into his mouth, but the man forced his jaw open and practically choked him with it.
Once his coughing abated, August whipped his head up to Cooper.
“What do you want with me?” he seethed. “Why do you not just kill me and be done with it?”
“Now, now, mon ami, that would be too much fun. First, you are going to tell me what you know.”
“I know nothing,” August said bitterly. “You are wasting your time with me. All I did was have my fun in the French court and then return home.”
“Come now, do not tell me you were so unsuccessful a spy as that.”
“It’s true. I was completely inept,” August said, narrowing his eyes at the foreigner, most ashamed that his words were true. “Release me, and I will give you time to be gone from here.”
“You are quite confusing, Westwood,” Cooper said. “Do you want me to kill you or let you go free?”
“I would take the freedom if it’s on offer,” he said with a shrug, and Cooper laughed.
“A charmer to the end, are you?”
“So it may seem.”
“Perhaps what you say is true. For, otherwise, it would not have been so easy for me to overwhelm you, now would it have been?”
“There were two of you.”
“But still,” Cooper said, raising his hands in surrender. “My less-than-competent partner, Mr. Abernathy, should have been easy enough to overcome.”
It was true. August could have taken out Abernathy in but a moment. Cooper and Abernathy, however, had the element of surprise.
Cooper had asked to join August on his walk that morning. He had been subconsciously following a similar trail that he and Iris had taken but the other day when Abernathy had approached from behind, a gun trained on him, and then Coop
er had forced him into this shack — the very same one Iris had shown him.
“Well, Lord Westwood, allow me to explain what will happen now,” Cooper said. “You will tell me what you know. I was going to return with my tools in order to persuade you to do so, but another idea comes to mind. One for which I must thank my new friend, Mr. Abernathy.”
It was fear that now began to roil within August.
“I know you appreciate as much as I just how lovely the Tavners sisters are,” Cooper said. “It appears that Abernathy also shares that sentiment.”
“Cooper, if you—” August began to growl, but the man twirled on his heel and raised a finger in the air between them.
“Comtois, actually,” he interrupted. “‘Cooper’ is so… English. As we were. I shall give you the night to think this through. We must know what you have told your superiors, Westwood, and who they are. If you have nothing to tell us in the morning, well then, it is not you who shall suffer, but your lover and her sister. It would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”
August said nothing, though he began to shake with fury and his inability to do anything about the cause of it.
“My apologies. I can see I have upset you. Ah well, the choice is yours. Bonne nuit, Seigneur Westwood.”
And with one final grin just visible in the nearly absent light, he was gone.
16
Iris flung herself backward on her bed.
She had always loved to play the part of a woman scorned, but the truth was now that she truly knew how it felt, it wasn’t a position in which she wanted to find herself any longer. For it hurt something awful.
She had been upset when Lord Westwood had returned to London the first time, but she had expected it. This time… this time she had hoped there could be more between them, had been looking for a promise of a life together.
What a fool she had been.
An Earl for Iris Page 9