He moved closer despite himself; drawn by something he couldn’t name.
She turned then, and he was struck again by how beautiful she looked in the soft lamplight.
“Iris…”
“It’s late.” She moved past him toward the door. They had been standing close enough that he caught her scent as she walked away. She did not smell of honey tonight, but something warmer. “Good night, Your Grace.”
She was gone before he could respond, leaving him alone in the nursery with a sleeping baby and too many thoughts.
He stood there for a long moment watching Evie sleep. She was so small, so trusting. The world hadn’t tainted her yet with disappointment or loss.
Maybe that was what Iris was trying to preserve. Not just the child’s life, but her innocence. Her ability to trust that when she cried, someone would come. Iris sought to make Evie feel as if she was wanted, loved, and safe.
He thought of his childhood. There were so many nights he cried alone in his nursery while his parents raged at each other below. Owen had learned early on that tears brought no comfort, that need was weakness, and that love was just another word for pain.
“You’ll have better,” he told the sleeping infant. “I may not know how to be a father, but I know what not to do. That must count for something.”
Evie slept on with one tiny fist curled against her cheek.
After another moment, Owen left the nursery, closing the door softly behind him. The house had settled into quiet, but he felt too restless to sleep.
Instead, he went to his study and poured himself another glass of brandy. The ledgers sat waiting on his desk. Those columns of numbers usually brought comfort in their predictability. Tonight, they held no appeal.
Felix was right. Everything had changed. He had a wife upstairs who sang lullabies to another woman’s child. A daughter who would grow up calling him her father. A charade that felt more real with each passing day.
And somewhere during it all, he suspected he’d made a terrible mistake by leaving Iris alone for so long.
Initially, Owen had run from her to avoid the possibility of pain. He’d fled Carridan Hall and left her there because he did not wish to discuss what came next, what duty dictated, or when they might produce an heir. But in leaving Iris behind, he’d made the mistake of banishing all the good things that came along with having her by his side.
Because of running from the possibility of pain, he’d also run from the possibility of something else. Something he’d seen tonight in the way Iris held Evie, in the fierce protectiveness of her love.
He’d run from the possibility ofhappiness.
The thought terrified him more than any threat of future pain. Because pain, he understood. Pain was familiar and almost comfortable in its predictability.
But happiness? That was uncharted territory.
And Owen Sencler, the Duke of Carridan, had never been brave enough to explore it.
CHAPTER 7
“Grace could ask her sister about nursemaids. Apparently, she hired a wonderful woman just last month,” Harrison offered.
Iris sat in the morning room bouncing Evie gently while Grace perched on the edge of her seat. Her hazel eyes were narrowed with concern. Harrison stood near the window. He was solid and reassuring in his quiet way.
“That would be helpful.” Iris shifted Evie to her other arm and winced slightly. The baby seemed to grow heavier by the day. “The candidates Owen arranged have been less than ideal.”
“Still drunk?” Grace asked with characteristic bluntness.
“The last one seemed sober enough. She simply believed babies should be left to cry themselves into submission.” Iris shuddered at the memory. “When I disagreed, she told me I was too soft to raise a child properly.”
“The audacity.” Grace’s face darkened. “Harrison, we’re adding her to the list.”
“What list?” Iris asked.
“The list of people who deserve unfortunate accidents,” Harrison said mildly. “Grace keeps quite a long one.”
“It’s a harmless hobby.” Grace waved a hand dismissively. “Now, tell us everything. Your letter was rather vague.”
