His pupils dilated, and for one charged heartbeat, they stood there. She watched as his control frayed before her eyes.
Then, his control snapped.
His mouth claimed hers with a desperation that stole her breath.
This was nothing like the awkward peck at their wedding. This was fire and frustration, a year of silence exploding into desperate contact. His lips were firm and demanding. They coaxed responses from her she didn’t know she could give.
Iris’s hands fisted in his waistcoat. She could not say if she meant to push him away or pull him closer. She’d imagined kissing him properly so many times during their long separation, but her imagination had been a pale shadow of reality.
He tasted of wine and something darker, more intoxicating. When his tongue traced the seam of her lips, she opened for him without thinking.
The sound he made, low and rough, sent heat through her. His hands slid into her hair and sent pins scattering across the dining room floor with soft metallic clinks.
He backed her up against the table. The edge pressed into her spine through the layers of silk and stays.
She didn’t care. All that mattered was his mouth on hers, his hands tangled in her hair, and the solid weight of him pressing closer. One of his hands left her hair to span her waist. He pulled her against him until she could feel the rapid beat of his heart through his waistcoat.
This was what she’d imagined on her wedding night. This desperate need, this connection that went beyond words. She could taste his hunger and feel the tremor in his hands as he held her. He was coming undone just as she was. All that famous control was crumbling beneath the force of whatever this was between them.
Her own hands had somehow found their way to his hair, messing the carefully styled dark strands. He groaned when she tugged gently and the sound vibrated through her.
She felt powerful suddenly, knowing she could affect him this way. That beneath all his walls and distance, he wanted her.
A thin wail pierced the air.
They broke apart, breathing hard.
Iris’s lips felt swollen and sensitive. She could still taste him and feel the phantom pressure of his mouth on hers. His hair was thoroughly mussed where her fingers had tangled in it. His eyes were wild.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other. Both were stunned by what had just happened.
Evie’s cries grew louder and more insistent.
“I should…” Iris’s voice came out rough. She cleared her throat, trying to gather her scattered wits. “I need to go.”
He stepped back immediately. The loss of his warmth was almost painful. “Of course.”
She moved toward the door on unsteady legs and paused at the threshold. When she looked back, he was gripping the back of his chair so hard that his knuckles had gone white. His cravat was askew, and his waistcoat wrinkled where she’d gripped it.
He looked thoroughly unraveled.
“Go,” he ground out. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”
His dismissal hurt more than it should have. But Evie’s cries were becoming frantic, so Iris fled up the stairs. Her lips still tingled from his kiss. Her hair remained half down because the pins were lost somewhere on the dining room floor.
I must look frightful.
The thought crossed her mind, but as Evie’s cries intensified, Iris decided not to care about her own appearance.
She found Sally pacing the nursery while holding a red-faced Evie in her arms.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. She won’t settle. I’ve tried everything.”
“It’s all right.” Iris took the baby, who immediately quieted. “Thank you, Sally. I’ll take over from here.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and left, though not before casting a curious glance at Iris’s disheveled appearance.
Iris sank into the rocking chair with Evie cradled against her chest. The baby’s cries had softened to hiccups and her tiny fist clutched at Iris’s necklace.
