Page 14 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)
“ T he Liverpool railway venture shows promise, but the initial investment is substantial.”
Lord Morrison stood at the head of his dining room table, which had been cleared to make room for maps and prospectuses. Around it sat six of London’s wealthiest men, each studying the proposed route with calculating eyes.
Owen leaned back in his chair, projecting casual confidence. “The Manchester line is already proving profitable. Liverpool is the logical next step.”
“If Parliament approves,” Lord Ashford cautioned. “The canal owners have deep pockets and deeper grudges.”
“The canal owners are fighting the tide,” Owen replied. “Steam power is the future. The question is whether we’ll ride the wave or be swept away by it.”
“Pretty words,” drawled a voice from across the table. “But can you guarantee returns?”
Owen looked up to meet the cool gaze of Jasper Cooper, the Duke of Richmond.
He’d known Jasper would be here, as the man had his fingers in every promising venture, but seeing Nicholas’s brother still sent an uncomfortable jolt through him.
“I don’t deal in guarantees,” he said evenly. “I deal in calculated risks backed by solid research. The projections show?—”
“A twenty percent return within three years,” Morrison interrupted smoothly. “Thirty percent within five, assuming the Birmingham extension proceeds.”
“Assuming.” Jasper’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Such a dangerous word in business.”
“Less dangerous than stagnation.” Owen kept his tone mild. “Ask the coaching companies how well standing still worked for them.”
Chuckles rippled around the table. Even Ashford nodded appreciatively. The coaching companies’ resistance to change had become a cautionary tale in investment circles.
“Well said.” Morrison raised his glass. “I believe that concludes our business. Gentlemen, to the future of British transport.”
They drank, and conversation shifted to lighter topics.
Owen fielded the usual questions about his new daughter with practiced ease. He accepted congratulations with appropriate paternal pride. He was preparing to leave when Jasper appeared at his elbow.
“Carridan. A word?”
Owen suppressed a sigh. “Richmond.”
They stepped away from the others, finding relative privacy near Morrison’s impressive collection of oriental vases.
“Congratulations are in order, I hear.” Jasper’s tone was pleasant, but his eyes remained sharp. “A daughter. How wonderful.”
“Thank you.”
“Though I must confess I’m surprised. Your Duchess’s pregnancy was remarkably discreet. No announcements, no Society appearances. One might almost think it was a secret.”
“I value privacy.” Owen kept his expression neutral. “As did my wife during a difficult time.”
“Privacy.” Jasper tested the word like wine. “My brother valued that, too. Yet look how many rumors still surround him. Whispers about debts, women, and a child born on the wrong side of the sheets.”
Owen’s jaw tightened. “Your brother is dead. Perhaps you should let him rest.”
“Should I?” Jasper stepped closer, lowering his voice. “When those rumors taint the Richmond name? When whispers follow me through every ballroom?” His eyes glittered with something that might have been grief or rage. “Tell me, Carridan. You were close to Nicholas. Did he ever mention having?—”
“I make it a point not to listen to clucking hens and roosters.” Owen’s voice carried enough ice to frost the windows. “Perhaps you should do the same.”
“Easier said than done when one’s family name is at stake.” Jasper studied him with unsettling intensity. “Is that why you’ve kept your daughter hidden? To avoid the gossip mill?”
“Among other reasons.”
“Hmm.” Jasper’s smile was thin. “Though in my experience, secrecy only makes the ton more curious. They do so love a mystery.”
Before Owen could respond, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
“Carridan! There you are.” Felix appeared with his usual impeccable timing, already reaching out to shake Owen’s hand. “Morrison said I’d find you here. Richmond.” He nodded curtly to Jasper. “Didn’t know you were interested in railways. Thought you preferred more traditional investments.”
“Tradition has its place,” Jasper replied. “As does innovation. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
He melted back into the crowd, leaving Owen and Felix standing among the vases.
“Thank you,” Owen said quietly.
“For what? I really was looking for you.” Felix’s usual cheerfulness seemed slightly forced. “Though I’ll admit that Richmond makes my skin crawl. Always has, even when we were boys. Nicholas had charm. His brother just has ambition.”
They made their way out of Morrison’s house and into the afternoon sunshine.
Owen expected Felix to make his excuses and leave. Instead, his cousin-in-law fell into step beside him.
“Drink?” Felix suggested. “I know a place nearby. Quiet. Good brandy.”
Owen hesitated. Drinking with Felix seemed like crossing a boundary he’d carefully maintained. But the encounter with Jasper had left him unsettled, and the thought of returning home to face Iris…
“One drink,” he agreed.
The establishment Felix led him to was indeed quiet, a gentleman’s refuge tucked away from the busier streets. They settled into leather chairs near a window, and brandy appeared as if by magic.
“So,” Felix said after a moment, “Jasper’s sniffing around about your friend Nicholas.”
“And?”
“It can’t be good.” Felix took a thoughtful sip. “I’ve been making some inquiries myself. There were rumors about Nicholas before he died. Whispers about dangerous investments and asking the wrong questions.”
“What kind of questions?”
“The kind that gets carriages driven off cliffs.” Felix met his gaze steadily. “The kind that might make someone desperate enough to leave a baby on a doorstep.”
Owen stared into his brandy and said nothing.
“I’ve been piecing things together,” Felix continued quietly. “The rumors about the late Duke of Richmond. A baby appearing at your door. Your sudden protectiveness and secrecy.” He paused meaningfully. “You and he were close friends, weren’t you?”
“Felix.”
“I’m not stupid, Your Grace. The timing, the circumstances, your behavior…” Felix leaned forward. “She’s his, isn’t she? That’s why you can’t tell Iris the truth.”
Owen’s grip tightened on his glass. “Stop theorizing.”
“Am I wrong?”
“You’re asking questions that could get people killed.” Owen’s voice turned dangerously cold. “Focus on the present, not the past. Some secrets are meant to stay buried.”
“And what about Iris? She deserves to know what she’s walked into.”
“She deserves to be safe. They both do.” Owen met Felix’s eyes steadily. “That’s all that matters now.”
Felix leaned forward. “She doesn’t trust you, you know. Can’t say I blame her.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because you’re doing a poor job of changing that.” Felix signaled for another round. “I’ve just come from your house. She looks exhausted. Beautiful, but exhausted. Like she’s carrying the world on her shoulders.”
The casual mention of Iris’s beauty sent an unexpected spike of… something through Owen. He took a larger swallow of his brandy than intended.
“She’s adjusting to motherhood,” he said carefully.
“She’s drowning.” Felix’s usual humor had vanished entirely. “And you’re letting her because you’re too scared to get close enough to throw her a line.”
“You don’t understand?—”
“Then explain it. Because all I see is my cousin falling apart while her husband plays chess with investments and ignores what is going on in his home.”
Owen set down his glass with excessive care. “What would you have me do? Pretend I’m capable of being what she needs?”
“I’d have you try. God knows you can’t do worse than remaining absent.”
They drank in silence for a moment. Around them, other gentlemen conducted quiet business. Their low murmurs provided cover for difficult conversations.
“Can I ask you something?” Felix said suddenly. “Something inappropriate?”
“Could I stop you?”
“Probably not.” Felix grinned briefly. “Have you bedded her?”
Owen choked on his brandy. “That’s none of your business.”
“So that’s a no.” Felix nodded sagely.
“Halston—”
“ Felix . We’re drinking together. Christian names are appropriate.” He studied Owen with disconcerting shrewdness. “You want her, though. Iris.”
It wasn’t a question.
Owen thought of last night’s kiss, the sweet taste of her, and the way she’d melted against him. His hands tightened around his glass.
“What I want is irrelevant.”
“Christ, you’re exhausting.” Felix shook his head. “Do you know what she said to me today? That her instincts are compromised. You’ve got her so twisted up that she doesn’t know which way is up.”
“That wasn’t my intention.”
“No? Then what was your intention when you kissed her?”
Owen went very still. “She told you?”
“She didn’t have to. It’s written all over your faces.
” Felix leaned back. Satisfaction was plain on his face.
“You look like a man who’s touched fire and can’t decide whether he wants to run or burn.
She looks like a woman who’s discovered what she’s been missing and hates herself for wanting more. ”
“You’re too perceptive for your own good.”
“Family trait. Iris has it too, when she’s not tangled up in her heart.
” Felix finished his brandy and stood up.
“Here’s some free advice, Cousin. You can’t protect her by pushing her away.
All you’re doing is leaving her alone to face whatever’s coming.
And if Jasper’s sniffing around Nicholas’s secrets… ”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
“Leave it alone, Felix.”
Felix only pursed his lips.
After Felix left, Owen remained in his chair where he could stare off into the distance. The brandy sat warm in his stomach, but it couldn’t touch the icy knot of fear that had taken residence in his chest.
He’d kissed his wife. He’d lost control completely and given in to months of suppressed want. And now she was compromised, just as she’d said. Not her instincts, but her safety.
Because if Jasper suspected the truth about Evie. If he connected her to Nicholas…
Owen signaled for another drink. He’d thought distance would protect Iris. It would keep her safe from his family’s poison and the mess Nicholas had left behind. Instead, he’d left her vulnerable and alone with a child who might have a target on her back.
Felix was right. He couldn’t protect her from arm’s length. But getting closer meant risking everything he’d spent years building: his control, his carefully maintained isolation, and his walls.
The kiss had shown him how easily those walls could crumble. One touch of her lips, and he’d been ready to take her on the dining room table like some beast. One taste of her sweetness, and he’d wanted to consume her entirely.
That way lay madness. His parents had started with passion, too. He could still remember the early days when they’d looked at each other like the sun rose and set in each other’s eyes. But that was before the passion turned into possessiveness, then poison.
But what if Felix was right about that, too? What if by trying to avoid his parents’ fate, he was creating a different poison?
Owen paused outside the club. The coolness of the evening air was a welcome relief from the smoky interior. Felix had already disappeared into the crowd, but his words lingered like an unwelcome guest.
“Your Grace?” His coachman straightened from where he’d been waiting. “Home?”
“Not yet.” Owen needed to think, and the carriage felt too restrictive. “I’ll walk. Follow at a distance.”
“But Your Grace, the streets?—”
“Are perfectly safe in Mayfair.” He set off before the man could protest further.
The familiar streets offered no comfort tonight. Every elegant townhouse reminded him of the life he’d built on careful distance and calculated decisions. A life that suddenly felt as substantial as smoke.
He found himself outside a small church. Its doors stood open despite the late hour.
Without quite meaning to, he stepped inside. The space was empty save for an elderly woman tending candles at the altar.
“The evening service ended hours ago,” she said without turning. “But you’re welcome to sit.”
Owen sank onto a back pew. The wood creaked under his weight. When had he last been in a church? His wedding day, probably. He’d stood beside Iris in her white gown and said vows he’d had no intention of honoring beyond the letter of the law.
“Troubled, are you?” The woman had finished with the candles and was now studying him with knowing eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“Of course you are. That’s why you’re sitting in an empty church at ten o’clock.” She settled into the pew across from him. “Marital troubles?”
Owen’s startled look must have been enough because she chuckled.
“Thought so. You’ve got that look about you. Like a man who’s realized he’s been a fool but isn’t sure how to fix it.”
“You don’t know anything about my situation.”
“Don’t I? Let me guess. You thought you could keep your heart locked away and safe from hurt. Built walls so high that you couldn’t see over them. And now there’s someone on the other side, and you’re terrified to let them in.”
The accuracy of her assessment was unsettling. “It’s more complicated than that.”
“Always is.” She rose with a grunt. “But here’s what I’ve learned in seventy years. Walls keep out pain, sure enough. But they keep out joy, too. And a life without joy is just existing, not living.”
She shuffled away, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the flickering candles.
Through the windows, he could see his carriage waiting patiently. Beyond that, somewhere in the London night, Iris was probably tucking Evie into her cradle. His wife. His family.
If he let himself claim them.