Font Size
Line Height

Page 19 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)

S leep eluded Owen, as it often did these days.

The townhouse was quiet, the servants long in bed, but his mind refused to settle. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Hyde Park again. The whispers, the calculating looks, and the smile that never quite reached Iris’s eyes haunted him.

And the rider. Iris had mentioned seeing someone, but the man had disappeared before Owen could get a proper look at him. It might have been nothing. London was full of gentlemen who spent their afternoons in the park, after all.

But Owen didn’t believe in coincidences. Not anymore.

He threw back the covers and reached for his dressing gown. Perhaps a glass of brandy would help. Or perhaps he’d review the estate accounts again. Anything to avoid lying here, replaying every moment of the afternoon, wondering what he could have done differently.

The hallway was dark, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the windows. As he passed Iris’s room, he noticed that her door was slightly ajar.

An oversight, probably.

He moved to close it, then paused.

Through the gap, he could see Iris sleeping. She lay on the very edge of the bed, curled into herself with one hand tucked beneath her pillow. Even in slumber, she seemed poised to flee, as if she might need to jump up at any moment.

The sight made his chest tighten.

Was this how she always slept? Ready to run? Or was this new, since Evie’s arrival?

A soft sound from the nursery caught his ear. That door, too, was ajar, and the faint flicker of lamplight spilled into the hall. He moved quietly to the threshold and looked inside.

Evie lay fast asleep in her cradle with one small fist tucked beneath her cheek. Her chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm and her tiny face was peaceful. Whatever dreams babies had, hers seemed gentle.

Owen stepped into the room before he realized what he was doing. In the warm glow of the lamp, she looked even smaller than usual and so delicate, so unaware of the tangled truths wrapped around her life. And so completely dependent on the lies he and Iris told to keep her safe.

Nicholas should be here .

The thought came unbidden. It was sharp with grief.

Nicholas would have been a good father. He’d have taught Evie to laugh, to take risks, and to embrace life with both hands. Instead, she had Owen. Cold, distant Owen, who didn’t know the first thing about unconditional love.

The baby stirred slightly and made a soft sound.

Owen moved closer, studying the tiny features that held traces of his deceased friend. The shape of her nose, perhaps. The determined set of her chin, even in sleep.

“Your father was a better man than I’ll ever be,” he whispered. “But I’ll keep you safe. That much I can promise.”

The weight of secrets pressed down on him. The Dowager Duchess was still ignorant that she’d beheld her great-granddaughter. The members of the ton would continue spinning their stories about a pregnancy that never was. And somewhere out there, Evie’s mother existed.

Adele .

Nicholas had mentioned the name once or twice, always with that soft smile of a truly smitten man. A dancer, he’d said. French. Beautiful in ways that had nothing to do with conventional prettiness.

What had happened to her? Where was she now? Did she think of her daughter and wonder if she was safe?

Owen made a decision. Tomorrow, he’d begin making inquiries. Discreet ones. Not to disturb whatever life Adele had built, but to know. For Evie’s sake. Someday, she might want answers about her mother. He owed her that truth, at least.

He stood there for another moment and watched Evie sleep. Then, he quietly withdrew before gently closing the door. Iris’s door still stood ajar, and he paused again, watching her sleep on the edge of disaster.

The brandy had lost its appeal. So, he returned to his room and lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about mothers who left their children behind and wives who slept like they were ready to run.

Morning came too soon, bringing with it the usual routine of correspondence and estate business. Owen was reviewing a proposal for drainage improvements when Peters announced a visitor.

“Lord Yardley, Your Grace.”

Owen suppressed a sigh. Yardley was a gossip and a bore, but he had connections all over the ton . Refusing to see him would only fuel speculation.

“Show him in.”

Yardley entered with his usual swagger, already talking before he’d taken a seat.

“Your Grace! Good to see you out and about yesterday. That daughter of yours is a pretty little thing. Takes after her mother, lucky girl.”

“Thank you, Lord Yardley.” Owen kept his tone neutral. “Was there something specific you wanted to discuss?”

“Direct as always.” Yardley chuckled. “Actually, I thought you should know. Ran into Richmond at the club last night. He was asking rather pointed questions.”

Owen’s grip tightened on his quill. “What sort of questions?”

“Oh, the usual gossip. When exactly the child was born, if anyone had visited during the Duchess’s confinement. That sort of thing.” Yardley leaned forward conspiratorially. “He seemed particularly interested in whether you’d been seen traveling to Carridan Hall during those months.”

“And what did you tell him?” Owen asked while narrowing his eyes.

“Nothing! Well, nothing useful. I said I assumed you visited your wife regularly, as any devoted husband would. Private matters and all of that.” Yardley’s eyes gleamed with curiosity.

“But between us, Your Grace, it did seem odd. No one in London saw hide or hair of the Duchess, but she was seen in country events around Carridan.”

Owen put down his quill with deliberate care. “During her pregnancy, my wife’s health was fragile. We kept her confinement private as per the doctor’s orders. She was able to go out and about only after the birth.”

“Of course, of course. Very proper.” But Yardley’s expression suggested he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Still, Richmond seemed quite determined to piece together a timeline. Made me wonder what his aim was.”

“Perhaps he should find better uses for his time than gossiping about other men’s wives.” Owen said icily. “A gentleman doesn’t speculate about such delicate matters.”

Yardley had the grace to flush. “No offense meant, Your Grace. Just thought you should know.”

“I appreciate the information.” Owen stood up, signaling the meeting was over. “But I trust this conversation will go no further. My family’s privacy is not a subject for club room discussion.”

“Naturally! Wouldn’t dream of it.” Yardley scrambled to his feet. “Lovely to see you. Give my regards to the Duchess.”

After he left, Owen stood at his window, thinking.

So, Jasper was actively investigating, trying to find holes in their story. The timeline was their weakest point. Nine months existed when Owen had been firmly in London and was never once seen traveling to Carridan Hall.

He needed to act. Fabricate evidence of visits that had never happened. Letters dated from Carridan Hall, perhaps. Witnesses who could be persuaded to remember seeing him there.

Or he needed to find out what Jasper suspected and why he cared so much about a baby who shouldn’t concern him.

Owen returned to his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper.

He had contacts in the less reputable parts of London.

Men who specialized in finding information others wanted to keep hidden.

It was time to learn more about what the new Duke of Richmond had been doing in the months before Nicholas died.

And perhaps, while he was at it, Owen could begin the search for Adele. Carefully, quietly, he would find her without alerting Jasper to another avenue of investigation.

The game was becoming more complex. But Owen had spent years learning to play with stakes this high. He wouldn’t fail now.

Not when Evie’s future depended on it.

He sealed the letter and rang for Peters. There was much to be done, and time was not on their side. But as he handed over the correspondence, he thought of Iris sleeping on the edge of her bed, ready to run at a moment’s notice.

Perhaps it was time to give her something to run toward, instead of away from.

Perhaps it was time to start building the family they pretended to be.

Ad If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.