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Page 22 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)

“ Y ou look magnificent.”

Iris paused at the top of the stairs with her hand gripping the banister. Owen stood in the entrance hall below, resplendent in evening black. His gray eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat.

The gown was new, a creation of deep sapphire silk that caught the light with every movement. The modiste had insisted it brought out her eyes, but Iris had worried it was too much. Too bold for a woman who’d been hidden away for over a year.

“Thank you.” She descended slowly, aware of his gaze tracking her movement. “You look well yourself.”

That was an understatement. The severe black of his coat suited him perfectly. The cut of the garment emphasized his broad shoulders and lean height.

He offered his arm when she reached the bottom. “Ready?”

“No.” She placed her hand on his sleeve, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter.”

“You’ll be wonderful.” His voice was softer than usual. “Just remember: we control the narrative. Short answers, move on quickly if someone presses the issue.”

“And if they ask about Evie?”

“We tell them she’s thriving. That you’re both well. Nothing more.”

The carriage ride passed too quickly. Through the window, Iris could see other carriages arriving at Lord Morrison’s townhouse. There were ladies in jewels and gentlemen in evening dress emerging into the gaslight. Her stomach churned.

“Breathe slower,” Owen said quietly.

She realized she’d been panting slightly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me.” He shifted slightly so that his knee brushed hers. “You faced down Lady Garrison in Hyde Park. This is just more of the same.”

“This is the entire ton in one room, all of them dying to dissect us.”

“Then we give them nothing to dissect. We dance, we smile, we leave.” His hand covered hers briefly. “Together.”

The footman opened the door before she could respond.

Owen descended first, then turned to help her down, offering her his hand and merely touching her gloved fingertips.

“Chin up,” he murmured. “You’re a duchess.”

They entered Lord Morrison’s ballroom, and after they were announced, she sensed the subtle but unmistakable shift in atmosphere.

Conversations paused. Heads turned. Ladies hid behind their fans to whisper.

The elusive Duke and Duchess of Carridan had finally decided to mingle again.

Iris kept her expression pleasant. Her hand rested lightly on Owen’s arm as they made their way through the crowd. She could hear the whispers following in their wake.

“… baby appeared out of nowhere…”

“… hidden away for months…”

“… she looks well enough now…”

Lord Morrison intercepted them near the dance floor. His wife glittered beside him in diamond jewelry.

“Your Graces! How wonderful to see you.” His smile was warm, but his eyes were calculating. “I am honored to have you attend my soiree, especially since Your Graces rarely favor anyone with your presence.”

“You’re too kind,” Iris murmured.

“And how is little Lady Evangeline?” Lady Morrison’s tone dripped with honey. “Such a blessing after your difficulties.”

“She’s perfect,” Owen said smoothly. “Growing stronger every day.”

“You must bring her to call soon. I so love babies.” Lady Morrison’s smile showed too many teeth. “When they’re presented, that is. Not hidden away like guilty secrets.”

Iris felt Owen tense beside her, but his expression remained neutral. “We value our privacy, as I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course. Though privacy can be so easily misinterpreted, can’t it?” Lady Morrison’s laugh tinkled like breaking glass. “Why, just the other day, someone was speculating on the child’s birth.”

“How fascinating,” Owen said coldly. “I hadn’t realized fiction had become so popular in drawing rooms.”

The orchestra struck a waltz, saving them from further barbs.

Owen turned to Iris with formal courtesy. “Would you honor me with this dance?”

She placed her hand in his, letting him lead her onto the floor. Other couples made room as all eyes followed their movement.

When his hand settled on her waist and he drew her into position, she felt like she might shatter from the scrutiny.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she whispered as they began to move.

His hand tightened on her waist. “Look at me.”

She raised her eyes to his.

“Not at them. At me.” His voice was low and meant for her ears only. “This is for Evie. Every smile, every dance, every moment we endure builds her protection.”

“They’re all staring.”

“Let them.” He spun her through a turn. His movements were confident and controlled. “You’re beautiful, we’re dancing well, and our daughter is safe at home. Nothing else matters.”

Their eyes met and held. The music swelled around them, and for a moment, the ballroom faded. There was only Owen’s warm hand on her waist, his fingers entwined with hers, and the steady strength of his frame guiding her through the dance.

He was right. When she focused on him instead of the crowd, everything became easier. Their bodies found the rhythm naturally, moving together as if they’d done this a thousand times instead of just once at their wedding.

“Better?” he asked softly.

“Yes.”

And it was true.

In his arms, with his gray eyes steady on hers, she felt anchored. Safe, even.

The music ended too soon. Reality crashed back as they broke apart and the ton closed in like hungry wolves. A cluster of matrons descended on them first.

“Your Grace, how wonderful to see you restored to health!” Lady Ashford gushed. “Though you do look a trifle thin. Difficult birth, wasn’t it?”

“All births have their challenges,” Iris replied carefully.

“Indeed. I nearly died with my third. Was bedridden for months.” Lady Ashford’s eyes gleamed. “Is that why we didn’t see you at all during your confinement? Complete bed rest?”

“My wife’s health is not a topic for public discussion,” Owen said firmly.

“Of course not! I only meant?—”

“Carridan! There you are!” Felix’s voice cut through the awkwardness. He appeared with Grace and Harrison in tow, all smiles and charm. “Ladies, you’ll excuse us? I must steal these two away. Urgent matter of whether Lord Brentwell owes me five pounds or ten from our last wager.”

He whisked them away before anyone could protest.

Grace looped her arm through Iris’s as they moved toward the refreshments table. “Vultures,” she muttered. “I wanted to throw something at Lady Ashford.”

“Violence later,” Harrison said mildly. “Wine first.”

They found a relatively quiet corner where Iris could catch her breath.

Owen, Felix, and Harrison fell into conversation about some investment opportunity, leaving the ladies to themselves.

“How are you really?” Grace sipped her champagne, studying Iris over the rim of her flute. “That dance was certainly…well, the attraction between you looked anything but platonic.”

Heat flooded Iris’s cheeks. “It was just a dance.”

“Mm-hmm. The way you two looked at each other nearly set the curtains on fire.”

“Grace!”

“What? I’m simply observing. You’re attracted to your husband. That’s good, isn’t it?”

Iris glanced at Owen, who was deep in conversation with Harrison. Even now, surrounded by people, he maintained that careful distance and perfect control.

“I don’t know what good it does,” she admitted. “He’s still a mystery to me. Sometimes, I think I see glimpses of the man he truly is, but then he retreats behind those walls again.”

“Walls can come down.”

“Can they?” Iris took a larger sip of champagne than was wise. “I don’t even know if I can trust him. What if Evie really is his? What if everything he’s told me is just an elaborate lie?”

Grace’s expression grew serious. “Do you actually believe that?”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Your Grace.”

The smooth voice made them both turn around. A man stood before them, golden-haired and sharp-featured, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Something about him made Iris’s skin prickle with unease.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” he said. “Jasper Cooper, the Duke of Richmond. I knew your husband at school.”

Iris felt her breath catch. Richmond. The same title as the kind dowager duchess who had visited them.

“Duke.” She bobbed a curtsey. “This is Lady Brentwell.”

“Ladies.” He bowed with practiced elegance. “I was hoping I might claim a dance, Duchess, if your card isn’t full?”

Every instinct screamed refusal. But she could feel eyes on them and knew that declining would only fuel more gossip. And perhaps she could learn something about Nicholas. From the way her husband had looked at the Dowager Duchess of Richmond, Iris had begun suspecting…

Well, a dance wouldn’t hurt.

“I would be honored.”

Grace shot her a warning look, but Iris was already placing her hand on Richmond’s proffered arm. He led her onto the dance floor as a new set began.

“You dance beautifully, Duchess,” he said as they took their positions.

“Thank you, Duke.”

“I’m surprised to see you out so soon after your confinement. You must be remarkably strong,” he said while raising an eyebrow. His tone was even yet somehow too polite.

“I had excellent care,” she replied and tilted her chin upward.

“I’m sure.” His hand was cool on hers. His touch was precise but somehow unpleasant. “Your daughter is well?”

“Very well.”

“How wonderful. Children are such blessings.” He guided her through a turn. “My late brother always wanted children. Used to talk about it constantly.”

Ah. So, he is Nicholas’s brother, then.

“You were close to your brother?” she asked.

“Nicholas and I had a complex relationship.” His smile was thin. “But we were brothers. Blood tells, as they say.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” she offered.

“Are you?” His gaze sharpened. “How kind. Though I wonder if you knew him at all. He and your husband were quite inseparable for a time.”

“My husband has mentioned him.”

“Has he? How fascinating. And what did he tell you about their adventures?” His voice took on a sly edge. “They did have such adventures. Paris, Venice, Vienna. All those exotic places where men can indulge their… fantasies.”

Iris kept her expression neutral despite the implication. “I’m afraid my husband doesn’t share tales of his youth with me.”

“No? How remiss of him. Nicholas had such stories. About the women they met. The gambling halls. The things they did that would make a lady blush.”

She frowned. “Duke?—”

“I do hope your daughter inherited her father’s sense of adventure.” He spun her again, using the movement to draw her slightly closer. “Though perhaps not his appetites. They can be so destructive under the wrong circumstances.”

From across the room, Iris caught sight of Owen. He’d noticed her partner and his expression darkened with each passing moment.

The sight sent an unexpected thrill through her.

Was he jealous? Angry? She couldn’t tell at this distance, but the intensity of his stare made her pulse race.

“Tell me,” the Duke of Richmond continued, seemingly oblivious to Owen’s scrutiny. “Who do you think little Evangeline favors? You or Carridan?”

She felt the weight of his gaze like a scalpel, precise and unrelenting.

“It’s difficult to say,” she answered. “She’s still so little.”

“Indeed. Though family resemblance usually shows early. The shape of the nose, the set of the eyes.” He studied her face with unsettling intensity. “You have lovely eyes. Such a deep blue. One would expect to see them reflected in your daughter.”

“Perhaps she’ll develop them as she grows.”

“Perhaps.” He leaned closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Though I’ve heard from those who’ve seen her that she’s the spitting image of her father. Dark hair, dark eyes, narrow chin. Nothing of you at all.”

His words struck a nerve. Iris forced herself to keep dancing and maintain her smile even as her mind raced.

Who had seen Evie? What rumors were already spreading?

“Children change so quickly at that age,” she managed.

“True. Though blood will tell, as I said.” His smile was sharp as a blade. “My brother’s blood always told. Even in the most… unexpected places.”

She frowned again. What did that mean?

The music continued, forcing her to remain in Richmond’s arms even as questions multiplied in her mind.

She’d been so certain of her husband’s story. His protectiveness over Evie combined with the way he’d gradually let down his guard these past weeks had comforted her. But what if it was all an act? What if Evie were his child from some liaison during those travels Richmond mentioned?

The thought made her stomach twist. She was appalled not just because of the potential betrayal, but because of the idea that the Duke could lie so convincingly.

She now questioned every tender moment, every shared glance, and every touch because they might all be part of his calculated manipulation.

“You’ve gone quiet,” Richmond observed. “Have I said something troubling?”

“Not at all, Duke. I was simply enjoying the dance.”

“Were you?” His knowing smile suggested he saw right through her. “How delightful. Though I notice your husband seems less pleased. He’s been glaring at me since we took to the floor.”

Iris glanced toward Owen again. He’d moved closer to the dance floor and his expression was thunderous. Felix was beside him, apparently trying to engage him in conversation, but Owen’s attention never wavered from her and Richmond.

“He is protective,” she said carefully.

“Protective of what?” Richmond executed another turn, this one bringing her close enough to feel his breath on her cheek. “Of you as his wife, or of you as the Duchess of Carridan?”

The music was ending. Thank God .

But Richmond’s words echoed in her mind, mixing with her doubts and fears.

What did she really know about her husband? About his past his travels?

What if everyone was lying to her? What if she were just a convenient cover for her husband’s indiscretions, a respectable duchess to legitimize his bastard?

The final notes faded. Richmond bowed over her hand. His lips barely brushed her glove.

“Enchanting,” he murmured. “We must do this again soon, Duchess.”

Before she could respond, a familiar hand settled on her elbow.

“Richmond.” Owen’s voice could have frozen fire. “I believe you’ve monopolized my wife long enough.”

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