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

“ A re you going to keep staring at me, or shall we discuss this in private?” The words came out steadier than Iris felt.

The Duke stood frozen in the doorway with his gray eyes fixed on the bundle in her arms. For a man who prided himself on control, he looked remarkably shaken.

Good . Let him feel a fraction of what I’ve endured.

“Peters,” he said without looking at his butler, “leave us.”

“Your Grace.” The older man bowed and retreated. He closed the door with a soft click.

They were alone for the first time since their wedding night when he’d deposited her at Carridan Hall like unwanted luggage. The memory burned hot as ever.

Evie squirmed in her arms, threatening to cry. Iris bounced her gently using a motion that had become second nature over the past two days. She watched the Duke track the movement and saw the calculation in his eyes as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

“Explain,” he said finally.

“Explain?” Iris laughed bitterly. “That’s rich, coming from you. A year of silence, and now you want explanations?”

“The child?—”

“ Your daughter.” She watched the words hit him. “Or did you think I wouldn’t find out? Did you imagine your mistress would keep your secret forever?”

His face went carefully blank. That marble mask slid into place. She remembered it from their wedding when he’d promised to honor and cherish her before disappearing into the night.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t.” The word cracked through the air. “Don’t you dare stand there and lie to me. Not when she was left on our doorstep like a parcel.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “She was left at Carridan Hall?”

“With a note.” Iris shifted Evie to one arm while fishing the crumpled paper from her pocket. “Though I suppose you already know what it says.”

She thrust it at him and watched his face as he read it. His expression shifted minutely with confusion, recognition, and then something that looked almost like pain before the mask slammed back into place.

“This isn’t…” He trailed off, still staring at the note.

“Isn’t what? Isn’t convenient? Isn’t how you planned for me to find out?” Iris’s voice rose despite her efforts to control it. “A year, Your Grace. You left me alone for an entire year . No word, no explanation, nothing. And now I know why.”

Evie fussed in earnest. She was most likely disturbed by the raised voices. Iris tried to soothe her, but her own agitation made it difficult.

“You couldn’t even give me the courtesy of discretion,” she continued, quieter now for the baby’s sake. “Your mistress had to abandon her child at my door. Do you know what that felt like? To realize my husband had been?—”

“She’s not mine.”

The flat denial made her laugh again disbelievingly. “Of course she’s not. Her mother knew exactly where to leave her because she’s not yours. She did it because?—”

“She’s not mine,” the Duke repeated. His voice gained strength. “I haven’t… We haven’t…”

He gestured vaguely between them and heat flooded her cheeks.

No, they hadn’t. There had only been one awkward wedding night where he’d barely looked at her before making his excuses and leaving. Then, a year of shame and unanswered letters followed.

“Then whose is she?” Iris demanded. “Because babies don’t simply appear out of thin air.”

The Duke stared at the note again as his jaw worked. She could practically see the war playing out behind his eyes.

“I need to see her properly,” he said finally.

Iris hesitated. Not from fear, but from the gulf of time and silence that had grown between her and the Duke over the past year.

She looked up, catching sight of the dark bags beneath his eyes. Was it worry? Regret? She wasn’t sure. A flicker of sympathy stirred inside her, quickly smothered by the stubborn ember of anger that still burned.

She stepped closer, close enough to catch his scent—sandalwood and brandy. It made her stomach twist with unwanted memories.

He leaned in and studied Evie’s tiny features with an intensity that made Iris hold her breath.

Then, his face changed. The mask cracked and revealed something raw underneath.

“Nicholas,” he breathed.

“What?”

He straightened then ran a hand through his black hair. For a moment, he looked younger, almost vulnerable. Then, the walls came back up.

“This child is not mine,” he said. “But she is here now.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?” Iris stared at him incredulously. “You recognize something. I can see it. You know who she belongs to.”

“It’s not my secret to tell.”

“Of course not.” Bitterness coated her throat. “Why should I expect honesty from my husband? Silly me, thinking marriage meant trust.”

“Duchess—”

“No.” She turned away while settling Evie against her shoulder. The baby’s weight had become familiar, almost comforting. “I’m tired, Your Grace. Tired of being ignored and cast aside.”

“Then what do you want?”

The question surprised her enough that she turned back. He stood rigid by the fireplace with his hands clasped behind his back like a soldier at attention.

“I want the truth,” she said simply. “But apparently, that’s too much to ask.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by Evie’s soft breathing.

Iris studied her husband. She really looked at him for the first time in a year. He seemed harder, somehow. The lines at the corners of his eyes were deeper. Whatever he’d been doing in London, it had cost him something.

Not enough , the hurt part of her whispered. Not nearly enough .

“So, what happens now?” she asked when the silence became unbearable.

His gaze dropped to Evie, and something shifted in his expression. “Now… we give her a home.”

“We?”

“She was left at our doorstep, as you said. That makes her our responsibility.”

“How noble.” Iris couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. “And convenient. This way you get offspring without having to actually—” She broke off, horrified at what she’d almost said.

Without having to touch me. Without having to pretend you want me.

“Without having to what?” His voice had gone dangerously quiet.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Duchess—”

“I said, forget it.” She bounced Evie, who was starting to fuss again. “She needs changing. And feeding. And about a dozen other things I barely know how to do.”

He moved to the bell pull. “I’ll have Peters?—”

“No.” The word came out sharper than intended. “I mean, not yet. We need to discuss this first. What we’re going to tell people. How we’re going to…” She trailed off feeling overwhelmed by the magnitude of what they were considering.

Claiming another woman’s child as their own. Living a lie for the rest of their lives.

“We’ve been married for over a year.” The Duke’s tone turned businesslike. “The timing is perfect. We’ll say that you gave birth in the countryside, away from the prying eyes of the ton , and your health required privacy.”

“You’ve figured this out very quickly. One would assume you expected it, Your Grace.”

“It is my duty to resolve problems. And no, I did not expect this, Duchess. I did not expect this at all.” He moved closer, and she fought the urge to step back. “The alternative to this situation is sending Evie to an orphanage or a workhouse. Is that what you want?”

“No!” The vehemence in her voice surprised her. She looked down at Evie’s peaceful face and the tiny fingers which were curled into fists. “No, she deserves better than that.”

“Then she’s ours.” His voice held a finality that made her chest tighten. “Lady Evangeline Sencler, daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Carridan.”

The title sounded strange. Their daughter. As if they were a real family instead of two strangers bound by a contract and necessity.

“Unless you object,” he added.

For the first time, Iris heard uncertainty in his voice.

Did she object to raising another woman’s child? To perpetuate a lie that would follow them forever? To binding herself even more closely to a man who couldn’t bear to be in the same house as her?

Evie made a small sound, and her face scrunched up in sleep. So innocent. So undeserving of the chaos surrounding her arrival.

“No,” Iris whispered. “No objection.”

“Then it’s settled.” The Duke moved back to the bell pull. “Peters will prepare a nursery. We’ll need a wet nurse immediately, and?—”

“I’ve been managing.”

He paused and looked at her with something akin to surprise. “You’ve been feeding her yourself?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “No! I mean, we found a wet nurse in the village near Carridan Hall. A farmer’s wife who recently had a baby. She’s been coming to the house, but obviously, she couldn’t travel with us to London.”

“You’ll need someone here immediately, then. A proper live-in wet nurse.”

“Yes, I know. The woman at Carridan said that Evie’s taking well to feeding, but it’s been hours since…” She trailed off, feeling like she was giving him too many details.

“I’ll have Peters send for someone tonight,” he said firmly. “There are agencies that provide discreet services for noble households. The staff here can be trusted, but?—”

“Your Grace.” The title felt strange on her tongue after so long. “Stop.”

She waited for his eyes to connect with hers.

“You’re doing it again,” she continued. “Making decisions, giving orders, arranging everything to your satisfaction. Just like our wedding.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“No, you’re trying to control.” She shifted Evie to her other arm as exhaustion pulled at her bones. “I’ve been managing for two days; I can continue to manage. What I need from you is not orders, but answers.”

“I told you?—”

“That she’s not yours. Yes, I heard.” Iris studied his face, searching for cracks in his composure. “But you know who she belongs to, don’t you? This isn’t some random abandonment.”

Owen’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “What makes you say that?”

“The way you’re handling this. This calm consideration of our dilemma instead of immediate outrage.” She stepped closer despite her better judgment. “Someone you know left her at the estate.”