Font Size
Line Height

Page 39 of The Duke’s Untouched Bride (Regency Second Chances #3)

“ Y ou look like hell.”

Owen glanced up from his whiskey to find Felix standing beside his table.

The club was nearly empty at this time, since most members had departed for their evening meals with their families.

“Thank you for that astute observation.” Owen’s voice came out rougher than he had intended. The whiskey had done its work on his throat if not his memory.

“What happened?” Felix settled into the opposite chair without invitation. His eyes catalogued the empty glass and Owen’s disheveled appearance. “You were the picture of domestic contentment. Tonight, you’re drinking alone like a man who’s lost everything.”

“Perhaps I have.”

“Stop being cryptic. Grace mentioned Iris sent a note asking her to visit tomorrow. Something about needing a friend’s counsel.” Felix leaned forward. “What’s driven you from your home, Owen?”

Owen considered another drink but found his hand trembling too badly to pour steadily.

The irony wasn’t lost on him. The very control he’d spent years cultivating had abandoned him when he needed it most.

“Evie’s leaving us.”

“What do you mean, leaving?”

“A solicitor arrived this morning. Apparently, she has French relatives with legal documents and blood claims. They want her back.” Owen’s laughter held no humor. “We were simply temporary guardians until proper arrangements could be made.”

Felix went still. “And you’re letting them take her?”

“I’m doing what’s legally required.”

“Legally required,” Felix scoffed. “Is that what you told Iris? That duty trumps love?”

Owen thought of Iris’s face when he’d spoken of faking Evie’s death. Her eyes had filled with tears when he’d reduced their months of happiness to temporary necessity.

“I told her the truth. That we have no legal right to keep a child who belongs elsewhere.”

“And what did she say to that?”

“That she loved Evie because I was there, too. That caring for her together made us a real family.” Owen’s voice cracked slightly. “She’s wrong, of course. We were playing house, nothing more.”

“Were you?” Felix’s voice was dangerously quiet. “Because you three looked like the most real family I’ve ever seen. More real than half the blood relations in London.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

“Can they? Or are you deceiving yourself because admitting the truth is too frightening?”

Owen reached for his glass again. He was grateful when his hand didn’t tremble much this time. The whiskey burned going down, but it was nothing compared to the fire in his chest whenever he thought of Evie’s trusting smile.

“You don’t understand the complexities involved.”

“I understand that you’re sitting here, drinking yourself senseless instead of fighting for your daughter.”

“She’s not my daughter.” The words came out sounding harsh and desperate. “She never was. We took her in because circumstances required it.”

“Is that what you believe or what you need to believe to justify walking away?”

Owen stared into his glass, seeing his own reflection distorted in the amber liquid. When had he become a man who could look at a child he’d sung to sleep and call her a temporary inconvenience?

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. The law is clear.”

“The law.” Felix’s voice carried disgust. Then, he signaled the server for his own drink. His movements were sharp with suppressed anger. “Do you know what Iris asked Grace to bring tomorrow? A little chest for Evie’s baby clothes. She’s packing them away as keepsakes.”

Owen’s chest tightened until he could barely breathe. “She shouldn’t keep reminders.”

“Why not? Because it might make this harder for you? Because seeing evidence of your happiness might crack that careful control you prize so highly?”

“Because reminders make moving forward impossible.”

“Moving forward to what? A return to the empty existence you had before? Meals taken alone, evenings spent in silence, a marriage that’s nothing more than legal documents?”

“It worked before.”

“Did it?”

Owen drained his glass, welcoming the burn that distracted him from Felix’s uncomfortable truths. Had he been lonely before Evie’s arrival? The past months had shown him what warmth felt like, making his previous existence seem cold by comparison.

“Some men aren’t meant for family life.”

“Some men convince themselves they aren’t meant for it because admitting they want it requires courage they don’t possess.”

“You think I lack courage?”

“I think you lack faith.” Felix’s drink arrived, but he ignored it in favor of studying Owen’s face. “Faith in yourself, in Iris, in the possibility that love might not destroy everything it touches.”

“Love destroyed my parents.”

“ Obsession destroyed your parents. Selfish, all-consuming need that had nothing to do with genuine care for another person.” Felix leaned forward. “What you have with Iris and Evie isn’t obsession. It’s the real thing. That terrifies you more than any legal document could.”

Owen wanted to argue and defend his position with logic and precedent.

But the words wouldn’t come. How could he explain that every moment of happiness with his makeshift family had felt like borrowing against future pain?

That loving them felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the inevitable fall?

“She deserves better than what I can give her.”

“She deserves honesty and the chance to decide for herself what she’s willing to risk.” Felix finally lifted his glass but continued studying him over the rim. “Instead, you’re making choices for her based on your fears.”

“I’m protecting her.”

“You’re abandoning her. Again. Just like you did after your wedding, when you decided she’d be safer without your presence.”

The accusation struck home with devastating accuracy. Owen was indeed abandoning Iris. Choosing his comfort over fighting for what mattered most. Using legal technicalities to justify what was ultimately emotional cowardice.

“Even if I wanted to fight this, what grounds would I have? The documents seemed legitimate.”

“ Seemed .” Felix pounced on the word. “You said seemed . Which means you have doubts.”

Owen thought of the perfectly matched handwriting and the convenient timing of the solicitor’s arrival. His instincts, honed by years of business negotiations, suggested something wasn’t right. But instincts weren’t evidence.

“Doubts aren’t facts.”

“Neither is surrender.” Felix stood up then tossed a few coins onto the table. “I’m going home to my comfortable bachelor life, where the only heart I can break is my own. You should go home to your family. While you still have one.”

After Felix left, Owen remained at his table, surrounded by the detritus of his evening’s drinking and the uncomfortable weight of truth. The club grew quieter as the last few members departed, leaving him increasingly isolated with his thoughts.

Felix was right about one thing—he was terrified. Not of legal consequences or social disapproval, but of the depth of his feelings. Somewhere in the months of caring for Evie, he’d allowed himself to hope. He’d dared to imagine a future built on more than duty and convenience.

But hope was dangerous. Hope made you vulnerable to loss, to the kind of devastating grief that could destroy a man’s ability to function. Better to cut his losses now, before the wound grew too deep to heal.

Except the wound was already deeper than he’d imagined.

The thought of never again hearing Evie’s delighted gurgle when he entered the nursery made his hands shake.

The prospect of watching Iris retreat behind the careful politeness that had defined the first year of their marriage felt like contemplating his death.

Owen pushed back from the table. His movements were unsteady from whiskey and exhaustion.

The carriage ride home passed in a blur of darkened streets and regret. Every turn brought him closer to the house where his wife was probably crying herself to sleep and where his daughter was unaware her world was about to shatter.

The townhouse stood dark when he arrived. The windows were like closed eyes in the night.

Owen let himself in quietly, making his way through familiar corridors that felt foreign in the darkness. From upstairs came the soft sound of weeping. It was muffled but unmistakable.

Iris.

She was grieving for the family they were about to lose and mourning the future that had seemed so certain and bright just hours ago.

Owen paused at the bottom of the stairs with his hand gripping the banister. He should go to her. Should try to offer comfort, even if his presence was the source of her pain. He could be her husband instead of a stranger hiding behind documents and whiskey.

Instead, he turned toward his study, seeking the familiar solace of solitude and liquor. Better to let her grieve alone than force her to see the man who’d chosen safety over courage and law over love.

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