The Secrets of Sir Richard Kenworthy

“Just some?” Fleur looked over at Richard, one brow curved in a sardonic arch. “You omitted all the good parts, didn’t you?”

“Fleur . . .” he said warningly.

But Fleur had already returned her attention to Iris. “By any chance, did my brother happen to tell you that I’m pregnant?”

Richard felt his heart drop. He shot a desperate look at Iris. She’d gone positively bloodless. He wanted to go to her, to hold her and protect her, but he knew the only thing she needed protection from was him.

“I’ll be showing soon,” Fleur said, her voice a mockery of decorum. She smoothed her dress down over her body, pressing the pale pink fabric against her belly. “Won’t that be a lark?”

“For the love of God, Fleur,” Richard spat, “have you no tact?”

“None,” Fleur said unrepentantly. “I’m a fallen woman now.”

“Don’t say that,” Richard bit off.

“Why not? It’s true.” Fleur turned to Iris. “You wouldn’t have married him if you’d known about his wretched ruined sister, now would you?”

Iris was shaking her head, little movements back and forth as if she could not recognize her own thoughts. “Did you know this?” she asked him. She held up a hand, almost as if to ward him off. “No, of course you did.”

Richard stepped forward, trying to meet her eyes. “Iris, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“I’m sure we can come up with a solution,” Iris said, her voice taking on a strange, almost frantic tinge. She looked at Fleur, she looked at the wardrobe, she looked anywhere but at her husband. “It’s not a good situation, to be sure, but you’re not the first young lady to find herself like this, and—”

“Iris,” Richard said quietly.

“You have the support of your family,” she told Fleur. “Your brother loves you. I know he does, and you do, too. We’ll think of something. There’s always something.”

He spoke again. “I’ve already thought of something, Iris.”

Finally, she looked at him.

She whispered, “Why did you marry me, Richard?”

It was time to tell the truth.

“You will pretend to be pregnant, Iris. And we will raise Fleur’s baby as our legitimate child.”

Chapter Nineteen

IRIS STARED AT her husband with mounting disbelief. Surely he did not mean . . . He would never . . .

“No,” she said. No, she wouldn’t do this. No, he couldn’t possibly be asking it of her.

“I’m afraid you have no choice,” Richard said grimly.

She gaped at him. “I have no choice?”

“If we do not do this, Fleur will be ruined.”

“I think she’s already managed that quite well herself,” Iris snapped before she could even think of tempering her words.

Fleur let out a bark of harsh laughter, looking almost amused at Iris’s insult, but Richard stepped forward with a hot look in his eyes, and warned, “You are speaking of my sister.”

“And you are speaking to your wife!” Iris cried. Horrified by the agonized catch in her voice, she clapped her hand to her mouth and twisted away. She could not look at his face. Not right now.

She’d known he was hiding something. Even as she was falling in love and trying to convince herself it was all in her head, she had known there had to be a reason behind their hasty marriage. But she had never imagined something like this. She could never have imagined it.

It was madness. Madness, and yet it explained everything. From the rushed wedding to his refusal to consummate the marriage . . . it all made perfect, hideous sense. No wonder he’d had to find a bride so quickly. And, of course, he could not risk getting Iris pregnant before Fleur had her baby. Iris would like to see him explain that.

As it was, they would have to claim that Iris delivered the child a month—or maybe even two months—early. And then, when the babe emerged perfectly healthy and large, everyone would assume it had been a forced marriage, that Richard had seduced her before the wedding.

Iris let out a harsh laugh. Dear God, nothing could be further from the truth.

“You find this funny?” Richard demanded.

She wrapped her arms around her body, trying to contain the painful bubble of hysteria ballooning within her. Turning around so that she could look straight at his face, she replied, “Not even one bit.”

He had the good sense not to ask for further clarification. Iris could only imagine the wild look in her eyes.

After a few moments, Richard cleared his throat, and said, “I realize that you have been put in a difficult situation . . .”

Difficult? Her jaw came unhinged. He wanted her to feign a pregnancy and then claim another woman’s child as her own? And he called that difficult?

“. . . but I think you will see that it is the only solution.”

No. She shook her head. “That cannot be possible. There must be some other way.”

“Do you really think I came to this decision lightly?” Richard said, his voice rising with temper. “Do you imagine I did not consider every possible alternative?”

Iris’s lungs grew tight, and she fought the need to suck in great big gulps of air. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely think. Who was this man? He’d been almost a stranger when they married, but she had thought he was at heart a good and honest person. She had let him kiss her in the most mortifyingly intimate way imaginable, and she did not even know him.

She’d thought she might even be falling in love.