Iris wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she took another sip of her whiskey, tipping it back to get the last few drops.
“More?” Richard inquired, holding up the decanter.
“I probably shouldn’t,” she said, but she held out her glass all the same.
He poured, this time two fingers.
She regarded her glass, holding it up level with her eyes. “Will this make me drunk?”
“Probably not.” He cocked his head, his mouth twisting as if he were doing arithmetic in his head. “But I suppose it could do. You’re small. Did you eat supper?”
“I did.”
“You should be all right, then.”
Iris nodded and looked back down at her glass, giving it a little swirl. They sipped in silence for another minute, then she said, “You should not think you are a bad person.”
He quirked a brow.
“I’m enormously angry with you, and I think you’re making a mistake, but I do understand your motives.” She looked down at her whiskey, momentarily mesmerized by the way it seemed to flicker and glow in the candlelight. Her voice, when she found it again, was pensive. “No one who loves his sisters so well could ever be a bad person.”
He was quiet for a moment, and then—“Thank you.”
“It does you credit, I suppose, that you are willing to make such a sacrifice.”
“I am hoping,” he said quietly, “that it will not feel like such a sacrifice once the babe is in my arms.”
Iris swallowed. “I am hoping the same.”
He leaned forward quite suddenly, resting his forearms on his knees. The motion brought his head lower than hers, and he looked up at her through his thick, dark lashes. “I really am sorry, you know.”
She didn’t say anything.
“For what you’ve been forced to do,” he needlessly clarified. “It probably won’t matter, but I dreaded telling you.”
“I should think so,” she retorted before she could think to temper her tone. Of course he would dread it. Who on earth would enjoy such a thing?
“No, I mean, I knew you would hate me.” He closed his eyes. “It wasn’t the telling that I dreaded. I didn’t really even think about the actual telling. I just didn’t want you to hate me.”
She sighed. “I don’t hate you.”
He looked up. “You should.”
“Well, I did. For a few days, at least.”
He nodded. “That’s good.”
Iris couldn’t help but smile.
“It would be rather churlish of me to deny you that,” he said wryly.
“My anger?”
He held up his glass. A salute? Maybe. “You deserve it,” he said.
Iris nodded slowly, then thought, what the hell, and raised her glass a little, too.
“What are we toasting?” he asked.
“I have no idea.”
“Fair enough.” He cocked his head. “To your health, then.”
“My health,” Iris said with a choked laugh. Good heavens, what a thing.
“It shall surely be the least dangerous pregnancy in history,” she remarked.
His eyes met hers with a flash of surprise, and then his lips curved into a half smile. “No childbirth fever for you,” he agreed.
She took a gulp of her whiskey. “I shall regain my figure with supernatural speed.”
“The other ladies will be envious,” he said solemnly.
Iris laughed, her eyes closing briefly with mirth before returning to Richard’s face. He was watching her, studying her almost, and his expression . . . it wasn’t amorous or lustful, it was just . . .
Grateful.
She looked down, wondering why gratitude seemed so disappointing. He should be grateful for all she was doing, and yet . . .
It didn’t feel right.
It didn’t feel like enough.
She swirled her whiskey. There wasn’t much left.
Richard’s voice, when she heard it, was soft and sad in the darkness. “What shall we do, Iris?”
“Do?”
“We have a lifetime of marriage ahead of us.”
Iris stared at her drink. Was he asking her to forgive him? She wasn’t sure she was ready to do that. And yet, somehow she knew she would. Was that what it meant to fall in love? That she would forgive the unforgivable? If such a thing had happened to one of her sisters or cousins, Iris would have never forgiven the husband, never.
But this was Richard. And she loved him. In the end, that was all that would matter.
In the end.
But maybe not yet.
She let out a little snort. How like her that was. To know that she would forgive him but to refuse to do it just yet. It wasn’t about making him suffer, though. It wasn’t even about holding a grudge. She just wasn’t ready. He’d said she deserved her anger, and he was right.
She looked up. He was watching her patiently.
“It will be all right,” she said. That was all she could give him. She hoped he would understand.
He nodded, then rose to his feet and held out his hand. “May I walk you to your room?”
Part of her longed for the warmth of his body near hers, even just the touch of her hand on his arm. But she didn’t want to fall more in love with him. At least, not tonight. She gave him a regretful smile as she stood. “I’m not sure that would be such a good idea.”
“Then may I walk you to the door?”
Iris’s lips parted as she stared up at his face. The door was barely three yards away. It was as unnecessary a gesture as she could imagine, and yet she could not resist. She placed her hand in his.