Chapter 1
1817, Kisswick, a seaside town in Sussex, 50 miles south of London
“Psst!” Iris hissed louder at her tall, dark haired friend, the Duke of Strathmore, walking by. Never in all her life would she have imagined herself being here. And not just becauseheremeant in the shadows squeezed between two buildings of a small seaside town where she had never intended to settle down as a spinster for the rest of her life but fortuitously found through another duke, but also becausehereimplied the impossible circumstance of—oh!—she couldn’t bear it. But she had to.
Tristan, the duke, was looking around for the source of the odd sound he had just heard, so she made an impulsive decision. Her arm darted out, grabbed him by some piece of fabric that was miraculously not plastered to his muscular body, and tugged him into the confined space.
“Ooomph!” He stumbled against her. Poor planning on her part. But really, she had no time to prepare, or so said her thumping heart and sweat-ridden palms.
“Tristan,” she whisper-shouted. “I need your help.”
“Iris?” Bewildered. Blindsided. Baffled. The man flicked his hair out of his eyes and caught her by the waist. “Are you alright?” His immediate concern for her wellbeing shouldn’t have thrown her off, yet it did. For the past several months, her dear dukish friend had been holding some kind of grudge against her, though she didn’t know what for. Usually they told each other everything, but ever since her engagement with Damien, another duke— the Duke of Devonby to be precise—Tristan hadn’t been the same. Which was odd because it wasn’t jealousy. She knew that. They were friends and told each other everything. Well…except for the fact that her engagement to Damien had been fake. No, she couldn’t tell anyone but her sister Violet about that because she needed everyone to think it was real, especially Tristan. So his genuine concern despite his recent hard feelings spoke volumes. All the same, she was more than a touch anxious, so when she spoke, her tone was not as gentle as she intended.
“Do you think I’m alright?” she huffed. “I’m hiding between the tea shop and the chandler in the middle of the day.” But just having him here with her slowed her pounding heart, well, slowed and powered up at the same time if that were possible.
“You’re shaking. Are you about to swoon?” He always knew how to read her, ever since they were children when he saw her fear of water before she even understood it herself.
“No. Yes. Maybe. Oh my stars, I don’t know, Tristan. I just heard the worst possible rumor. You must tell me if it’s true.”
“Of course,” his warm, familiar tone and tender brown eyes soothed her nerves. But also prickled them, like it always had. “Tell me what’s got you in a tizzy.”
“Is it true? Is Lord Lester coming to town?”
“I have heard that Alden’s paying us a visit to see if he can invest with us in the gold we’ve found here.”
“This cannot be happening.” And dropped her chin to her chest. “No. How can this be possible? Kisswick is supposed to be a nice, quiet village. A small trickle of tourists, but that’s all.” She wondered if Lester had followed her here somehow. Wouldn’t that just be the thing.
Her eyes found his in the shadows.
“What does it matter?” he asked curiously and with concern.
“It…doesn’t. I just…”
“What? Tell me, Iris. We tell each other everything. What are you holding back?” Oh…only so much. Only the largest secrets known to womankind. That of love and lies. But really what did they matter? Nothing could come from sharing these particular secrets with him, so she never had. He was her friend. A very good friend indeed, but even very good friends indeed had secrets from each other. Which was a good thing. She needed to protect her heart. So far, this secret-keeping, heart-protecting plan had worked all these years. Why change a good thing?
“Do you trust me, Tristan?”
“Of course, but—”
“I need to ask you a favor.”
“Anything.” And this broke her heart because she knew that though he was angry with her, he was still willing to be that very good friend that she knew she wasn’t being to him. But he was her only hope. She needed protection, and she knew she could count on him to provide it. This time.
“Please, Tristan. I wouldn’t ask this unless it was the only choice.”
“You’re worrying me, Iris.” He tried to laugh it off how he usually responded to life’s obstacles, but it had a hollow ring andthe echo died quickly. “What’s wrong? You know I’d do anything for you.”
“Yes. I know,” she said, remembering the summer he taught her how to swim in exchange for her painting his portrait. At first he had asked for her portrait, but she declined that and offered to paint him instead. And she knew that he would have given her the lessons even if she hadn’t painted him, but it had made her feel better to offer something in return. Although it had taken five separate lessons to get the swimming down. After one she wanted to give up, but he wouldn’t let her. After three she was convinced she wasn’t made to swim, but he kept at it. Finally five. That was the magic number. Coincidentally, it took five tries at the painting as well. Whether that was her subconscious torturing him or not, she would never know. Either way, five became their number.
“But you can’t tell anyone about this.” She gripped his jacket, bringing them closer together, which brought on another memory of being pressed against him for one summer night. But that was a bittersweet memory. Her favorite memory, for the goodness and warmth she had felt, yet at the same time the memory was tagged with emptiness. Somehow, recalling it now didn’t seem right, so she pushed it away wanting nothing to taint that perfect night.
He brought his face closer to hers. On level for a kiss. But that was patently ridiculous to think such a thought. Especially at a time like this. Especially after everything that happened. And most especially considering her future. Inwardly she groaned knowing that the favor she was about to ask him would cost him, too. Her only saving grace was the knowledge that the favor wouldn’t result in a rumor spreading too far beyond Kisswick. Most likely.
“Iris?”
“Tristan, I—” she looked up into his eyes one more time. This was it. This was the moment that would change everything. It wasn’t like the last time she’d asked for help like this. No. This was Tristan, and that made all the difference. Even still, she knew it was selfish to ask. Again. Yes, she knew that. But she just couldn’t bear thinking of how Lester might get his hands on her. Or a ring on her finger, even after all she’d done to avoid it.
And though she went over the words like a speech in her mind, the advantages, the boundaries, the plan, and all the details for her request, only two words popped out.