Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(79)

The door to the house slammed.

Both women turned.

Raphael was striding down the gravel path. “Come inside.”

“What has happened?” Iris asked cautiously.

“Inside.”

She jolted at his tone and was already hurrying up the path with Donna Pieri beside her. Raphael was tense, his face stony, and she had trouble meeting his eyes.

She could see no similarity between this man and the one who had made love to her so sweetly last night.

He ushered them inside Chartres House and into a small back sitting room, gesturing for her and Donna Pieri to sit in a far corner—well away from the windows.

Raphael waited until they were seated before stating, “I’m sending both of you away.”

“What?” Iris rose and stepped toward him. He can’t do this. “What are you saying?”

He stared at her coldly, no emotion at all in his face. Was he punishing her? “Hector Leland is dead. Shot this morning, supposedly a suicide, but I think it’s the Dionysus.”

“Oh, dear God,” she whispered, horrified. Tansy was still in her arms, asleep now, and she stroked the puppy’s soft ears. She’d met Mr. Leland. He was a member of the Lords of Chaos, true, but he’d been a person.

“How does that affect us?” Donna Pieri asked.

Raphael looked at her. “Threats were made against you and my wife last night and again this morning. I should have sent you both away at once, but I was … distracted. We cannot wait another minute.”

Iris sucked in her breath at being called a distraction. Was that how he truly saw her—them? As something that got in the way of the more important things in his life?

Donna Pieri nodded. “I will go pack, then.”

Iris watched her leave and then turned to Raphael. “I’m not leaving you.”

His eyes were so cold she thought she must’ve imagined their ever thawing. “You will. Both you and Zia Lina. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Is the danger really so great?” she asked.

“Leland’s head was blown away,” Raphael said without a trace of emotion. “Yes, the danger is great.”

She sucked in a breath at his blunt words, and suddenly she was at that dark revelry, the torches flickering all around as she waited to die.

She truly did not want to die.

Iris shook her head and looked at her husband.

His eyes narrowed, and with his scar he looked like the very devil. How could she want to be with the devil?

Except he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all.

“Nothing will stop me from ensuring that you’re safe,” he said. “Not even you.”

“But how can you keep me safe away from you?” she asked, and was upset when she felt the prick of tears in her eyes. She couldn’t lose her composure now. She had to remain as cold as he so that she could fight this.

He closed his eyes as if she pained him. “The Dionysus is after me. He will stay in London if I am here. Therefore you and Zia Lina must leave.”

She felt her lips trembling. “If the Dionysus could send an assassin to kill you on the road, what is to stop him doing so again? Let me stay.”

“No.” He was already shaking his head. Had he even heard what she’d said? “I will send my Corsicans with you and Zia Lina. You will be guarded well.”

She was desperate. Last night she had felt a change in their marriage. They had been growing closer before he’d left her bed. She hadn’t imagined it.

She just needed time to make him see the happiness she saw could be in their marriage.

But if he sent her away now, she was afraid that every gain she’d made thus far would be destroyed.

“Raphael,” she said softly, moving toward him. “Please. Please don’t send me away.”

But he turned from her as if he couldn’t stand her touch. As if he couldn’t even look at her. “Do not beg me. I cannot bear it. I cannot bear you. You tear down my walls, take away my reason and purpose. Iris, you have to go. I can’t do what I must do with you here.” He held out his hand to his side, fingers outstretched as if to push her away. “I’ve made up my mind. We don’t have time to waste like this.”

She walked around him—walked around that damned hand—so that he was forced to face her.

There were tears on her cheeks now, true. She was humiliated. Devastated. But she had to at least try.

And what mattered her pride now?

She looked at him, her husband. At his eerie crystal eyes, at his raven’s wing–black hair, at the scar that he’d carved into his own face. Out of fear but in bravery. She looked at all of him and she knew. “I love you.”

He closed his eyes, shutting her out. “I made a mistake last night.”

“Don’t say that.” She felt as if she’d been hit in the chest. She couldn’t inhale. “Please don’t say that.”

He opened his eyes, clear gray and completely without emotion. His gaze was that of a dead man. “But it was a mistake. My mistake. What is done is done. With luck there will be no consequence, but I would be a fool to continue to court disaster.”

She held out her hand, pleading. “Raphael—”

“No.”

She sobbed angrily, uncaring of her wet face. “I am not a disaster. Our child would not be a disaster. On the contrary, if I am so lucky as to be with child I will rejoice. It will be a blessing. Do you hear me, Raphael? A blessing.”