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‘Yes, see to it, Charles,’ the taciturn Earl said. ‘And will you please provide the lady with a chair?’
‘It’s very kind of you to invite me in,’ Iris said, trying to keep her voice light and friendly, as the butler dragged a matching leather chair from across the room.
The Earl really had no choice, but manners would dictate that he at least pretend he was pleased to assist. And it certainly wasn’t the way most men treated her. If she stumbled into Lord Pratley’s home in a state of distress and needing rescuing from a storm, he would be moving heaven and earth to make her comfortable and would have behaved as if she was doing him a great honour by allowing him to assist her.
The butler arranged the chairs beside the fire. ‘I’ve moved your chair two feet to the right, my lord.’
‘Thank you, Charles. And would you also bring some tea for Lady Iris and something for her to eat?’
He turned to nod to the butler, the side of his face that had been in shadow now exposed in the fire’s flickering light.
Iris’s hand shot to her mouth and she was suddenly ashamed of herself and everything she had thought about the Earl. It was all now so obvious. The dim lighting, the pushed-back furniture, even, dare she admit it, his failure to act the way most men did when in her presence. He was blind. Scarring covered his forehead and one eye, and the other eye was lifeless, suggesting it too had either limited or no sight.
Iris was tempted to apologise, although she wasn’t sure what for. Perhaps it was for her uncharitable thoughts about the bleakness of the unlit house, or for her unwanted intrusion, or for whatever had caused the scarring on his otherwise handsome face.
And it was a handsome face. Black hair framed chiselled cheekbones and a strong jawline, which was bearing evening stubble. As she continued to stare at him, for some unknown reason she was tempted to run her finger along the small cleft in the middle of his chin.
Her hand continued to cover her mouth, as if caught in an inappropriate act, and she quickly looked away, surprised at her own boldness, even if it had only been a thought.
The butler bowed and left the room. Iris sank down into the soft leather, trying to push out any thoughts of cleft chins, strong jaws or high cheekbones.
‘Please, won’t you sit down?’ she said, indicating the chair opposite, then withdrew her hand, realising it was a pointless gesture if he couldn’t see her.
The Earl reached out behind him to the arm of the chair then sat down and picked up his glass of brandy.
‘Would you like a brandy or would you rather wait for tea?’
‘Actually, a brandy wo
uld be rather nice,’ she said with a polite smile. ‘Just to warm myself up a bit,’ she added.
Certainly not to steady my nerves.
His gruff humph suggested he did not believe her, but he crossed the room and took a glass from the sideboard, then poured her a brandy from the cut-glass decanter and steadily handed it to her. As her hand lightly touched his, the strangest sensation shot up her fingers, her arm, and into her chest, where her heart did a peculiar jump.
That was odd. Touching a man’s hand had never had that effect on her before. It had to be the effect of this rather disconcerting day that was causing her nerves to behave in such an unusual manner. She took a quick gulp of her drink and coughed as the woody alcohol caught her in the back of the throat, then burnt its way down to her stomach.
Oh, for goodness’ sake, Iris, behave yourself. You accidentally touched a man’s hand. That’s no reason to become so flustered.
She closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath to steady herself, took another sip of her drink and smiled at her host.
‘I’m so pleased I stumbled upon your home,’ she said, keeping her voice light and friendly. ‘Otherwise I’d probably still be wandering around in this storm. And I saw no one during my walk, so I couldn’t ask for any directions to get back to Lord and Lady Walberton’s house.’
He said nothing, just nursed his drink and stroked the head of his dog. The animal growled with contentment, looked up at Iris with its liquid brown eyes then went back to sleep.
‘That’s where I’m staying. At the Walbertons’ estate,’ Iris continued. ‘For a house party. My mother and I. We’re both staying there. All week. But I decided to go for a walk. Silly, really.’
He still said nothing.
‘I didn’t think the storm would come up so quickly,’ she burbled on, trying to fill the silence. ‘One minute the sky was clear. Well, not exactly clear. It was cloudy, and there were a few dark clouds on the horizon, but still, I didn’t expect the sky to open up and for there to be such a downpour. And as for the wind, my goodness, it can certainly blow here, can’t it?’
Her prattling was making her sound like a ninny, but what choice was he giving her? This uncomfortable silence had to be filled, and he wasn’t doing much to help. Iris was not used to anyone sitting in her company and not speaking. At home there was always constant chatter from her mother, brother Nathaniel and sister Daisy, along with her older, married sister Hazel during her frequent visits. And when she was at social events people always made conversation with her, especially men. But this one, this Earl of Greystone, looked as if he was as sparse with his words as he was with his candles.
‘I mean,’ she continued after she had given him enough time to reply, time which he chose not to use, ‘who would expect the weather to change so quickly?’
‘Anyone familiar with English weather, I would have thought.’
Iris laughed, even though the expression on his face suggested he was criticising her, not teasing.
