She looked up. “What sort of question is that?”

He forced a shrug, trying to look casual. “I don’t understand anyone.” Himself, least of all.

She stared at him for so long he had to fight the urge to shift his weight from foot to foot. “Why did you marry me?” she finally asked.

“Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

Her mouth came together in an implacable line. She did not speak. She did not speak for so long that he was compelled to fill the silence.

“You know why I married you,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“No,” she said, “I really don’t.”

“I compromised you.”

She gave him a withering glance. “We both know it started long before that.”

He tried to calculate how long he might be able to feign ignorance.

“Oh, for the love of God, Richard, please do not insult my intelligence. You kissed me that night with the express purpose of being seen by my aunt. You demean me by insisting otherwise.”

“I kissed you,” he said hotly, “because I wanted to.” It was the truth. Not the whole truth, but by God, it was part of the truth.

But Iris snorted with disbelief. “Maybe you did, but the question is why you wanted to.”

Good God. He raked his hand through his hair. “Why does any man want to kiss a woman?”

“I really wouldn’t know, now would I?” she practically spat. “Because my husband finds me repulsive.”

He took a step back, shocked into silence. Finally, because he knew he had to say something, he said, “Don’t be absurd.”

It was the wrong thing. Her eyes widened as they filled with outrage, and she turned on her heel and stalked away from him.

But he was faster, and he caught her by the wrist. “I don’t find you repulsive.”

Her eyes flicked up as she dismissed this. “I may not have the kind of experience you do, but I know what is meant to go on between a husband and wife. And I know that we have not—”

“Iris,” he cut in, desperate to put a stop to this, “you’re upsetting yourself.”

Her eyes blazed with icy fury as she yanked her hand away. “Don’t patronize me!”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He was. Of course he was.

“Iris,” he began.

“Do you fancy men? Is that it?”

His mouth fell open, and he would have taken a breath, except it seemed his throat was no longer connected to his belly, which felt as if it had been punched.

“Because if you do—”

“No!” he practically howled. “How do you even know of such a thing?”

She gave him a flat stare, and he had the uncomfortable impression that she was trying to decide if she believed him. “I know someone,” she finally said.

“You know someone?”

“Well, of him,” she mumbled. “My cousin’s brother.”