Which was always the wrong thing to say to a woman.

“Reasonable?” she demanded. “You want me to be reasonable? After everything that has happened in the last fortnight, it’s a wonder I am even sentient!”

“Hyperbole, Iris?”

“Do not patronize me,” she hissed.

He did not bother to contradict.

Her eyes blazing, she stepped forward, almost close enough to touch. “First you drag me into a marriage—”

“I did not drag you.”

“You might as well have done.”

“You weren’t complaining two days ago.”

She flinched.

He knew he had gone too far, but he’d lost all of his reserves. He didn’t know how to stop now. He moved closer, but she did not budge an inch. “For better or for worse, you are my wife.”

Time seemed to stop. Iris’s jaw clenched with the effort of containing her rage, and Richard could not take his eyes off her mouth, pink and lush. He knew what she tasted like now. He knew it as well as he knew his own breath.

With a curse, he jerked his head and turned away. What sort of monster was he? In the middle of all this, all he could think of was kissing her.

Consuming her.

Making love to her before she despised him.

“I want to know what is going on,” Iris said, her voice clipped with fury.

“Right now I must deal with my sister,” he said.

“No, right now you will tell me—”

He cut her off. “I will tell you what you need to know when you need to know it.”

Which would probably be in the next few minutes, assuming Fleur ever opened her damned door.

“This has something to do with why you married me, doesn’t it?” Iris said.

He turned sharply to face her. She was pale, even paler than normal, but her eyes were blazing.

He couldn’t lie to her any longer. Maybe he wasn’t ready to tell her the truth, but he couldn’t lie.

“Fleur!” he bellowed. “Open the damn—”

The door slammed open, and there she was, wild-eyed and shaking with fury. Richard had never seen his sister thus. Her dark hair had come half-loose from its pins and was sticking out at odd angles. Her cheeks were high with color.

What happened to the sweet, biddable sister he’d once known? He’d sat through tea parties with her, for God’s sake.

“You wished to speak with me?” Fleur voice’s dripped with disdain.

“Not in the hall,” he said viciously, grabbing her arm. He tried to pull her into the bedchamber she shared with Marie-Claire, but she dug in her heels.

“She comes, too,” she said, jerking her head toward Iris.

“She has a name,” Richard ground out.

“So sorry.” Fleur turned to Iris and batted her lashes. “Lady Kenworthy, your presence is humbly requested.”

Richard saw red. “Do not speak to her in that tone of voice.”