No one would call Sir Richard Kenworthy a fool. He had known exactly what he needed in a bride—someone so pathetic and grateful for a marriage proposal that she’d roll over and say yes, please when he finally revealed the truth.

That was what he thought of her.

Iris gasped, clapping her hand to her mouth to stifle the cry that rose from her throat.

Fleur regarded her with a disconcertingly steady gaze before saying to Richard, “You really should have told her the truth before you asked her to marry you.”

“Shut up,” he snarled.

“Don’t tell her to shut up,” Iris snapped.

“Oh, now you’re on her side?”

“Well, nobody seems to be on mine.”

“You should know that I have told him I will not agree to the scheme,” Fleur said.

Iris turned to look at her, to really look at her for the first time that afternoon, to try to see something beyond the petulant, hysterical girl who’d stepped down from the carriage. “Are you mad?” she demanded. “What do you propose to do? Who is the baby’s father?”

“It’s obviously no one you know,” Fleur snapped.

“The younger son of a local baron,” Richard said in a flat voice. “He seduced her.”

Iris whirled to face him. “Well, then, why don’t you force him to marry her?”

“He’s dead,” he replied.

“Oh.” Iris felt as if she’d been punched. “Oh.” She looked at Fleur. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Richard said.

Iris’s eyes widened with shock.

“His name was William Parnell,” he spat. “He was a bastard. Always has been.”

“What happened?” Iris asked, not sure that she wanted to know.

Richard glanced over at her with an arched brow. “He fell over the side of a balcony, drunk and waving a pistol. It’s a miracle no one was shot.”

“Were you there?” Iris whispered. Because she had the most awful feeling he might have had something to do with it.

“Of course not.” He looked at her with a disgusted expression. “There were a dozen witnesses. Including three prostitutes.”

Iris swallowed uncomfortably.

Richard’s face was a ravaged mask as he said, “I tell you this only so you will know what sort of man he was.”

Iris nodded dumbly. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to feel. After a few moments, she turned to Fleur—her new sister, she reminded herself—and took her hands. “I’m so sorry.” She swallowed, keeping her voice careful and soft. “Did he hurt you?”

Fleur turned away. “It was not like that.”

Richard lurched forward. “Do you mean to tell me you let—”

“Stop!” Iris cried out, yanking him back. “There is nothing to be gained by making accusations.”

Richard gave a curt nod, but he and Fleur continued to watch each other warily.