“How dare you!” Fleur cried, as soon as she was close enough to be heard. Two more steps and it was clear which of them she was accusing.

Iris.

“What the devil do you think you were doing at breakfast?” Fleur demanded.

“Eating,” Iris retorted, even though that was barely true. She’d felt so panicked, knowing she was about to commit to the biggest lie of her life. She’d barely been able to eat anything.

Fleur scowled. “You might as well have come right out and announced that you are with child.”

“I did come right out and announce it,” Iris said. “I thought that was what I was supposed to do.”

“I’m not giving you the baby,” Fleur seethed.

Iris turned to Richard with a look that quite clearly said, this is your problem.

Fleur stepped between them, practically spitting at Iris in her rage. “Tomorrow you will announce that you have miscarried.”

“To whom?” Iris retorted. It had been only family in the room when she’d made her cryptic statement.

“She will do no such thing,” Richard snapped. “Have you any compassion? Any sense for all that your new sister is giving up for you?”

Iris crossed her arms. It was about time someone acknowledged her sacrifice.

“I didn’t ask this of her,” Fleur protested.

But Richard was implacable. “You are not thinking clearly.”

Fleur gasped. “You are the most patronizing, hateful—”

“I am your brother!”

“Not my keeper.”

Richard’s tone turned to ice. “The law begs to differ.”

Fleur drew back as if struck. But when she spoke, it was with seething intensity. “Forgive me if I have difficulty trusting your sense of obligation.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You left us,” Fleur cried. “When Father died. You left.”

Richard’s face, which had been red with fury, suddenly drained white.

“You could not wait to be rid of us,” Fleur went on. “Father wasn’t even cold in his grave before you had us packed up and living with Aunt Milton.”

“I could not take care of you,” Richard said.

Iris bit her lip, watching him with wary concern. His voice was shaking, and he looked . . .

Wrecked. He looked positively wrecked, as if Fleur had found the one festering wound deep in his soul and jammed her thumb into it.

“You could have tried,” Fleur whispered.

“I would have failed.”

Fleur’s mouth tightened. Or maybe it trembled. Iris could not tell what she was feeling.