She was starting to feel at home here, strange as that seemed. At home with a husband who would not bed her, a sister who hated her (sometimes) for trying to save her from ruin, and another sister who . . . who . . .

She thought about that. There really wasn’t much to say about Marie-Claire. Iris hadn’t shared more than two words with her since that first day. She ought to rectify that. It’d be nice if at least one of Richard’s sisters didn’t (sometimes) see her as the devil incarnate.

At the bottom of the stairs Iris turned right toward the library. It was just down the hall, past the drawing room and Richard’s study. She rather liked his study, she decided. She hadn’t had much occasion to enter the masculine sanctuary recently, but it was warm and comfortable and with the same southerly view she had from her bedroom.

She paused for a moment to adjust her grip on her candleholder, then squinted. Was that a light down the hall or just her own candle, throwing off flickers and shadows meant to tease and deceive? She held still, held her breath, even, then moved forward again, stepping lightly.

“Iris?”

She froze. There was nothing for it. She nudged herself forward and peered into Richard’s study. He was sitting in a chair by the fire, a half-filled glass of something alcoholic in his hand.

He tipped his tousled head in her direction. “I thought that might be you.”

“I’m sorry. Did I disturb you?”

“Not at all,” he said, smiling up at her from his comfortable spot. Iris thought he might be a little bit drunk. It was very unlike him not to rise when a lady entered a room.

It was also a little odd that he was smiling at her. Given the way they’d parted and all.

She clutched her small pile of books to her chest. “I was getting something to read,” she said, motioning toward the library.

“I’d assumed.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

He shrugged. “Nor I.”

“Yes, I see.”

His mouth curled into a lazy half smile. “Witty conversationalists, we two.”

Iris let out a little laugh. Strange that they could find their humor again now that the house was abed. Or maybe not so strange. She’d been in a contemplative mood all day, ever since her unexpected rapprochement with Fleur. They had not agreed on anything, not really, but Iris thought they had been able to find the good in each other nonetheless.

Surely she ought to be able to find the same with Richard.

“Penny for them,” the man in question said.

Iris looked up with arched brows. “I have enough pennies, thank you.”

He clutched his hand to his heart. “Wounded! And with coin.”

“Without coin, actually,” Iris corrected. Because it was the sort of thing she could never let pass.

He grinned.