Iris wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she took another sip of her whiskey, tipping it back to get the last few drops.

“More?” Richard inquired, holding up the decanter.

“I probably shouldn’t,” she said, but she held out her glass all the same.

He poured, this time two fingers.

She regarded her glass, holding it up level with her eyes. “Will this make me drunk?”

“Probably not.” He cocked his head, his mouth twisting as if he were doing arithmetic in his head. “But I suppose it could do. You’re small. Did you eat supper?”

“I did.”

“You should be all right, then.”

Iris nodded and looked back down at her glass, giving it a little swirl. They sipped in silence for another minute, then she said, “You should not think you are a bad person.”

He quirked a brow.

“I’m enormously angry with you, and I think you’re making a mistake, but I do understand your motives.” She looked down at her whiskey, momentarily mesmerized by the way it seemed to flicker and glow in the candlelight. Her voice, when she found it again, was pensive. “No one who loves his sisters so well could ever be a bad person.”

He was quiet for a moment, and then—“Thank you.”

“It does you credit, I suppose, that you are willing to make such a sacrifice.”

“I am hoping,” he said quietly, “that it will not feel like such a sacrifice once the babe is in my arms.”

Iris swallowed. “I am hoping the same.”

He leaned forward quite suddenly, resting his forearms on his knees. The motion brought his head lower than hers, and he looked up at her through his thick, dark lashes. “I really am sorry, you know.”

She didn’t say anything.

“For what you’ve been forced to do,” he needlessly clarified. “It probably won’t matter, but I dreaded telling you.”

“I should think so,” she retorted before she could think to temper her tone. Of course he would dread it. Who on earth would enjoy such a thing?

“No, I mean, I knew you would hate me.” He closed his eyes. “It wasn’t the telling that I dreaded. I didn’t really even think about the actual telling. I just didn’t want you to hate me.”

She sighed. “I don’t hate you.”

He looked up. “You should.”

“Well, I did. For a few days, at least.”

He nodded. “That’s good.”

Iris couldn’t help but smile.

“It would be rather churlish of me to deny you that,” he said wryly.

“My anger?”

He held up his glass. A salute? Maybe. “You deserve it,” he said.

Iris nodded slowly, then thought, what the hell, and raised her glass a little, too.

“What are we toasting?” he asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Fair enough.” He cocked his head. “To your health, then.”