Page 49 of Plucked By the Orc

For his mind was overwhelmingly occupied by a different scenario altogether. The setting was the same, but the characters were changed somewhat.

It was he, not Felton Maberly, preening over a woman in this very parlor. And it was Lady Margaret Hathaway, not Iris, providing polite answers to polite inquiries.

Before making it clear that she was not paying a call to Duncan again. And that he should do her the courtesy of not paying any further calls on her. She thought he had understood their acquaintance was a friendship and nothing more. Now that he had made his feelings clear, Lady Margaret needed to show him the respect of not offering her companionship any longer. She was sure he would understand. But Lady Margaret was now engaged to a gentleman set to become a marquess, and she had thought Duncan knew.

Or so she said. The fact of the matter was that Lady Margaret never spoke of an engagement when they went on one of their chaperoned strolls through Kensington. Even when he had bent down and attempted to kiss her, she had not mentioned it. Which made this engagement seem rather more sudden than Lady Margaret indicated.

His hands clenched the sides of the massive oak chair he occupied on those rare occasions when callers paid a visit. His claws unsheathed, he was sure he was leaving scratches on the wood, and no doubt Mrs. Thompson would fuss and cluck over it later. But it was that or let out a roar that would scare Felton and startle and concern Iris.

Albion would say he should try to make light of the scene unfolding before him. Yet how could he do so when the situation was clear as day? Whether Iris knew, he could not ascertain. But if Duncan understood anything about human society, and what he knew could literally fill a book, Felton Maberly was thoroughly besotted with her.

Which made his Orcan form look like nothing more than a lark now, he was sure. Iris Gabbert had her fun, and soon enough, she would move on to someone more suited to her new position in life. Someone like Felton Maberly.

He couldn’t think this way. Iris was not Lady Margaret. And yet the notion stuck in his mind and refused to dislodge. His fists clenched so tightly that his claws pricked the tender skin of his palms. If he wasn’t careful, he would bleed.

“And when you told the tale of your friend Lottie Greenstreet,” Felton was saying now, taking little note of Duncan’s presence and keeping his attention fixed on Iris. “It was most daring and yet utterly suitable at once. The vicar said as much. And I vouch I haven’t had such a jolly time during a visit before or since.”

“I am glad to be. A source of amusement.” Iris took a sip of tea. It was still too hot, and she smacked her lips in a manner that would not suit a countess. He should mention it after the young gentleman left.

But Felton Maberly had not noticed this lapse in etiquette, for his face had fallen, and he was scrambling to clarify his previous statement.

“Oh, let me be clear, Lady Iris. I would never findyoua source of amusement. I find your company most divine.”

It took all of Duncan’s willpower to keep himself from lunging at the presumptuous young knave—gentleman or not.

“It was a story I found amusing. And informative at the same time.”

“Indeed,” Iris commented, reaching for one of the lady’s fingers Mrs. Thompson had set out for them. Duncan admired the grace with which Iris maneuvered the biscuits. So different from the desperate young woman who had first come to his townhouse, devouring every meal and licking her fingers when she thought he wasn’t looking.

“Are you so fortunate? As to have clever friends. Like Lottie Greenstreet?” Iris inquired.

“Oh, drat. I should say not,” Felton said. His own hands were trembling as he held his teacup. He kept directing sidelong glances at Duncan, who ensured he was glowering whenever the boy turned even slightly his way. “My friends at Eton were in for pranks and such, but I daresay nothing truly brave.”

“Truly brave,” Iris repeated, eyeing the chicken salad in mayonnaise stuffed in one of the fluffy eclair puffs. Repeating back whatever inanity a gentleman or lady spoke to her. He’d found it most helpful when trapped in an inane conversation, though Albion had commented that it made Duncan sound like a “damnable parrot.”

“It is a rare quality, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Gabbert? But then, I’m certain you do not lack courage yourself. Perhaps this means you can’t recognize it in others.”

“I see well enough,” Iris told him, sounding more like the flower seller he’d first met.

“I wasn’t suggesting any failure on your part, Miss Gabbert. Quite the opposite.” Felton cleared his throat and placed his cup and saucer on the side table, positioning them in a manner Duncan found overly dramatic. And then Felton looked directly at Iris. “You cannot see courage any more than you can see beauty, I’d think, since you own both in such multitudes.”

Duncan gripped the chair, hardly caring that with more pressure, the sides might soon splinter and split. How dare this impudent pepper come here and say such things to Iris?

“I am flattered by your kindness,” Iris said.

It was too much to bear. Duncan had thoroughly researched and composed a piece in his tome on the dueling practices of young men of theton. Swords at one time, and pistols in more recent decades. Pistols were drawn over far less.

Then, something came over Duncan he had never experienced before, not even with Lady Margaret Hathaway. She had caused no small measure of pain and a great deal of embarrassment.

All of his amorous connections with Iris had occurred in private. No one was the wiser. Had anyone an inkling of anything untoward, his reputation would suffer nearly as much as hers. But no one had such an inkling. Well, save for Albion. Nevertheless, when it came to Iris Gabbert, a betrayal would wound him more profoundly than any arrow Lady Margaret wielded to pierce his heart.

Felton Maberly had done nothing wrong. Iris had done nothing wrong. Felton had only expressed interest in a comely woman appropriately, and she had responded in an equally appropriate fashion. But for Duncan, their visit pierced his heart because he realized the truth.

His love for Iris Gabbert.

Confound it all. Duncan had vowed this would never happen again. He had invited Iris into his home. What had he been thinking? What was he doing now?

Duncan had just admitted it, if only to himself. He had fallen in love with Iris Gabbert.

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