He thought as he spoke, that was a very good description of Iris.
She was exactly like a peach in her softness and the way she managed with her fair hair and pale blue eyes to have a kind of bloom on her that other women lacked.
The Earl had in fact admitted to himself that he had been quite disappointed – or was the right word ‘piqued’ – when so soon after they had met she had accepted the Duke of Nuneaton and had become a bride before he could get his hands on her for the second time.
They had been introduced at a house party given by one of the Earl’s more dashing friends for the St. Leger race meeting that took place in Yorkshire.
The moment the Earl had walked into his friend’s house, having just broken the driving record from London, he had seen Iris and knew that it had been wor
